Kashmiri mother’s relentless fight to trace her son ends with her death
When the mothers, whose sons disappeared during last 20 years of Kashmir conflict, gather for their monthly remembering assembly this time, they will also be mourning a mother, who died waiting for her son to come back. Mughli — the elderly mother whose relentless fight to know the whereabouts of her only son had become the epitome of the struggle of the parents of disappeared in Kashmir — left for her heavenly abode Sunday last, leaving behind memories of togetherness in struggle, desolation and a renewed hope for the mission ahead.
Mughli’s son — Nazir Ahmad Teli — was a school teacher, who disappeared in 1990 after he was picked up by Indian security forces, never to return. For years, Mughli lived alone in her large family house deep inside Srinagar’s Habba Kadal where narrow streets snake through a cluster of housing blocks. Old age had turned her nearly deaf but the hope that her son may return saw her spending days at the window, looking out at the door. Today, the rusty chain link that would shut the mite-eaten door of her house is locked.
One morning — Mughli once told to a newspaper correspondent — it was in September 1990 when her son, Nazir Ahmad Teli, a teacher by profession, left for school. She never saw him again — and Mughli became one of the first members of the tragic club of several thousand women whose young sons or husbands have disappeared.
“Maine Nazira, aave kha (My Nazir, have you come), she said and closed her eyes,” said Parveena Ahangar, the President of Association of Parents of Disappeared Persons (APDP). “For the last 19 years, she had been craving to see her son, to know of his fate. She was always full of hope.” Ahangar said.
Mughli’s death was especially tragic for the group. “We feel that we will die one by one, looking for our children,” Parveena said, adding, “Over the years, we had developed such a strong attachment with each other. This bond of mutual pain and hope has turned us into a large family. Now we are losing hope and with her death, one story of pain has come to a sudden end. But it has also left a gaping wound.”
Mougli was laid to rest at her ancestral graveyard at Narwara in Srinagar.
“Medical reason for her death may be renal failure or heart attack but she actually died longing for her only son,” says her nephew Abdul Rashid, at whose house Mougli stayed during past few months.
“I visited her house fortnightly and we used to share our pain. Repeating the same words every time we met, but it really acted as panacea for a while,” shares Fatima of Tankipora, whose son was picked up by the troops from Dalgate in early 90s and is still missing. “I lost my support,” cried Fatima, referring to her friend Mougli. However, Fatima vowed to continue the mission of Mougli. “We will not give up. She left us but instilled new hope as well.”
The APDP, according to its president, will be holding a special program on November 10 as part of their regular meeting at Partap Park Srinagar.
Bound together by mutual pain and a shared tale, the APDP says that at least 10,000 persons have disappeared in Jammu and Kashmir, the majority of them picked up by Indian security forces, during the last 20 years of turmoil. On the 10th and 28th of every month, the APDP meet remembering the disappeared, sharing their stories, helping each other cope and urging the government to take necessary action.
In an interview to an Indian daily ‘The Indian Express’ while she was still able to move around, Mughli — who didn’t remember her age — had said that the shock broke her back. “He was born after my husband divorced me. I had no one. I didn’t marry again and raised him. He was the only reason for my life,” she had said. “He had never stayed away from home — not even for a single night. Each day he would return from school and give me a hug. I am still waiting. I wish to hug him once. If they tell me he is dead, I would hug his grave. I don’t know what happened to him and this pain, this uncertainty is unbearable.”
She then took off her thick glasses and wiped her tears with the corner of her shawl. “Every time I tell this story I feel as if I rind my wounds — as if a sharp knife is dipped in my wound again,” she had said. “These walls are my only companion and they don’t ask anything.” She wailed in murmurs, her words inaudible. Where did you search for him? “I waited and waited for him that evening. When the sun went down and it was dark, I knew something was wrong. He would always come straight home after his work,” she had recalled. “I felt my heart sink and called my neighbours. They came and tried to console me till late in the night. I spent that night sitting at the window looking at the door. He didn’t return.”
Mughli had approached police officers and politicians and even visited every jail in Kashmir hoping to find her son. But nothing helped.
