WRITER: NADIA BALOCH
Dear Jasu,
Oh dear Jasu, oh, my beloved brother, where have you gone? Dear Jasu, I wanted to cry, to cry terribly for losing you so soon. I wanted to scream and tell the world that you left in your very youth. Jasu, the day I heard you had left for the mountains, I thought you had made an insane decision. I complained to everyone who told me you had left. I told them, “He is younger than me. How can he manage to survive hunger and thirst? How can he survive all the sleepless nights? How can he bear the harsh commands of comrades? How can his delicate shoulders carry the weight of rifles? Above all, how can he make such an immense decision?”
I wondered all day. I marvelled at your bravery. I told people I was not delighted by your decision, but deep down I was glad you had left for the mountains, because I know life here is harsher than life in the mountains.
Jasu! Among the stones of the mountains, through the hottest days of May, June and July, how hard it must be for the Sarmachars to quench their thirst for water.
Jasu! The day you wandered in search of a single drop of water, I was sleeping in the cold comfort of my room, surrounded by all the necessities of life. How can anyone overlook the sacrifices Sarmachars have made to change the history of Balochistan, to make it a free land for the Baloch?
I apologise, Jasu. I apologise for ever doubting your choice. Jasu, you were younger than me in age, but you were more mature in conscience than me. We both grew up in the same alleys, walked on the same streets, visited the same bazaar, noticed the same graveyard, had picnics in the same mountains and lived the same miserable life in Mand. But you could decide what to do to express your patriotism and I could never decide what to do. I could never decide where to leave for, or what to do to make life easier. I have always remained unworthy of deciding what I truly want. While reading hundreds of books and interpreting the theories of different sociologists and philosophers, I could never make space to sort out what I truly yearn for but you made that decision before I could even imagine it.
You could decide what you truly wanted. Now, as I write to you, the book by Maxim Gorky lies open before my eyes. I have almost read three hundred pages of it, knowing the struggle of the working class and the humiliation of their lives, yet I remained incapable of truly feeling the tragedy my people have endured for decades. All my knowledge is in vain if I cannot decide what I truly have to do.
I grieve. I know what compelled you to leave for the mountains: the wretchedness of the mournful mothers of Balochistan, the deprivation of a well-settled life for Baloch youth, and the miserable life of your mother, Shahnaaz. She lived a life filled with lamentations and unforgivable suffering. I have always come across the sorrowful stories of your mother. People often shared how she managed to raise her children while your father kept spending his money only on drugs.
You know, Jasu, life in slavery is like life in a graveyard. The only difference is that the dead are unconscious, while the living remain aware that they still have desires and needs. Despite everything, your mother kept herself strong and managed to feed her children and unfortunately, you grew up in that state of life where everything was filled with chaos and you had to choose resistance over comfort.
You must have thought, “It is not only me living in this condition there must be thousands of other houses facing the same trauma.” It was what compelled you to walk this path. Jasu, how star-crossed sons are we of Balochistan, to keep living in this blood-shedding land. How hard it is to keep pushing life when it seems frozen in time. It keeps burdening us, it keeps humiliating us, it keeps shattering us in ways we have never imagined. Jasu, it has only been two months since you left for the greatest cause, for the mountains and before it got too late, you embraced martyrdom.
Jasu, I am left here alone in the darkness of my kootee (room). I want to go and console your mother. I want to give a warm kiss on her forehead for giving birth to a brave son like you. I want to look into the eyes of your elder brother and tell him to remain strong, but I don’t know how I will look into his eyes when we only ever see each other while making fun of something. We only laughed at useless things but now things have altered. We have to mourn when we see each other. You left all the anguish on your elder brother’s chest. How will he heal your mother alone?
May the motherland embrace your soul. May your laughter echo in the graveyard. May you feel the coldness of the soil in your chest.
