My aunt is seventy years old. She returned from a trip to Kashmir about ten days ago. It was her first time visiting the region. Despite her ailing health, she roamed around almost every corner of Kashmir for nearly a month. As she was narrating her stories upon returning home, I observed how happiness and the true essence of serenity lit up her wrinkled face and eyes while she talked about the 'Paradise on Earth' and its people.
In our country, there are many people around us who do not use smartphones. They do not use social media. They are not keen to squander their time watching news channels on television, either. The morning newspapers are still their most trustworthy access to the news. My aunt is one such person. It was on April 23, a day after the Pahalgam terror attack. She was trembling while holding the newspaper. I saw her eyes. The eyes, which were previously bright with elation, filled with unendurable sadness. I noticed she was staring intently at a photograph. Her eyes were full of tears. She was mumbling, 'Eto boro sorbonaash keno hoye gelo bol toh?' (Why did such a huge disaster happen?)
There is a very popular saying that we all know: 'A picture speaks a thousand words.' What does a picture or a photograph essentially do? It represents a scene. That scene is interwoven with the thoughts of the viewers. Thoughts weave their way across our minds continuously. A recent study suggests that people generally have over 6,000 thoughts in a day. But what if, stuck in one image, our thinking automatically comes to a standstill?
Over the past seven days, the image of a woman, Himanshi Narwal, wearing bridal bangles and locked in silent despair as she sits beside her dead husband, Navy officer Vinay Narwal—murdered in a ghastly terrorist attack on April 22 in Pahalgam—has shaken the country to its core. The picture does speak, indeed. But it does not always tell the entire story. The responsibility lies with the viewers, who have to identify those overlooked aspects within the image. Now, the way we see things is affected by what we know or what we believe. Although the relation between what we see and what we know is never fully resolved. We only see what we look at. To look is an act of choice. As a result of this choice, what is seen is metaphorically brought within our reach.
Each image tells us a particular perspective. How we want to see the different aspects of the image depends on our individual perspectives. Images are, to an enormous extent, more accurate and richer than written words, as no other text in the past can provide firsthand evidence regarding the world that other individuals experienced at other times. The same goes with photographs. It becomes a medium through which the photographers want us to see their interpretation of the visible. That is where the requirement of our approach enters. When we 'see' a landscape, we subconsciously situate ourselves in it. It also allows us to go back and recreate other landscapes within that we are not perceiving. Likewise, as we keep looking at that one picture of Pahalgam, several situations start arising in our minds.
We recall having seen three-year-old Aylan Kurdi deceased on a Turkish beach, which jolted the world. We recall the grisly war between Israel and Palestine in Gaza. We recall the devastation, the terror, and the loss that the population has been burdened with, enduring perpetual suffering. We recall Ukraine. Others may go back to recalling memories of brutality in Hitler's notorious Auschwitz.
At this point, it suddenly becomes apparent that what lies before us is not merely a picture but a portrait. The truth of that portrait lies in the heart of eternity, which shows a disturbing illustration of human suffering that spans across different times and places.
We are affected by the charm of nature diversely and sometimes in the ways we least anticipate. It forms its thought in a realm detached from concrete reality. Without characters, without situations. The fascinating aspect of nature's magnificence is that it consistently allows you to immerse yourself deeply through your reasoning mind and creative imagination. Although I have never been to' Pahalgam' (which in Kashmiri signifies 'village of shepherds'), if I close my eyes and start dreaming about the place, I feel that I would never regret it if the rest of the world disappeared from my eyes forever! The same might be the case with almost every citizen of this country! No matter how many times we go there or even if we never do, a portion of the valley still remains within. Such is the influence Kashmir has on us.
Let us return to the image where it all began. The image that depicts the true form of the vast emptiness of life. Grief comes to us naturally. We grieve because we feel connected. We grieve because we have been loved. And because, in grieving, we find a way to honor what once made life whole. As we continue to look, it becomes clearer that the image is uncovering more than despair at the loss. It holds the raw truth of humanity, along with the profound portrayal of empathy and love.
This single photograph creates a faint, sacred space. That space is precisely unmarred by the violence, hatred, ethnic venom, and political cruelty of our mundane existence. And, in that very moment, it appears to embody the unfathomable depths of pain of the whole nation. We may have the luxury of distance from Kashmir. We may have the luxury of distance from this image as well. Yet, the greenness of that grief covers us fully. In that utter silence, we are all revealed.
Seven days have passed since the attack. More afternoons, more nights, more evenings— perhaps for another seven lives, this image may still be recognizable in our minds. We will remember, we will remember in countless repetitions, the sight that surfaced at nearly 2,800 meters above sea level, which silently reminded us once again how sorrow stands like a rock in the midst of various disputes. It reminded us how love keeps watch beside envy and hatred. All these emotions were packed in that single image (that effectively captured the wounded hearts of the valley of pristine whiteness). A single image that, despite being just a 'picture,' appeared to completely disregard the common saying that 'a picture speaks a thousand words' and, on that day, in fact 'could not speak.'
