Earworm

I listen to stolen seasons raging through my body
I listen to a million sonorous clocks roaring against the hollow of my bones
like a philharmonic of a catastrophe

I listen to 12:55 minutes of accidental recording as I walk across endless swaths of paddy
a quiet congregation of rice saplings bearing a promise [echo]
I listen to the persistent chorus of cicadas
I listen to a convoy of military trucks and jeeps in the distance
I listen to the [wind peaking] on my sound recorder
I listen to [laughter] [rustle] [static] [distortion] [breaths]
I listen to the [squish] [plop] [squelch] as we wade through
I listen to us passing through a barbed wire barrier in the field
“Can you traverse?”

“I will try”
“You may cross first”
[heavy breaths]
[wind peaking]
“Hold me”
“It’s all right”

“Gather up the ends of your garment”
“You got this”
“Easy, easy, bismillah!” [1] [1] Bismillah translates from Arabic as “in the name of God” and is an invocation of a blessing before any act or undertaking.
“You can pass through”
“Yes, there”
“Wait”
“Yes, now, slowly, bismillah”
[wind peaking]

Where am I now?
I listen and I listen hard
to a quiet trace of myself at the threshold of a home
listening to a constellation of voices
“You must stay”
“We shall plant the rest of the saplings tomorrow”

“You must stay” 

“We will walk the meadows”
“Later, you’ll wish you hadn’t left”
“Asalaam u alaykum” [2] [2] Asalaam u alaykum translates from Arabic as “peace be upon you.” It is a greeting—bearing the register of a prayer—among Muslims across the world.
[a child babbling] [laughter]
“Khodays havaal’e, I leave you in God’s care”
[inaudible] [inaudible]
Where am I now?
I listen and I listen hard
as I leave my own trace behind

That night I dreamt of sprawling walnut trees
In the morning, my feet listened to their roots breathing

I listen to stolen seasons raging through my body
I listen to a million sonorous clocks roaring against the hollow of my bones
like a philharmonic of a catastrophe

uproot, verb to pull a plant, including its roots, out of the
ground; remove or destroy completely; eradicate

uproot, verb to remove a person from their home
to displace

WITHOUT ANY FURTHER NOTICE

I listen to the severing of thousands of apple trees
I listen to loud explosions echoing through alpine forests
I listen to ravens howling against the sound of military helicopters and drones, 168 hours,
the forest floor strewn with live grenades and shells
I listen to a thousand forests burning

I listen to clamor of the custodians of ruins:
growth, tourism, defense, connectivity, economic progress, roads, highways, railways,
commerce, infrastructure, mining,
land acquisition, clearance, forest diversion
diversion as in a cataclysm
cataclysm as in moving forward
toward
“unprecedented progress”
“accelerated pace of development”

WHEREAS
THEREFORE
IN VIEW OF THE ABOVE

I listen to stolen seasons raging through my body
I listen to a million sonorous clocks roaring against the hollow of my bones
like a philharmonic of a catastrophe

I listen to the sound of winnowing,
undulations of grains of rice—
bearing a history of
forced labor and surveillance, displacement
and famine, exile and death
I listen to those who came before us [3] [3] The verses and sayings that follow have been part of the region’s performative repertoires, oral history, and traditions for centuries. These bear witness to forced labor, food scarcity, drought, dispossession, and displacement during the Dogra era in Kashmir. The translations are my own.

to their persecution

جمع یامت کوٚر ہے مآلۍ
بدلہٕ منجہکھ  مآلیس شآلی
تِمے کاکد  سوزِکھ  دربارن
یارٕ مجوزٕ  کھوٚت  زمیندارن

یس وژھمژ آس  از غآبی
تس خوشکس لیکھنہٕ آو آبی
تتھۍ آنکار کوٚر سرکارن
یارٕ مُجوذٕ  کھوٚت  زمیندارن
[4] [4] Muzaffar Ahmed Khan, Kashmiri Muslims: A Historical Outline, Volume 2 (Srinagar: Humanizer Publications, 2012).
“When the tax collectors came
They demanded rice in lieu of money
The darbar stamped the written order
My friend, the tiller’s tax only grows

