Not brave enough to know by Asif Sultan

   Not brave enough to know

By Asif Sultan Matta

Published in Kashmir Reader: Thu, 15 August 2013 10:51 PM

One day recently, during Ramadhan, I went to an Amira Kadal mosque for afternoon prayers. Stepping out after namaz, I found a long row of beggars near the entrance, asking for alms with loud voices and upraised arms. Beggars being a menace that plague the Valley, particularly during the month of fasting. Among this raucous lot, I spotted a young girl, a teenager, who was silent and motionless, sitting with her head bowed. Her tattered scarf was laid on the road, like a hand stretched in supplication, and there were tears in her eyes. Oblivious to the crowds and the noise of the streets, the girl seemed to be consumed by her agony, her condition, her fate.

What was she thinking? Why was she condemned to this wretchedness?  She did not look like someone who would take to begging out of choice. In terms of the cast of her face, she could easily beat any good-looking teenager riding in cars and shopping in expensive stores. What was her tragic story?   She did not ask anything from anyone. Her sad head on her right hand, she kept eyes glued to her scarf,  the flimsy piece of cloth she had removed from her head and placed on the road - as an indictment for us all.

People thronged out of the mosque. Some tossed a coin at the girl, some threw a rupee. There were many who took out expensive wallets from their pockets and placed five or ten rupee notes on her silent, unwilling and tortured appeal.  What makes you different from me, the girl did not ask. I have as much a right to a life of dignity as you, the girl did not say. I could have been your daughter, your sister whom you would protect with your life. Are you assuaging your conscience, absolving yourself? But the girl said none of this.

She could also have had friends in school with whom she would play, laugh and shout. But here she was, the gates of life shut on her, Forever!

Was it really her own need or it was her job?  Had others forced her into begging? If all of us hundreds of people walking there that day, well-fed, well-protected, and prosperous, wished, could she not live a dignified life?  Like this, how safe was she? I wished she had parents to go home to, even if they were waiting for her collection of alms. I wished she had a home to go to. But did she? Who could say? I dared not ask. I could not shoulder the responsibility of knowing.