The APDP had helped her file a petition in the court which is still going on. Mughli, meanwhile, had taken refuge in faith and every Thursday, she would visit the shrines in the city, seeking divine help.
Mughli had never opened her son’s room ever since he went missing. She had said that her son comes in her dreams. “He (her son) calls me in the dream. He tells me he is alive,” she had said.
Mughli’s son — Nazir Ahmad Teli — was a school teacher, who disappeared in 1990 after he was picked up by Indian security forces, never to return. For years, Mughli lived alone in her large family house deep inside Srinagar’s Habba Kadal where narrow streets snake through a cluster of housing blocks. Old age had turned her nearly deaf but the hope that her son may return saw her spending days at the window, looking out at the door. Today, the rusty chain link that would shut the mite-eaten door of her house is locked.
One morning — Mughli once told to a newspaper correspondent — it was in September 1990 when her son, Nazir Ahmad Teli, a teacher by profession, left for school. She never saw him again — and Mughli became one of the first members of the tragic club of several thousand women whose young sons or husbands have disappeared.
“Maine Nazira, aave kha (My Nazir, have you come), she said and closed her eyes,” said Parveena Ahangar, the President of Association of Parents of Disappeared Persons (APDP). “For the last 19 years, she had been craving to see her son, to know of his fate. She was always full of hope.” Ahangar said.
Mughli’s death was especially tragic for the group. “We feel that we will die one by one, looking for our children,” Parveena said, adding, “Over the years, we had developed such a strong attachment with each other. This bond of mutual pain and hope has turned us into a large family. Now we are losing hope and with her death, one story of pain has come to a sudden end. But it has also left a gaping wound.”
Mougli was laid to rest at her ancestral graveyard at Narwara in Srinagar.
“Medical reason for her death may be renal failure or heart attack but she actually died longing for her only son,” says her nephew Abdul Rashid, at whose house Mougli stayed during past few months.
“I visited her house fortnightly and we used to share our pain. Repeating the same words every time we met, but it really acted as panacea for a while,” shares Fatima of Tankipora, whose son was picked up by the troops from Dalgate in early 90s and is still missing. “I lost my support,” cried Fatima, referring to her friend Mougli. However, Fatima vowed to continue the mission of Mougli. “We will not give up. She left us but instilled new hope as well.”
The APDP, according to its president, will be holding a special program on November 10 as part of their regular meeting at Partap Park Srinagar.
Bound together by mutual pain and a shared tale, the APDP says that at least 10,000 persons have disappeared in Jammu and Kashmir, the majority of them picked up by Indian security forces, during the last 20 years of turmoil. On the 10th and 28th of every month, the APDP meet remembering the disappeared, sharing their stories, helping each other cope and urging the government to take necessary action.
In an interview to an Indian daily ‘The Indian Express’ while she was still able to move around, Mughli — who didn’t remember her age — had said that the shock broke her back. “He was born after my husband divorced me. I had no one. I didn’t marry again and raised him. He was the only reason for my life,” she had said. “He had never stayed away from home — not even for a single night. Each day he would return from school and give me a hug. I am still waiting. I wish to hug him once. If they tell me he is dead, I would hug his grave. I don’t know what happened to him and this pain, this uncertainty is unbearable.”
She then took off her thick glasses and wiped her tears with the corner of her shawl. “Every time I tell this story I feel as if I rind my wounds — as if a sharp knife is dipped in my wound again,” she had said. “These walls are my only companion and they don’t ask anything.” She wailed in murmurs, her words inaudible. Where did you search for him? “I waited and waited for him that evening. When the sun went down and it was dark, I knew something was wrong. He would always come straight home after his work,” she had recalled. “I felt my heart sink and called my neighbours. They came and tried to console me till late in the night. I spent that night sitting at the window looking at the door. He didn’t return.”
Mughli had approached police officers and politicians and even visited every jail in Kashmir hoping to find her son. But nothing helped.
The APDP had helped her file a petition in the court which is still going on. Mughli, meanwhile, had taken refuge in faith and every Thursday, she would visit the shrines in the city, seeking divine help.
Mughli had never opened her son’s room ever since he went missing. She had said that her son comes in her dreams. “He (her son) calls me in the dream. He tells me he is alive,” she had said.
