Caution: Read only if you have taste for Satire and Humor. "Every Kashmiri Muslim Is a Reminder of a Kashmiri Pandit Who Was Erased." You are not just people. You are the monuments of mutilation, the architecture of amnesia. Each Kashmiri Muslim face is a sepia-stained photograph, faded by forced conversions, rapes, beheadings, and exoduses. You are not the natives of Kashmir. You are the survivors of a sword, not saviors of the soil. Your ancestors were not believers by conviction — They were believers by coercion. You do not inherit Kashmir. You inherit the guilt of genocide. When the Kabailis Came, They Didn’t Bring Islam — They Brought Hell. Let’s start at October 1947 — Just after Independence, when Pakistan unleashed its tribal hounds, the Kabailis, upon Kashmir. These were no freedom fighters. They were rapists, looters, flesh-hunters, shouting “Nara-e-Takbeer” as they dragged Hindu and Muslim girls alike into trucks. They butchered men like cattle. They raped nuns at the Baramulla Convent. They burnt shops, pillaged towns, and rained Allah-u-Akbar over screams. It wasn’t the Valley’s resistance that stopped them. It wasn’t the mosques or the men in skullcaps. It was the Indian Army, airlifted by a secular Hindu nation, that saved Kashmir from becoming Kandahar. Kashmiris didn’t defend Kashmir. India did. You watched. We bled. And now you dare to lecture us on freedom, secularism, and oppression? Victims? You Were Bystanders at Best. Collaborators at Worst. When the Pandits were being hacked, burnt, exiled, what were you doing? Watching. Celebrating. Whispering “Raliv, Galiv, ya Chaliv.” The night of 19 January 1990 — Kashmir’s own Kristallnacht — Mosques didn’t cry for peace. They barked orders: “Leave your women. Leave your homes. Leave your gods.” “Convert or Die.” “We want Kashmir with Muslim men and Hindu women.” That night, Kashmir didn’t lose its soul. It sold it. You walked into Pandit homes the next morning. Tried on their pherans. Cooked in their kitchens. Slept on their beds. Wore their stolen gold at weddings. And now you dare to act wounded? Don’t Preach Victimhood While Sitting on a Throne of Stolen Shivlings. Let’s talk about what you erased: 1. Abhinavagupta, the greatest exponent of Kashmir Shaivism. 2. Kalhana, who documented dynasties in the Rājataraṅgiṇī — not for conquest, but continuity. Utpaladeva, Vasugupta, Kṣemarāja — sages who gave India metaphysics while Europe was in mud huts. 3. The Martand Sun Temple, now called “Shaitaan ki Gufa” by Muslims — yes, the same temple whose shadows taught Surya Siddhanta, geometry, and astronomy. And what did you replace this with? Graveyards. Terror camps. Kalashnikovs. And the sound of the stone hitting the soldier instead of the bell hitting the mandir. You say your boys throw stones out of frustration? We threw ashes. Of our dead. A Kashmiri Muslim Is the Inheritance of a Civilizational Defeat. Let’s be clear: a) You are the end product of 700 years of demographic engineering, not a people persecuted. b) Islam didn’t “arrive” in Kashmir — it erased, raped, bribed, and bulldozed its way in. c) Sikandar Butshikan? He didn’t bring Islam. He brought genocide. He burned Sharada Peeth’s texts, smashed lingams, turned temples into cattle barns. d) More than 1,000 temples destroyed (Rājataraṅgiṇī). Over 30,000 Brahmins fled or were butchered in just one reign (Sufi, 1949). e) Religious taxes, forced Nikkah, beheadings — all sanctioned by the Sultanate. And from that inferno, emerged the “Kashmiri Muslim.” You Are Not a Community — You Are a Consequence. Every single Kashmiri Muslim is descended from a Kashmiri Hindu who either bent the neck or lost the head. So don’t preach coexistence now. You coexisted only after converting us. You shout of “right to self-determination”? What self? What determination? You determined your fate in 1990 when you held the gun. Now you don’t get to cry when we hold the pen. You Say You Lost 20,000 Muslims? We Lost an Entire Civilization. A few dead in crossfire? Tragic. But not injustice. You sided with jihad. You chanted with JKLF. You sheltered Hizbul. You wove Pakistani flags on your shoulders while claiming