BASHIR DADA: THE CAGE : (Translated from the Kashmiri “Thyup”) PROFESSOR MUHAMMAD ASLAM

BASHIR DADA: THE CAGE 

(Translated from the Kashmiri “Thyup”)

PROFESSOR MUHAMMAD ASLAM 

BOOKS lay scattered across the room. Elegantly dressed from head to toe, Zainab stood before the calendar hanging on the wall. She turned its pages, highlighting the date with her finger, and read aloud:

“Friday, 23 May 2008.”

She turned toward the cage suspended by the window. Speaking softly to the parrot inside, she said,

“You are my soul, and I am your cage. You know how important this day is. If my heavenly grandmother had been alive, she too would have been restless. She would have sung me lullabies and told me my story.”

They say that when I was born, my mother wailed. My father was delivering the Friday sermon at the time. When he returned home, he smashed things in a rage and snarled at my mother, saying,

“You’ve brought nothing but misfortune from the very beginning.” 

They say that had my mother not endured it, the marriage would have ended in divorce.

Living under constant threats rendered her voiceless.

They say that when I was born, the entire house fell into mourning. I remained nameless for a long time.

“This is blasphemous,” my grandmother cried. “The Mighty Throne itself must be trembling. Name the child.”

She named me Zainab.

From the moment I understood the world, I have never gathered the courage to ask my father why my presence vexed him. Why did everything I did—my education, my posture, my silence—appear to him sinful? Even today, I don’t know what my crime was. Like my mother, I’ve learned to bear everything.

Fear had clung to Zainab since childhood. Her younger sister, Shagufta, was the opposite. Bold and hot-tempered, she talked back, dressed as she liked, and lived on her own terms. Everyone feared Shagufta. Zainab feared everyone.

One morning, while she was absorbed in a book, Zainab was startled by the parrot’s sharp cry. Shagufta was standing in the doorway.

“Zain Di, don’t you want tea? I’ll be late for college. Come sit with the family.”

“I wish I could sit with Father the way you do,” Zainab murmured, “but—”

“But you’re afraid,” Shagufta cut in. “Anyway, I have something important to tell you.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Father has been looking for a match for you for years.”

At the parrot’s sharp cry, Zainab froze.

“Many proposals came,” Shagufta continued, “but Father approved one. Mother and I both liked it.”

“I am a burden,” Zainab whispered. “Who dreams here except you?”

“Your dream matters to me more than mine. You’ll do your MPhil. Gulfam won’t object. Father is serious about this relationship.”

Shagufta left. The parrot fell silent. Zainab lowered her head.

The boy’s name was Gulfam. He was handsome, a government employee from a well-off family. He had seen Zainab at the university and liked her instantly.

Zainab felt like a puppet—pulled by invisible strings. She barely knew how she reached the cafeteria, clinging to Shagufta as if she might fall into a well if she let go.

For Zainab, it felt like Judgment Day when her parents sat facing her—with Gulfam between them.

“Gulfam Sahib,” her father said, “say something.”

Zainab shivered. She clung to Shagufta. 

“My Lord blessed me with two daughters,” her father continued. “Praise be to Him.”

Gulfam spoke softly. “God has given me everything—position, respect. I lost my parents early. Whatever your conditions, I accept. I have only one.”

Silence fell.

“The nikah should be simple—according to Shariah, as the Prophet performed his daughter Fatima’s nikah.”

“Praise be to God!” her father exclaimed.

***

THE nikah was performed quietly. The departure (rukhsati) did not take place that day. Zainab sat in her room, gazing at the parrot. The parrot went on squawking. 

“You are my soul, and I am your silent cage. You can cry out. My tongue was cut long ago.”

***

AFTER the nikah, Zainab returned to university. In the library, Jabbar Terror came there looking for her. 

“Madam Zainab,” he sneered, “shake hands with me.”

She gathered her papers to leave. He snatched them.

“You haven’t researched me. Ask anybody who the senior research scholar, Jabbar alias Terrar [as is given in the text] is.”

Zainab silently entered the librarian’s office. Jabbar followed.

“Madam Librarian. Give my introduction to Madam Zainab.”

Jabbar put the papers on the table and left. Madam handed Zainab a glass of water. 

“Madam, he’s been harassing me,” Zainab whispered.

