I cannot remember the exact year, but sometime in the early eighties, Kashmir witnessed a gruesome murder, something that was unheard of until that day. Not far from my neighbourhood, a woman was killed by her domestic help from Bihar. This woman was from a prominent Kashmiri business family. Her final resting place was enroute my daily ride to school. I even knew where exactly she was buried — right at the edge of the graveyard. Flowers had adorned her grave for many days, so I made a mental mark of that spot. As a habit, I started reading the Fatiha for her as my bus would pass by her gravesite every day. I felt kinship with a woman — a wife, daughter, sister and a mother — that had suffered the worst crime in a petty theft. Back then, it sent shockwaves through the community and started a conversation in Kashmir about risks of hiring helpers from outside Kashmir. My own mother refused hiring non-Kashmiri domestic helps, often citing that she did not want to suffer the fate of the person who was murdered. No one at that time could have imagined that such a dastardly act could ever be carried out by a local Kashmiri. Of course, no one then could also have fathomed the violence and crimes Kashmiris have endured since.
Thirty odd years later, we witness a much more horrific murder of a young woman in Budgam. The brutality of this murder has all the elements of a gory murder mystery, something you only read about or see in films. Though, this time, the crime has been committed by an insider; a local Kashmiri, a neighbour, and a fellow Muslim.
What now?
Amidst the cries of those wailing for the young murdered woman, a soon-to-be bride, Kashmiri women are questioning if anyone is safe in Kashmir anymore? What has brought us to this point in our society? While so far not much is known about the motivations behind this gruesome murder, it is a fact that in recent years, women in Kashmir have been and remain at the receiving end of violence and brutality. What’s worse is that they are often alone in their pain. Sadly, our society even complicates their suffering by blaming them for crimes that are inflicted on them.
As I sit far away from Budgam, and Kashmir, I am wondering how will the people of Kashmir treat the case of this nameless woman? Why the victim of this gruesome crime remains nameless is not quite clear to me. Regardless, will we call out her name and the name of all those who have been violated? Or, will this incident be relegated to the history of forgotten stories? And by forgetting, we surely will normalise an awful crime like this just as we have normalized previous brutal murders of victims of domestic violence.
I have been watching the response so far, particularly in spaces where I hoped the discussion of this awful murder will be front and centre. I have been disappointed as all I see is silence. This silence is especially deeply disturbing in these spaces where Islamic discussions reign, and Quran and Ahadith are shared in abundance. These are spaces virtually inhabited by the ulema who have a wide reach and access to the general populace. Many of these leaders will likely stand on the pulpit on Friday, to sermonize. What will these sermons be about, I wonder? Will the blame for this act be shifted to the woman herself, as has been the case with many other stories of women? Or, will they have the moral courage to stand up, call out the crimes against our sisters and ask for accountability? This accountability is not just asking for retribution of one criminal, it is everyone’s accountability and accountability of those in positions of authority who set the discourse of the society. This accountability must include holding our sons, brothers, and fathers accountable for perpetuating patriarchy and misogyny, for aiding and abetting the crimes by being bystanders when they witness women being violated. It is also a time for women to introspect and ask what role they themselves have played, even if inadvertently, in advancing misogynistic stereotypes. There can be no more excuses or labelling and demeaning of women or of people teaming up on social media to name, shame and vilify women.
We all must ask ourselves what has gone wrong, what is our responsibility, and what should be our collective response?
Concomitantly, we need to ask, what picture of an ideal Muslim woman is being broadcast from the pulpits and other public spaces? Is it the promotion of the docile Muslim woman who is “obedient,” not to God rather to her male human authority figure; one who must dress a certain way and behave a certain way, to gain approval of the society? Or, is it a Muslim woman whose safety regardless of how she appears visibly, or her world view, is protected as an agent of her destiny; a fellow creation of God– that is either our sister, mother, daughter, or wife? What will such self-introspection look like? Or, will there even be self-introspection and examination of our values and behaviours considering a tragedy that confronts us with the reality and extent of rot in our communities?
It feels like the death of Kashmir that I have known.
Let us grieve the suffering of this latest victim, but more so, let us honour her by making sure we do not see any other woman being the next victim. And for that, we need to call her name, and remember.
Views expressed in the article are the author’s own and do not necessarily represent the editorial stance of Kashmir Observer
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