Indian subsidies. You don’t get to adopt the terrorist and then claim his bullet missed you. The Indian Army didn’t come to colonize. It came to stop the daughters of Kashmir being given for pleasure Mujahedeens. It came to protect your land when Pakistan treated it like meat. But now that the beast has turned on you, you ask for pity? You raised the snake. Now don’t cry when it coils around your throat. You Can’t Be Victim and Villain at the Same Time. Kashmiri Muslims today are not victims of history. They are history’s most successful crime scene. You wiped out your original identity. Now you want to be pitied for having none? Let me ask you: If 4 lakh Pandits had not been driven out, Would you have stood up for them? Would you have stopped the rapes, the fire, the exodus? If the answer is no (most likely to answer is "no" given what you post)— Then shut your mouth, fold your flag, And live with the silence you gifted us. But here’s a plot twist: We can always choose to come home. Yes, we can. But here’s the catch: it’s not a fairy tale. No magic carpets, no flying horses — just plain, unvarnished truth. And that truth is that peace doesn’t come with a free pass. You can’t walk through life with a "Kashmir Victim" badge, still carrying the weight of centuries-old grudges, while waiting for peace to fall into your lap like a golden apple from a tree. No, my friend. Peace takes a hell of a lot more than sitting in your minaret and praying for miracles. It demands something else — movement. Action. A game-changing step that says, “I’m ready to heal.” Ready to erase the hatred, the disgust, the centuries of venom dripping from your lips every time you mention the word Kafir. That, my friend, is the first step toward coming home. And here’s the bombshell: The moment you let go of that medieval, rotting hatred is the moment you unlock a whole new world — a world where peace doesn’t just happen; it explodes around you like fireworks in the night sky. But you won’t see that until you make that move. Forget about waiting for peace to show up on your doorstep like a delivery package. You have to go out there and claim it. Grab it by the throat and say, “I’m ready to embrace it, flaws and all.” Now, about that book you’re holding so tightly — the one that’s got you believing your great-grandfathers (and those who converted them) were saints and the rest of the world were demons. You might have to put it down for a second. You might have to deviate. Oh, I know, the idea sends shivers down your spine. But think of it as the only shortcut through the storm. Because here’s the secret that you would hate to hear: Peace doesn’t require purity — it requires the courage to step off the well-worn path and wander into the unknown. And sometimes, the unknown means loving the Kafir. That’s right. The same Kafir you’ve spent centuries fearing and loathing. Don’t think about it as betraying your book. Think of it as writing your own chapter — one where your ancestors’ mistakes aren’t your chains, but your fuel. Let go of the past’s hatred, and you’ll find a future that burns brighter than any old ideology ever could. The world can’t thrive in peace where there are two kinds of people: the inclusionists and the exclusionists. It’s like mixing oil and water — the two will never blend. So, you have a choice to make erase the exclusionists or force them to stop being exclusionists. There’s no in-between. And here’s where the thrill kicks in. Peace isn’t some calm, Zen-like place where everyone sits cross-legged and hums kumbaya. No, peace is the ultimate adventure, a battlefield where you choose to confront your own deepest fears and accept the most uncomfortable truths. It’s not about running away from your past. It’s about running toward a future where, yes, the Kafir might just become your ally. And trust me, when you make that leap, when you take that first step into the unknown, the world will seem like a whole new playground. And you’ll be alive in ways you never imagined. So here’s the final move: erasing the hate won’t be easy. It’s a fight, a battle, a war against everything you’ve ever been told. But trust me, the rewards