Those damned by fate—
their dry land was declared fit for paddy
The authority stamped this lie
My friend, the tiller’s tax only grows”

to their refusal
as they deserted the fields in protest

تُل پلو  ووتھ  ژلو
[5] [5] Farooq Fayaz, “Political Awakening and Protest as Echoes in Folk Verse (1885-1947),” in Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, vol. 65 (2004).
“Gather your belongings, let’s run away”

to their hunger and whispers
as the tax collectors and revenue officers stood guard in the fields

بتہٕ بتہٕ تہٕ  پیادٕ پتہٕ
[6] [6] Farooq Fayaz, “Political Awakening and Protest as Echoes in Folk Verse (1885-1947)”; Walter R. Lawrence, The Valley of Kashmir.
“Each grain of rice under soldiers’ watch”

to their prayers and persistence

فاقہٕ  لٔگۍ  خلقن صبح تے  شام
دراگن آورآوۍ  شہر  تے  گام
خون آسۍ   ہاران  خاص  تے  عام
دراگن  لآجکھ  موتنۍ  لام
مُلکہِ  کشمیرس  کیا  ؤنِتھ  آو
شیر  سنگھ  دراگہ مۄکل بٔنِتھ  آو
[7] [7] Ghulam Nabi Aatish, Kashir Luk’e Shairi: Vakhnai te Vetshnai (New Delhi: Book Circle, 2007).
“People starve day and night
The drought has devoured the city and villages
The privileged and the deprived cry tears of blood
The drought has people in a deathly bridle
What has befallen the nation of Kashmir
Sher Singh, the drought-demon, has arrived”

to their longing
as they journeyed across to faraway lands
seeking refuge from forced labor, famine, and heavy taxes

کم گندر پنجاب  اندر  کٔشیر  ترن نا
کم گندر سوندر سوندر کٔشیر ترن نا
برٕ گآمٔتۍ پتھر پیٚمامتۍ  کشیر  ترن نا
کم گندر پنجاب اندر ترن نا
[8] [8] Muzaffar Ahmed Khan, Kashmiri Muslims: A Historical Outline, Volume 2 (Srinagar: Humanizer Publications, 2012).
“Such precious blossoms languish in Panjab, if only they could return to Kasheer?
Such radiant blooms, if only they could return to Kasheer?
Withered and forsaken, if only they could return to Kasheer?
Such precious blossoms languish in Panjab, if only they could return to Kasheer?”

I listen to stolen seasons raging through my body
I listen to a million sonorous clocks roaring against the hollow of my bones
like a philharmonic of a catastrophe

On a stairway,
amid remnants of broken things,
I listen to the one whose name means eternal:
“They are the harbingers of insanity
They make us sick
They contaminate our food and water
Do you think they need us, the people?
They don’t.
All they want is our land
Our precious and generous land
Not in our lifetime
but those who will come after us
will see it blossom”

She is on the verge of a song
I listen to her silence
crossing the threshold

I listen to stolen seasons raging through my body
I listen to a million sonorous clocks roaring against the hollow of my bones
like a philharmonic of a catastrophe

I listen to their feet moving rhythmically in the water
as they hold palmfuls of rice shoots entrusting them, one by one, to the earth
and sing:

A bulbul perches upon a branch—
How can it take flight?
There’s a cordon all around

I pause and rewind, over and over,
as I listen to the birds and my own disquiet
I strain my ear to discern each sound
[eurasian collared dove] [house sparrow] [common cuckoo]
[unknown]
[wind howling]

I listen to stolen seasons raging through my body
I listen to a million sonorous clocks roaring against the hollow of my bones
like a philharmonic of a catastrophe

I listen to a congregation of specters, singing,
their feet turned backward
walking
the land
back

unsettling
the settled
I am listening …