by Shahzadi Bisma Shaheen

It was a January morning of Kashmir valley, the melodious voice of Raj Begum coming from the radio broke my hibernation. Accompanied by the smell of tandoori loaves and shahi kehwa no longer let the continuation of my second sleep.

Before my hands reached the blazing kangri, I opened the window to probe outdoors. All I could see was milky landscape, every inch shrouded with snow. Our snowman had turned amorphous of obesity.

Tempted environment at home and resistive outside weren’t enough to calm my keen spirit. I had to hunt the bibliosmia, the woody, earthy, and more of old aroma— the scent of my dreamland in the archaic library and bouquiniste, between the rusty pages of an old book.

I wasn’t willing to wait for the end of either of the curfews, —- natural and man-made.

District library was four kilometers from my home, from where I was to get a plethora of books and that too for free. But there were chunks of excuses revolving in my mind. The biggest among them was long distance.

All I did was rush towards the nearest bouquiniste, a few lanes from my house. As soon as I reached, my hawkeye saw a huge lock, as huge as my demand. The icy lock was glued with the door handle, I took it as a jibe for me. I appeared too close and began to pull it merely to check that was it really locked. Soon the mammoth lock dropped on my frozen brain, but certainly in imagination which made me realize my doing.

Now one more shop was left, two kilometers from this keen being amid Antarctica. I had to rush towards only saviour. I was completely frozen, snow and I equated each other. Sometimes that fiery kangri, sometimes the bouquiniste was blackmailing my eyes for rain.

I reached after an hour, that shop was also closed. I was frozen, this frozen feature let me wait for one more hour until the shopkeeper appeared. I was newly born not for my demand was going to be fulfilled, but seeing the kangri under shopkeeper’s pheran. My first demand was kangri and my second demand was, which made me a sufferer.

It seemed all my dreams came true with a single shot, as I entered the shop. All the books turned lively, as to welcome a warrior.

All of a sudden, enviousness emerged, as why this shopkeeper why not me? I want this whole shop. I stood like a rock, saturated in my own world of imagination where I was the owner of that bouquiniste. Then only I answered when he repeated the third time.

My pocket limited me to only three books.

On the way back with the three comrades, I was fuelled. I flew and flew until my hands landed on the blazing kangri that I had ignored before.

About the Author:

Shahzadi Bisma Shaheen is a student at the University of Delhi. She lives in Kulgam district of Jammu & Kashmir.