“Get your father and brother along some day. I will tell them what to do,” the librarian said.

“Madam, I don’t have any brothers. My father doesn’t like my studying. They will tell me to stay at home, no need to study.”

“We have this problem. This Jabbar Terror has gunmen behind him. He was arrested once. After his release, he was allowed to do an MA at this University. Now he is the most senior research scholar here.”

“Who would say anything to him?” Zainab laughed bitterly. “Take him as the Vice Chancellor. Some HoDs out of fear and some on their own will…”

Zainab finished the glass of water in one go. 

***

Zainab was lamenting in front of the cage in the room.

“You are my soul, and I am your cage. Give me a solution. I think my dream may not be fulfilled. I can’t fight this battle all alone.”

Shagufta was standing at the door with a cup of tea. 

“Zain Di, take this tea. You aren’t alone now. God has sent you strong support. It has been decided to arrange your rukhsati early. Then, you won’t feel lonely. 

Shagufta left laughing. Zainab went on calling her. At last, Zainab turned towards the cage, and the parrot went on squawking in a trance. 

***

THERE was no choral song, no noise at all. Zainab, the bride, stepped out of her home. For the first time, she felt how a loving hand on the head can steady a girl’s heart when she saw her father standing at the door, his hand resting on her head, his eyes fixed on her.

For the first time, Zainab embraced her father. He then moved to a corner, covered his face with his hands, and wept quietly. Zainab, however, seemed to have turned to stone—there was no joy on her face, no visible pain at leaving her home, and no tears in her eyes.

***

IN her new home, Zainab felt as if her supplications had been answered when she saw her bridegroom, Gulfam, trying to find an appropriate place in his elegant bedroom for a cage. He hung the cage and began to feed the parrot. 

“Zainab Jee, both of us are now life partners to each other. Your dream is more important than my life. Nobody would stop you from studying. Study as much as you want. Servants would be at your beck and call. 

***

ZAINAB rode to the university in a magnificent car. Her face shone with confidence and quiet satisfaction. She felt a pleasant spring in the air all around her. Yet a few dark clouds were already gathering ahead.

***

ONE day, Zainab was preparing Synopsic [as in the original] in her new home. The parrot was squawking in its cage. The mobile rang: 

“Oh, an unknown number…?”

The phone was ringing repeatedly. At last, Zainab picked up the phone. 

“Hello, assalamu-alykum. Who’s there? Hello, hello, hello.”

ZAINAB got worried about whose number it was. That day, Gulfam was also late. He returned at about midnight. Zainab felt as if Gulfam wasn’t in his right senses. She showed her mobile to Gulfam. 

“Some unknown person has been repeatedly calling.”

“Zainab Jee, it was me calling you.”

“But why were you calling from an unknown number?”

“No, my boss, Azam Khan, isn’t a stranger. He is my godfather.”

“Wow! Gulfam Sahib. Now my number is with your boss, with your godfather. Do you feel that you shouldn’t have….”

“No, no. I shouldn’t have called you from my boss, Azam Khan’s phone. I had no balance left. Sorry, anyway.” 

***

ZAINAB remained under a strange mental stress for quite a long time. One day, she was reading in the university library. However, she was unable to concentrate. Her concentration was further disturbed when she overheard Jabbar Terror. 

“Madam, Zainab Jee! What have you decided? Will you not shake hands with me?”

Zainab stood up. 

“Madam Zainab. Your modesty and veil stop me. But it is too much now. Will you shake hands with me? Otherwise, think. Your viva is shortly. That day, whatever I like will happen. It is a matter of win or lose.”

Zainab collected the papers and started moving. 

“Research Scholar, Madam Zainab. I’ve thoroughly researched you. Your so-called husband, handsome Gulfam, is a moneyed person. But you should have made a thorough investigation. How can a Class IV employee sit in the chair of a Section Officer? How could he have access to big B’s? How many marriages did Gulfam Sahib secretly have, and how many obtained divorces after knowing his reality? He presents his wives to officers and officers’ officers.”

Zainab left the university gate and tried to stop an autorickshaw. Jabbar was following her. An auto stopped, and Zainab started boarding it.

“Whosoever declined my cage, that bird remained cut off for ages. Decide before the viva.”

Zainab boarded the auto. 

