As a reporter, I’ve lined battle earlier than. I’ve walked the delicate line that divides calm from chaos in several battle zones. However what I witnessed in Rajouri, Jammu and Kashmir, over the previous few days, has stayed with me – not the sound of gunfire, however the silence of an exodus.

These migrant staff instructed me Rajouri’s mornings often echo with the clang of iron rods, the thud of bricks, the banter of individuals constructing houses brick by brick. However this time, the rhythm was damaged. What crammed the air as an alternative was concern, uncooked and heavy.

The Line of Management is all the time tense, however currently, cross-border firing from Pakistan has been relentless – shells piercing the calm of villages in Rajouri and Poonch. These border areas have all the time been on edge, however what I noticed now was completely different.

I noticed individuals working. Quietly. Shortly. With out a plan. Not from their very own houses, however from short-term ones constructed by labour and hope.

At Jawahar Nagar, the place a whole lot of labourers from Bihar and Bengal stay and work, the exodus started at daybreak.

I met Mohammad Intekhab Alam, a mason from Bengal. He walked with a torn bag, dragging his belongings behind him like a shadow. His eyes had been bloodshot, not from the mud however from sleepless nights and panic. “My mother and father hold calling me, crying. Telling me, ‘Simply save your life, son. You possibly can earn later’,” he stated, his throat catching on the phrases.

A number of steps forward, Mohammad Salik cradled his younger daughter. He had packed nothing however his youngster. “What’s going to you do subsequent?” I requested. “We’ve not thought. We simply need to get out,” he replied, his voice breaking. “We solely need to stay.”

That was the phrase I heard again and again again-“We solely need to stay.”

Dilbar Alam, from Kishanganj in Bihar, stood close to a locked store together with his co-workers. “We got here to work… now we’re working for our lives,” he stated, providing a weak smile. He had simply begun settling in-knew the place to get chai (tea), the place the native contractor waited each morning. All that now looks as if one other lifetime. As we speak, he’s unlearning the land.

Kishan, one other employee, hadn’t even determined how he’d depart. “If we get a automobile forward, we’ll take it. In any other case, we’ll stroll,” he stated. “We simply must get out.”

That is the factor about concern. It would not provide you with time to plan. It solely tells you to run.

Mohammad Zahiruddin regarded in direction of the hills, the place smoke from shelling nonetheless lingered. “That is my first time in Kashmir… and the primary time I’ve ever felt so afraid,” he instructed me. “Day-after-day there’s shelling. I simply need to survive.”

I’ve seen and heard a lot throughout my years in reporting. However these voices-shaken, humble, helpless-felt completely different. They did not come right here on the lookout for a struggle. They got here on the lookout for a future.

Now they depart with no cash, no plan-just an awesome will to remain alive.

The administration says it is establishing shelters, patrolling roads, and providing safety. However concern would not watch for reassurance. Worry arrives in the course of the evening with the sound of mortars. It settles deep within the eyes of youngsters who do not perceive why their toys stay unpacked. It rests within the silence of grown males who’ve constructed houses for others, however now have none for themselves.

This is not only a story about ceasefire violations, it is about individuals who helped construct Kashmir’s houses, now disappearing from its panorama, abandoning nothing however an echo of their one shared prayer: “We solely need to stay.”

(Anurag Dwary is a Resident Editor, NDTV)

Disclaimer: These are the private opinions of the creator