Khushboo Matoo
This is an excerpt from one of the many essays featured in the book Once We Had Everything (Literature in Exile) Published by Vitasta Publishing India (2019) Edited by Arvind Gigoo, Siddhartha Gigoo, Adarsh Ajit.
It is a beautiful sunny day in the spring of 1931. The snow has started to melt. The winter hasn’t been brutal. Radhakrishan is gloomy because, like the winter, he is fond of drama and springing up surprises. His propensity for thrill and adventure worries his mother who just can’t cope with his newfound talent of climbing trees. She stops him from stepping out of the house. He tells her that he doesn’t like her because she keeps him away from his wanderlust.
Radhakrishan is a six-year-old boy, the youngest and the most pampered amongst Zana Bhat’s three grandsons. The little brat loves to loiter in the orchards of his grandfather. He has discovered the joy of being among the trees laden with fruit. Zana Bhat, is the only zamindar at Kanikoot, a small hamlet that is a few kilometres uphill from Naigam in the Chadoora tehsil of Budgam in Kashmir.
Zana Bhat relishes the sight of his grandchildren playing all around the house and in the rice fields and the walnut orchards. He loves to run after them to stop them from plucking buds off the trees in the orchard. But he allows them to go amuck because his own childhood was bereft of such adventures and pranks. ‘Mine was a no-childhood,’ he laments. Zana Bhat is very hardworking. His dedication, honesty and uprightness set him apart from others because he avoids indulging in the money- lending business. ‘It’s not healthy, this money-lending business,’ he confides to his family. ‘We have all that we need.’ Over the years, he has earned adequate wealth and respect that will last a lifetime. He takes pride in his achievements. It’s evident by the way he conducts himself in the village.
IT’S a dark night. In the adjoining village, Watakul, there aren’t any Pandit families. Yet a multitude has risen and come out in the streets. Zana Bhat and his family are clueless. They are in their warm beds, wondering what’s causing the people of the village nearby to rise. Radhakrishan is not in his room. He’s sleeping in the granary where grains and other household belongings are stocked. Zafar, the family help, is there too. Zafar is the one who looks after Radhakrishan as though he were his own child. He has taught Radhakrishan how to climb trees. Zafar’s own children are in his village far away. It’s a village of tribesmen. Zafar misses his children when he’s with Radhakrishan. It is one such night when he can’t bear the pangs of separation any more. He quietly looks at Radhakrishan’s cherubic face and thanks his master, Zana Bhat, for giving him this job. Remembering the countless favours bestowed upon him by Zana Bhat and family, a tear trickles down his face.
A harsh knocking is heard. Moments later, Zana Bhat and nine members of his family are killed by intruders. But Zafar and Radhakrishan are missing. Within a span of thirty minutes everything changes. The floor and the walls of Zana Bhat’s house turn red.
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