The Cruel Wisdom of Some Kashmiri Mothers

Torn by separation and silence, a father stands in the rain, reaching for the love of his children shaped by absence and influence.

- Syed Majid Gilani

It was the stillness of the night, a time when the world lay in deep sleep, but Junaid's heart remained awake. Suddenly, he woke up, tears streaming down his face. He had seen a dream, a dream so painful that it broke the fragile peace of his heart.

In that dream, he saw his three kids, his life, his happiness, his reason for breathing. They came running to him, arms wide open, calling out, "Papa! Papa!" He held them tightly, kissed their little faces, and felt their tiny hands holding his. But before he could say a word, a dark shadow appeared and dragged them away. He cried out, begged them not to go. Their innocent eyes filled with tears, their mouths opened to call him again...but no voice came out.

Junaid woke up, his face wet with tears. The pain of their absence felt like a sharp wound to his heart. This wasn't an ordinary separation, it was cruel and planned. His wife, Falak, had created a wall between him and his children.

Sleep left him. He sat on the bed, holding their pictures close, remembering every word they had spoken, every hug, every laugh. In that silent moment of grief, he made a decision. He had to see them. Even if only from a distance.

In the morning, without telling anyone, Junaid left his home. His heart was set on one thing, he would go and wait outside their school.