A Missing Mother’s Anguishes
Shaad Baloch
The Balochistan Post
My son is just 16 years old. He is fond of playing football and wanted to be a good player. He was a regular reader of books and sometimes he wanted to study the books which have a glimpse on Balochistan, its history, geographical significance and strategic value.
Here I want to share my story of being a victim of illegitimate enforced disappearance. My son was abducted at the midnight at a hostel in Quetta since that there is no clue where he is and what could be his condition?
My beloved son’s name is Ghulam Jan but he wanted to change it, he always told us to call him Bergeer. Today it has been almost 3 years, I am waiting to see him back. Before going to Quetta to get education, I was not in favour of sending him far away but his brothers wanted to see him as an educated member of the society. After many argumentative discussions U agreed with them. But my refusal in reality was because of a very frustrating reason, how could I allow them comprehend what I thought exactly.
It has been one of the issues for all the mothers from Balochistan while sending their beloved sons to cosmopolitan cities for studying. The educational institutions have been one of the main places where students are whisked away, the hostels are even more dangerous places to be enforcedly disappeared.
Look at the shivering condition of a neighbour of us, BiBi Khatoon whose son was studying at Quetta and probably at the concluding session of his student career. I remember that occasion when her son came for winter holidays, she was so much glad and was trying to arrange his engagement ceremony. She was hoping a better and enlightened future for him and wanted him to get married because he was the youngest and only beloved brother of 6 sisters.
She was thinking this time to finally get him become a responsible person as his father was in almost 60s, so he was the only person to take care of his father’s business.
But all what happened to her, were surely painful which no one except a mother can feel how terrible the days of waiting are.
Her son has been enforcedly abducted while he was travelling home. The personnel in plain clothes dragged him away from the car on the way. Today it has been almost 9 years he is still missing and there is no information about his whereabouts. But his mother still awaits to see him again get him married. The family has knocked every door of human rights defending groups and his father on this fatigued journey got disappointed and eventually lost his life due to a heart attack
The six sisters along with their mother dream as usual on every night to have the missing brother and son back but all in vain as there is no evidence whether he is still alive or not. In the dungeon where he may be tolerating the tortures, how depressing and agonising the experience would be.
Today I just think optimistically because without hope we all families have no other option but it also keeps us worried that their fates are in sever concerns as this state has crossed all the limits to violate the rights, it has suppressed and subjugated the voice of people just to have a firm hold on its imperialistic policies of keeping Balochistan an abattoir.
I wait today for my son. I weep at the midnights alone and try to be steadfast but every time when I hear about recovery of a dead body I think of my son.
The face of my missing son is in the form of Zakir Jan, Zahid Kurd, Sammi Baloch, Dr Deen Mohammad Baloch, Ramzan Baloch, Shabir Baloch, Sanaullah Baloch and many more.
Anguishes of their families are same to mine so i now have comprehension of all. I am not alone today, we all families of missing persons have same sorts of stories and our hope doesn’t depend upon the cruel and we surely don’t request it to release our beloved ones. We know better this cruel state does not feel the circumstances of victims and it has planned to kill every Baloch who have a slight sense of judging the pains and injuries of others.
We pass the days by just having the recollections of our beloved ones.