This 70-yr-old’s message to the two leaders: help me go home

But today, far away from the TV cameras that shadowed Pakistan President Pervez Musharraf ahead of his meeting with Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, Khan says he saw hope. ‘‘I have heard they will talk about peace. They will open borders. And I hope they will let me go back to my home…All these years, I have lived each day and each night in pain. Now I want an end. I want to die at home.’’

Khan’s story began in April 1947. ‘‘It was spring and I was 12. My teacher Abdul Karim had to visit a village in Kashmir and he took me along. I took leave from my parents, promising that I will be back in a few weeks,’’ he says. ‘‘Then the situation changed overnight. Partition followed and I could never return.’’

Khan vividly remembers how he travelled to Utrasoo. ‘‘We walked through Uri and Varmul (old name of Baramulla) and settled with my teacher at Utrasoo. A few years later when he died, I was left alone and homeless.’’

Initially, Khan lived by working in villagers’ paddy fields and orchards. Akbar Khan, a village elder, took pity on the boy and brought him home. For the last 40 years, he’s been living with Abdul Rashid Bhat, another villager.

‘‘When I had come here, there were no borders (sarhads). My family took me for dead for the first 15 years. Then a villager went to Pakistan and informed them that I was stranded. Since then, they are in constant touch with me through letters. They also call me,’’ says Khan, untying the knot of a piece of cloth in which he has kept the letters.

‘‘Sometimes when he turns sad, he retires to his room and rubs the letters on his eyes and weeps bitterly. It calms him down,’’ says Bhat, who is taking care of Khan. ‘‘When I met him first, he was young . He would work as a labourer and sometimes as watchman in village orchards. Today, he is the head of our family,’’ he says.

Lost for nearly six decades in this village hidden behind apple and walnut orchards, Khan hopes the lonely years may just be over. Since the launch of the Srinagar-Muzaffarabad bus, he has been eyeing, in vain, the prospect of returning to his five brothers, the elder one of whom, he says, is a millionaire. ‘‘My elder brother Fazal Dad Khan runs a big cloth factory in Hazara. All my brothers and uncles live there. We are a big and rich family.’’

As memories flood him, he becomes desperate and restless. ‘‘Please help me return home,’’ he pleads and kneels down to touch this reporter’s feet. ‘‘I want to be with my family and die there. I did not marry because I felt I would go back to my home every morning. I am a beggar here. My life is a waste now. Find someone who will take this old and sick body across.’’

Khan’s neighbour, Hamidullah, a policeman, says he tried to secure a travel permit for the Srinagar-Muzaffarabad bus but was told that only Indian citizens are eligible to board. He recalls that when he explained this to him, Khan became furious. ‘‘He did not talk for a few days. Then he asked me to get him (Khan) arrested by the Anantnag SSP. You are a policeman, why can’t you get me arrested?’’ says Beig.

‘‘If India and Pakistan can exchange war prisoners and fishermen, why can’t it be me? I am not a thief, nor a militant, nor a soldier. I am an old man lost to my dear ones,’’ he says, folding his hands.

‘‘As he is aware of the meeting between Gen Musharraf and Prime Minister Singh, he plans to court arrest. He is eager to get noticed so that he is sent back on a humanitarian basis,’’ says Hamidullah.