Syed Mustafa Ahmad
Budgam district has many serene villages. Hajibagh is one of them. It lies in the neighborhood of the famous the Hindustan Machine Tools or HMT. Thanks to the circumstances that the factory has stopped working and is occupied by the CRPF. Hajibagh got its name after the famous saint, Hazrat Syed Mustafa Rumi (RA). People flock to his grave to pay respect and dwell into the serenity of spirituality. At Hajibagh, people are kind and hard-working. They mostly are labourers. Their ancestors had been doing this job. It has vast agricultural land. But there is no chance of harvesting anything. It is because it often floods. The DoodhGanga stream flows through Hajibagh and reaches the Flood Channel, Narbal.
The famous Karewa of Hanjik, Budgam, which is under the possession of army, used to provide spices, almonds, apricots, plums, etc. Apart from these, animals used to graze there. But thanks to the so-called heads of our village they sold this famous Karewa for nothing in the 1990s. We have not been paid even fair compensation. Keeping all the things in mind, the labourers of today want to teach their children. They don’t want them to become like them. Their fathers were caught in a type of bonded-labor or forced labour. They abhor that very form of labour that ruined their childhood, youth, and adulthood. The bonded-labour or forced labour was in the form of carpet weaving. I am thankful to everyone for destroying this occupation. Carpet weaving didn’t come as a source of happiness and comfort. Instead, it snatched the childhood of many children, who today curse their fate. This is the theme of my article. I will share the common memory of some persons who were interested in learning but were denied this basic right. What forced them to get caught in the web of the bonded-labour?
In the 1980s, at our village, some so-called influential persons brought the trade to the community full of exploitation. Their motives were to provide the livelihood to several children, whose fathers were illiterate. The pioneers of this profession were somehow learned and they took full advantage of their smartness. The fathers of these children were not in a position to know the real motive behind this action; they willingly sent their children to the specific centres for earning. This was not an easy transition for the village that had never seen any enlightenment. But still they went with this. In going to the specific centres, what the reaction was shown by the children, was of utmost importance. In this regard, I will narrate an incident of my close friend, who became the scapegoat of this job cum exploitation.
He was born in a family of landlords. His ancestors had a major influence on the society. They decided the course of action in society. They used to decide the petty issues in the society. Moreover, they were experts in the Islamic teachings. But these attributes didn’t have any effect on him. All the attributes that his ancestors had, went to drain in case of him. He should have been provided with the modern facilities of our times. But this is contrary to the actual reality. At that time, there used to be a primary school, where he used to learn the basics. He would gladly go there and attend the classes. He was happily living the life of freedom from those bonds that almost caught a majority of the innocent children ruthlessly. But this freedom was short-lived. They used to have a blue colour shirt and shorts. In place of the modern bags, they used to have some sort of the handbags.
The schools used to be some muddy crumbling buildings, with rats living beside the students. It still is a tradition in the government schools of our locality that the students go to their homes for lunch. It was also practiced at that time. After attending four or five classes in a row, they used to refresh themselves. They would enjoy this freedom. But this freedom was very short. Suddenly, their fate was sealed forever. They couldn’t breathe in the open air. One day while coming for lunch, he was caught hold by his unlettered father and was forced to take this ordinary uniform for the cursed bonded-labour. My friend tells me every day how difficult moments were at that time when my eyes were brimming with tears and my father was going to sell me for an unknown period. He revolted but his screams fell on the deaf ears. His father, being stone-hearted, didn’t have mercy. He did what he was supposed to do. He sold him for some rupees. He says that his heart longed to take a pencil, a notebook, and a textbook in his hands, whenever the other children used to come back from those schools. We were caged in an open prison.
In those centres, a child was forced to sign the contract for a specific period. They were to remain in the specific centres for more than 9 hours. One can imagine what should have happened to a child of six or seven years. But some hawks were hovering in the air to deface them. If they tried to violate the existing parameters of the heads, their fathers and the children themselves were beaten ruthlessly. Like my friend, many others became the soft target of this. Their innocent childhood was taken for a painful ride.
In short, the cherished childhood was lost. It didn’t only snatch the childhood but also their youth and adulthood. They still curse those heads who made their life hellish. Their hands tell the story. Their faces are evidence of that crime. They fear those days. They can’t forget those days when on the pretext of livelihood, they were sold in reality. For me, if my uniform is deliberately taken off, I will take laws in my hands because it hurts. At that time, people didn’t know the laws and regulations. Hence, they were subjected to the harshest treatment. But today, the situation had changed a lot. Now, the children of our village work hard and participate in different exams.
They want to eradicate the scars of the harshest past. They raise voice against this. They, unlike their fathers, live their own lives. The bonded-labour or forced labour has ended. But my friend and the others have been telling me to highlight this issue so that no one is devoid of his or her childhood. Today, my friend is married and has three children. He works very hard in providing the best education to his children. He is still engaged in this carpet weaving occupation. He has spent 28 years in doing this. But today, he feels a lot of hardships.
This industry is crumbling day by day. Machinery has replaced the hand-weaving carpets. The government also is lenient. He, in a choked voice, says that if fate had chosen us for this work, there should have been some more avenues for us. He adds in a depressing voice that our childhood, youth, and now adulthood have been the target of a single cause, the forced carpet weaving. Now, there should have been some balm on our wounds. As he was telling me, I could see his eyes speaking more than his tongue. His feeble voice forced me to leave that place and in an open playground, I began to look at the Sky and asked their helplessness to myself. I got answers that you are lucky. You are not bound. Their future is dark but yours is?