are worth it. The rush of freedom, the exhilaration of a world that finally opens up to you — it’s the kind of high that no book, no ideology, and certainly no hatred can match. And if you’re wondering whether it’s worth it — to step into the light, to break free from the chains of history and hatred — well, let me tell you something: peace, my friend, is the biggest, most electrifying game of all. And it starts with you making the move. Yes — I’ll grant you; some words here may burn a little. A few metaphors might leave a scar. But let’s be honest: no sentence in this post is half as cruel as the blood-lettered slogan that rang through the icy January of 1990 — “Rālīw, Gālīw, Chālīw” — Convert. Die. Or Flee. That wasn’t rhetoric. That was a death warrant sung from rooftops. A jihadi lullaby set to the rhythm of burning homes and desecrated shrines. A mantra of madness, not muktī. So if these lines feel sharp — good. They should. Because truth is not meant to be sugarcoated when spoken from a place still warm with exile. And understand this — Those who once betrayed their own Devatā, who spat on the Shivalinga and danced around its embers with glee, cannot be expected to be embraced like long-lost brothers. You don’t erase that kind of desecration with press statements or peace conferences. Trust, once shattered at the altar of genocide, doesn’t come back wrapped in tricolor. It doesn't arrive with promises. It must be earned, clawed back inch by inch — and that too, only if the hate that once fueled the exodus is buried with finality. Because let me be brutal in clarity: When you betray your gods, don’t expect your victims to call you ally. Not until your soul bleeds repentance deeper than the blood that once soaked our soil. But here you are — perched on your digital pulpit, sermonizing morality, posting lectures of peace barely a decade after Hindu blood soaked the snows of Kashmir — not for wealth, not for power, but simply for daring to exist as Hindus. And yes, I know — Adil lost his life. And others too, brave Muslims, who tried to shield their Kafir Neighbours from the wrath of the mob. Noble souls, no doubt. But let’s not pretend the cost of such courage is unknown. Because the truth is brutal: Had Adil not dared to protect a Kafir, he might still be alive. Because to protect a Kafir, in some quarters, is to commit Kufr. Ask the ghost of Dārā Shikōh — the prince who tried to build bridges, only to find his head served on a platter by his own brother, because he dared to read the Upanishads instead of just condemning them. History has punished every Muslim who dared to love a Hindu, who chose friendship over fanaticism, who saw a Pandit not as prey but as a fellow pilgrim. And that punishment didn’t come from Hindus. It came from within your own fortress of faith. So don’t give me sermons. Don’t recite peace when the cost of it, even today, is paid in the currency of betrayal — betrayal by your own, for daring to shake the hand of a Kafir. If your house still punishes its own sons for embracing mine, then forgive me for not rushing to decorate your doorstep with flowers. Peace is possible — yes. But first, tear down the gallows you built for your own Dārā Shikōhs. Only then will we believe your olive branch isn’t hiding a blade. Then we have a question too, was one Muslim who chose to save a Hindu, Muslim enough...? Some references for above rant: Kalhaṇa. Rājataraṅgiṇī: A Chronicle of the Kings of Kashmir, trans. M.A. Stein. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1900. Sufi, G.M.D. Kashir: Being a History of Kashmir from the Earliest Times to Our Own. Lahore: Ranjit Press, 1949. Schofield, Victoria. Kashmir in Conflict: India, Pakistan and the Unending War. London: I.B. Tauris, 2000. Kaul, J.L. Lalla Vakyani: Mystic Verses of Lalleshwari. Srinagar: J&K Academy, 1973. Rai, Mridu. Hindu Rulers, Muslim Subjects: Islam, Rights, and the History of Kashmir. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004. Kak, Subhash. The Astronomical Code of the Ṛgveda. New Delhi: Aditya Prakashan, 2000.

Hafiz Lateef

@hafiz_bhat1

May 01

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