The Dying Chinar

Imran speaks passionately about a beautiful living object that is dying right in front of his eyes (and ours)

(Mr. Imran Mohammad Muzaffar, 21, was born in Hajin Sonawari, Bandipora. He completed his high school from the Government Higher Secondary School in Hajin. He has studied Political Science and History, and joined Government Degree College, Baramulla, to study Convergent Journalism. Mr. Muzaffar has participated in one of the workshops of the BBC World Service Trust on Social Affairs Reporting. He has participated in the National Science Drama Contest in New Delhi, and looks forward to pursue post-graduate studies. He writes occasionally to express his hopes and dreams.)

Chinars are Wailing

Chinar, I would lean against, is no more on the ground. Chopped into pieces, coloured black, and alone among the junior ones, as if the eldest member of a family has been killed, my favourite, gigantic, shadowy and best ear-lending chinar in the Naseem Bagh has been ultimately cut down by the brute force in the disguise of development.

I remember my grandparents talking of Naseem Bagh as the most beautiful and peaceful land Kashmir would ever be proud of. I read Aga Shahid’s portrayal of Chinars in his poems. I hear travel agents talk of Naseem Bagh whenever any angrez sahib has to explore the valley. I see Naseem Bagh boyfriend-girlfriend rendezvous. Much water has flown down the Jhelum. But that of Dal Lake, they say, waters never move therein. At a time when the university premises are full of energetic boys and girls seeking for admissions, the Naseem Bagh, on the other hand, is crying and its greatest chinars, under whose shade millions have made their mark, are shrinking. Naseem Bagh, whose backdrop are the greatest Himalayas, seems almost barren now after the monster’s havoc on the chinars and further marking of those chinars who are to be cut in the future course of time. The chinars are marked with black colour so that there is no confusion in cutting the chinars down. I wonder how the uncountable chinars squeeze to some at-sight countable poor creatures, in whose mourning no protests are held and no obituaries published.

The very chinar I would share memories and pastime with is really no more. I could not believe at first but the reality was like that, I jogged through whole of the Naseem Bagh to find the chinar but at the end it was an awful sight watching it chopped down. Such a grand tree, it used to shadow much of the land relaxing students and teachers amid the hustle bustle of day today heavy business. I remember students discussing events with their teachers in the shade of that tree long when the other students had gone back to their hostels and homes.

It was a holy tree for me, for others I don’t know. Lore has it, there used to be uncountable chinars, UNCOUNTABLE, to count and Naseem Bagh would be so dense that it used to filter whole city’s air and Dal lake would be incomplete without these gigantic, beautiful and hapless chinars. I remember in my childhood when we were taken for a picnic; we were shown ‘The Kashmir University’ in general and ‘Naseem Bagh’ in PARTICULAR. Teachers told us that the Bagh is the highest chinar bearing one and not a single Chinar is prone to any disease, cutter and poacher. Now the gates are open, cutters are being sharpened day in and day out in the face of development. Contracts are given and are being challenged to cut maximum in a given time. Naseem Bagh throws a mournful expression.

Chinars are wailing.