The Valley's Other Sacrifice

As Kashmir marks sacrifice on Eid-ul-Azha, a deeper question stirs: Can we let go of what weighs us down?

- Sahil Swe

The morning begins like a soulful prayer.

You wake up in Srinagar on Eid-ul-Azha. The air is cool, the kind that carries the breath of pine from the Zabarwan hills. It's still early, too early for bustle, but you can already hear the first call to prayer echoing across the lake. Hazratbal to Jama Masjid. A soft chorus drifting across the rooftops like mist.

Children are already up, tugging at shawls and pherans, dressed in earthy new clothes that smell faintly of the cupboard where they were kept for weeks. Mothers in kitchens prepare kehwa, fathers iron collars flat. Outside, the Dal reflects the slow roll of clouds, and the takbir rises, gentle and sure-God is Great. God is Great.

It’s Eid in the Valley. The Festival of Sacrifice.

We know the story. How Prophet Ibrahim was asked to offer up his son. How, just as the knife hovered, God intervened, sparing the boy and sending a ram in his place. A test of faith. A story of submission. Of trust so complete it bends the spine.

And yet, as we head to the mosque—shoulder to shoulder in fields near Baramulla or on the riverbanks of the Jhelum—you can’t help but wonder: What are we really offering today?

We chant God is Great together. People from every corner—Kupwara, Anantnag, Sopore—stand equal, shopkeepers and schoolteachers, students and farmers. There is no hierarchy in this moment. No pride. Just voices, rising in unison. It feels, if you let it, like shedding. Like letting go.