An overcast morning
when rain drizzles hazy
the mighty Jhelum flows—
mutely grand and glorious.
Then
suddenly its waters slap strong,
ripping fierce route
through silent shores.
That fateful morning
children boarded a boat,
eyes shining with hope,
sailing to school.
Unaware of terrifying tragedy
coming their way.
A mother and her children,
their laughter mingling
with mourning melody,
as Jhelum turns into a tomb.
The boatman, skilled but weary,
tugged at the oar,
roping through the clamor.
Yet Jhelum,
relentless in its frightful fury,
capsized the boat
with a brisk blow.
As broken boat
tumbled towards
the bridge-of-tomorrow,
Jhelum’s rage grew.
“You came in my way!” it roared.
“You caused this chaos, this cruelty, this catastrophe!”
But, the bridge, still unfinished,
raised its voice in defense-
“I am but a structure,
a work in progress.
Your reckless waves,
your riotous spree,
led the boat to its tragic destiny.”
School bags floated,
bobbing on the surface,
ghostly reminders of grimness below,
where bodies get swallowed
by mysterious embrace of waters.
Jhelum wept that day!
Wept bitterly
for the mother and her little ones,
gone too soon;
For those still missing,
devoured by its deep dark depths.
Jhelum deluged with wildness and wrath-
“Why were you built here,
obstructing my might?
You knew the risks, yet you dared to stand.
Unfinished monster,
see innocent lives now snatched
by your timeless fingers!”
However, the bridge stood stanch-
“I am but a strait reaching for the sky.
It’s your tumultuous torrents,
your stormy surge
that swept the boat away
in a deadly swell.”
Contention grew between dread and doom.
The bridge blamed the river;
the river blamed instead.
Yet amidst discord, despair and death,
the community rallied with humanity rare.
For in the face of suffering,
in the depths of grief,
floated up a reflection of reprieve.
Neighbors huddled, in solidarity,
to save the drowning
and offer solace with grace.
As the sun set on that sorrowful day,
Jhelum and the bridge, in hushed disbelief,
perhaps reflected on the agony
of the lives lost too soon.
If only both bind beneath the same moon!
For in nature’s ploy, in ebbs and flows,
lies the balance of blithe and blue
pleasure and pain
learning and loathing.
And though the river may rage,
and the bridge stand big,
it’s in compassion and concord
that true healing shall hail.
(In memory of lost children who couldn’t sail to their school.
Dateline: Srinagar-16 April, 2024)
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