Song & Sorrow

A beloved melody survives, even as Kashmir's landscapes and summers vanish before our eyes.

- Mohammad Ilyas Bhat

A few years ago, a man I know, Irshad, an engineer and mostly a rational thinker, walked into a barber's shop for a routine haircut.

That day, feeling unusually bold, he asked the barber to trim his long beard as well. The scissors hovered in the air, frozen in disbelief.

"This beard will take you to heaven," the barber said, his voice calm but unyielding, "and if I cut it, I will go to hell."

Irshad tried to reason with him, speaking of hygiene, personal choice, and free will. His words collided with unwavering conviction and fell unheard. Faith had already claimed the chair, leaving no room for argument.

He paid, thanked the barber for guarding his afterlife, and walked out with his beard untouched, carrying an invisible bruise to his sense of reason.

I remembered that barber as I travelled to Sopore for a funeral, thinking about the strange ways faith and human choice shape our lives.

It was the middle of July, and the heat weighed on my skin, clinging to me as if it would never let go. As I turned toward Narbal, I was hoping for the shade of the trees that had always lined this road. Poplars, willows, mulberries, and chinars used to stand there like silent and sturdy guardians, giving shade and comfort freely, as if the air itself carried their generosity.