Prologue
A child with a lot of dreams is a child with vivid vision. She had understood the reality of many cruelties, and living far beyond her years had created a history that would remain hidden, buried in the silence of her family’s fears.
It was the middle of July when children played in the fields, climbing trees to enjoy nature’s luxuries. It was the time when cherries were finished, and apricots were harvested, shared and eaten with joy. Life showed its blessing to everyone. Summers in Gilgit were joy and beauty, but for some, they were bitter memories.
1999
“It is for our azadi, Bibi Jan, for the people of this land,” Bulbul Baig said, his voice low but resolute. “No bulbul run away. Run away for me and Bashir,” she had urged. But Bulbul knew he could not. He grasped her hand tightly. “If I run away, I betray my land. My land is my life.”
Bulbul turned and walked away as Bibi Jan’s voice called after him, “Your land did no good to you!” She stood there, sobbing for what was to come. Bulbul, the beacon of hope for his people, the one who had always stood tall in their darkest hours, would soon vanish from their lives. Yet, precious few had ever stood by him. Despite the rain, the air felt dry with the weight of that tension.
That same day, Weri brought a glimmer of light into their lives. Bashir held her close, whispering softly, “’Tata pari” as he kissed her forehead, trying to savor a fleeting moment of happiness. Razia watched them from afar. Everyone was happy, but the sadness of their father’s loss loomed over them.
The Gilgit police had taken away Bulbul Baig shortly after Weri was born. A month passed, and he was not returned. Then, on August 29, Bashir was posted to Lahore. “Pack your things, Razia. We’re going to Lahore,” he said quietly, his tone heavy with finality.
Razia, feeding Weri, turned and looked at him. “Are you saying we have to leave? Just me and Weri?” Her voice trembled, disbelief clouding her face. It wasn’t common for men to take their families along.
“Nana too,” he said, his words blunt, as though that should explain everything.
The hardest part was convincing Bibi Jan. But eventually, they left Gilgit. They never returned until they had no choice but to.
