At the fringes of a village, on a road that led to the jungle nearby, there exists an abandoned house. The walls of the house are dark and patches of algae are sticking on to them. Cobwebs and insects dominate the interiors. The roots of the nearby Chinar tree penetrate the windows and doors of the house as if they were trying to reach the inside. Anyone who would pass the house will try to avoid going near it. The house has been on sale for ages but there is no buyer.
One fine morning, the woman who lived in the neighborhood went by the house. She remembered the old memories when she was a frequent visitor to this once beautiful abode. She remembered that day when the sun was bright and weather was pleasant. She knocked on the door of the house with a bowl in her hand. “Assalam Alekum Shamima, can you give me some sugar please”. “Walekum Salam Haneefa, indeed I will. Please come inside”, said the woman who opened the door. As Haneefa went inside, she saw the soul of the beautiful and lively home. As she walked through the see-through curtains, a pleasant aroma greeted her. Colorful and clean carpets welcoming the feet as she walked across towards the kitchen. There they were, the two beautiful daughters of Shamima trying to steal some sweets from the kitchen. They ran outside as they saw their mother coming. “How old are they?” asked Haneefa. “The elder one is Ashiya, she is 8 years old and the younger one is Rafiya, she is 6 years old. They are the love of my life.” Shamima replied.
Shamima and her husband had recently built this new house. Her husband Mushtaq was a doctor - an educated and wise man. He loved his family and the love was visible in his deeds. He worked hard and made sure that his family was well fed and his children were well educated. A few weeks after Haneefa had met Shamima for the first time, she came to know that the mother of two had died due to an electric shock. Her husband was not present at home to give her medical attention. And the two daughters were too scared to do anything. Since that day the circumstances of that house changed entirely. Mushtaq had to go through a lot of difficulties to raise the daughters on his own. The culture of society and the situation of Kashmir were changing rapidly. The conflict had started and Mushtaq was ageing. After 10 years since their mother had died, Ashiya and Rafiya were managing the household chores along with their studies. While a faction of society had given in to the radicalized mindset being spread using fear and propaganda, Mushtaq and his two daughters were wise enough to refrain from such diversion. It was only a while before they came to know that the elder son of Haneefa, their neighbor, had joined the militant ranks.
As Mushtaq had to work in night shifts, due to this he spent less time at home. One night, as Ashiya and Rafiya were alone in the house, they heard someone moving outside their house. As they looked at each other in fear and confusion, the window of their room was forced open and two men wearing ‘feran’ holding rifles in their hand entered the house. As Ashiya and Rafiya shook in fear, Ashiya recognized one of them as the neighbor who had joined militancy. “What do you want?” Ashiya asked. “I want to offer you both the opportunity to do a great deed. The opportunity to serve the soldiers of Allah.” The militant tried to explain his intent. It was clear to Ashiya why these two had arrived so late at night. But she was not capable of thinking or executing an escape plan as the rifle of one of them was pointing at her head. At first one of them forced himself on Rafiya while Ashiya was kept at gun point. Ashiya saw with her eyes her beloved sister getting raped by militants. Tears fell through her eyes as Rafiya was too shocked to react to anything. After doing the hideous act to the innocent girls the militants fled.Mushtaq’s spine froze as he returned home the next morning and came to know that his beloved daughters had become victims, and the safety that he thought his daughters had was taken away by the so- called ‘protectors’ of Kashmir. Furious and broken as he was, he did not leave his home thereafter. Once again, on a dark night the two militants forced open the window and entered the house. Mushtaq tried to save his daughters and fought the militants with a knife. But there was nothing that a knife could do in front of an assault rifle. The militants did not hesitate in ending the life of Mushtaq. As Mushtaq fell on the floor, so did all the hopes of his daughters. With Mushtaq’s life, the life of his daughters had also ended. They were left to nothing but breathing dead bodies. Their emotions and feelings had been torn apart and burned to ashes. Alone now, both girls had to endure many more visits by the two militants and sometimes even their associates. With each visit, the girls kept dying from inside. And their bodies also died on one cold night, when the militants arrived and saw these two girls hanging from the ceiling by a noose tied to their neck.
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