****

ZAINAB was taking out all her ornaments and putting them on the shelf  when the doorbell rang. Zainab opened the door. 

“Assalamu-alykum, Mrs Gulfam. Gulfam must have introduced me to you.” 

“Gulfam Sahib hasn’t returned yet.”

“That means I haven’t been introduced to you. My name is Azam Khan.”

“Gulfam Sahib isn’t at home.”

Zainab started closing the door.

“Tell Gulfam Sahib that the veranda and its stepping stone are a mismatch.  

Zainab closed the door. The phone rang. 

“Hello, Gulfam Sahib. Your godfather has come. My truth won’t sell in your market. Nobody would believe my truth, nor can I shout to gather people,” she whispered to Gulfam. “I will leave. Decide and divorce me quietly.”

***

SHAGUFTA moved a step forward and hatefully looked at Zainab. A suitcase in one hand and the parrot in another, Zainab listened to Shagufta’s taunts. 

“Now watch what civility means. You asked for a divorce, and that great man you never deserved is waiting inside with the papers.”

“Alhamdulillah! Thank You, Holy Almighty! You upheld the honour of my name.”

“You have reduced your father’s honour to dust. God gave you dignity, yet you had no regard for honour.”

Shagufta left and closed the door. Zainab mustered the courage and opened the door. Inside, Gulfam was sitting between her father and mother. 

“You must have heard the one-sided story.”

The father stood up in anger and hurled the divorce papers at her face.

“Take what you wanted.”

Zainab stood silently, looked at everybody, saw the divorce papers, wiped her eyes, and left. 

***

ZAINAB was left like a helpless prisoner in her old room. Nobody bothered about her condition. Sometimes, her mother would leave food at her door, knocking softly. Zainab felt as if she were affected by some contagious disease.

***

CLAD in a black dress, Zainab was looking at the parrot in the cage. Listening to the squawk of the parrot, she felt content. She turned to the calendar on which the date, day and the year were highlighted. 

“Today is an important day in my life. Today is my viva.”

***

ZAINAB felt extremely nervous in front of the experts. Zainab and the rest of the experts had synopics [as in the original] before them. Among the experts was also a lady. 

“Zainab Akhter,” the senior expert asked.

 

Before Zainab could speak, Jabbar Terror entered and signalled to the female expert, conveying something quietly. He then sat beside the two experts and spoke to them in a low voice.

Jabbar Terror walked past Zainab and then stopped, looking at her. 

Zainab lowered her head. Jabbar glanced back once more and left. 

The senior expert was furious. 

“Sorry, you feel that doing MPhil is funny. Next???”

Zainab got up and started leaving. 

“Thank you, everyone. I understand everything. But I will not argue with you. My name is Zainab, and I will not be the one to stain it.

Zainab started leaving. An elderly expert called her.

“Stop, daughter. I know each of us is under pressure. But I gave up all fear the day the vice chancellor and his PA were killed. We all know how many female students left the university because of that fear. Now it is destroying the dream of this innocent girl. At least, as her questions and assess her on merit. Daughter, sit down.”

Zainab sat, and the female expert left in fury. 

Everyone asked questions, and Zainab replied. As this went on, the voices blended together for her, like the sweet, continuous chatter of a parrot. Then all the experts rose to their feet, smiles lighting their faces.

***

ON reaching the Hazratbal Shrine, Zainab untied the sacred thread. The Aazaan began. 

“Thanks to Allah. Thanks to the Glorious Prophet. Zainab’s innocence helped me. Thank you.” 

***

THE gate to the compound was bolted from the outside. Zainab opened it and went in, only to find that the door to the house was also bolted from the outside. Seeing every door secured that way, she grew anxious, a strange uneasiness creeping over her.

From her room, the parrot squawked loudly. Zainab went inside, and the bird cried out again.

“What’s the matter? Why is it so calm here? Why are all the rooms bolted here?”

The parrot shook itself strongly. The cage shook, and Zainab felt very worried. 

For a long time, Zainab was all alone in her room. 

One night, she overheard hushed voices from the room downstairs. Then came the sound of footsteps, followed by a door opening and closing. She quietly shut her own door from the inside. Soon after, she heard a vehicle start and drive away.

Zainab went to the window. The parrot made strange noises. She looked out and then rushed to open the door of the room, but it was locked from the outside. She pulled at the door and began knocking.

“Shagufta, Shagufta, Mother, open the door. Listen to me. Shagufta, don’t leave. Listen to me. Listen to me first. You are my dear sister. My loving friend. Don’t waste your life. Shagufta, Gulfam isn’t what you people think of him.”

The vehicle started from the outside. Zainab moved from window to window like a lunatic. The sound of the vehicle died down slowly, and Zainab cried for the first time in her life. 

“You are my soul; I’m your cage,” she said to the parrot. “This cage will stay. I will free you.”

Zainab opened the cage door and curled into a corner. The parrot flapped wildly.

EVALUATION 

Bashir Dada’s The Cage reads like a painful mirror held up to Kashmir during the darkest decades of its recent political history. Though presented as fiction, the narrative carries the unmistakable weight of lived reality, capturing how prolonged violence, mistrust, and fear seeped into every layer of society. The title itself works as a powerful metaphor: Kashmir becomes a cage where individuals, institutions, and even ideas of coexistence are trapped.

Set against the backdrop of the 1990s and early 2000s, the story shows how continuous political unrest leads to the breakdown of social harmony. Communities that once lived with mutual dependence and shared cultural rhythms begin to drift apart, replaced by suspicion and silence. The impact of conflict is not limited to the streets; it enters homes, friendships, and classrooms. Educational institutions, especially universities, which should represent freedom of thought and dialogue, are shown as deeply scarred spaces. Campuses turn into zones of surveillance, fear, and ideological pressure, where learning is repeatedly interrupted by strikes, threats, and violence.

Through its characters and situations, ‘The Cage’ highlights the psychological cost of conflict. Young people grow up too fast, burdened by loss and uncertainty. Teachers and students alike struggle to hold on to their roles as educators and learners while navigating the moral dilemmas of the times. Hope endures, but it is fragile, constantly tested by the harshness of reality.

Like many traditional societies, Kashmir grapples with patriarchy, gender oppression, enforced silence, the commodification of women, and the repetitive cycle of abuse. The story’s central metaphors—the parrot and the cage—are striking and effective. Zainab, the protagonist, repeatedly addresses the parrot, saying, “You are my soul, and I am your cage,” suggesting that the bird mirrors her own trapped existence. The emotional impact intensifies at the end, when the parrot attains freedom while Zainab remains imprisoned, a conclusion that is quietly devastating. These motifs lend the narrative strong emotional resonance and cultural authenticity.

Zainab’s suffering is continuous and systemic. Her father, steeped in patriarchal values, is disappointed at the birth of his first child because she is a girl. Although the Kashmiri society (this is true of the entire Subcontinent) has changed to some extent, the preference for a male firstborn persists, along with unequal treatment of daughters and sons. Before marriage, Zainab is chastised in her parental home as someone destined for an unknown household; after marriage, she is treated as an outsider in her in-laws’ home. Her father sees her as a burden, her husband as a commodity to be sold for personal gain, and Jabbar, the local goon, as an object to exploit in exchange for favours. When she refuses both her husband’s and Jabbar’s demands, she pays a heavy price: the loss of her husband and humiliation before a hostile academic committee during her viva voce. She narrowly avoids losing her MPhil degree only because a courageous and honest senior intervenes.

Despite its thematic strength, the story suffers from weaknesses in pace and structure. The narrative is episodic, moving abruptly from one scene to another without smooth transitions. The refrain “You are my soul, and I am your cage,” though evocative, is overused and loses some of its impact. Certain episodes—particularly the viva confrontation and Jabbar’s exaggerated villainy—feel melodramatic, loosely structured, and rushed. There are also avoidable technical flaws, such as the spelling of “synopsis” as “Synopsic,” which is difficult to justify, unlike “Terrar” for “Terror,” which can plausibly be attributed to usual mispronunciation in Kashmir.

These shortcomings, however, do not overshadow the story’s emotional depth and social relevance. ‘The Cage’ remains a moving, meaningful, and thought-provoking work that forcefully exposes the silent suffering of women within a rigid patriarchal order. This is not our problem alone. Despite rules and regulations, women continue to feel dominated and subjected to varied kinds of exploitation. This way, ‘The Cage’ assumes a universal significance.