I AM JUST A THREAD : MUSHTAQUE B BARQ

I AM JUST A THREAD 

MUSHTAQUE B BARQ 

I am a thread, lithe and firm. I serve different tools with all my might. Never overlook my delicacy. I know my trade and the prerequisites of a skillful artist. A homemaker needs me close at hand; therefore, I am treated with care and kept safely.

In myriad forms, I exist. My existence is not only literal but also metaphorical. I am what I need to be, a necessity for the needy and a luxury for the affluent. I am a poor man’s friend and a royal requirement of the court. I serve all, irrespective of gender, belief, faith, status, or shape.

People adorn me according to their needs. I pass through the tiny eye of a needle and understand its inevitability. I serve a surgeon, who uses me to join parted muscles of a sleeping patient, concealing both his skill and his flaws. The thread he chooses is me, known for strength. His blade cuts mercilessly across the body, and then I close the wound, leaving behind a scar. I join chest walls and craniums, yet within days, I am trimmed and discarded like waste.

I also serve a tailor. I sew what he cuts. He relies on my color and durability. His needle reaches every corner, and I follow to help him earn his livelihood. I am his essential tool. He handles me with care, yet uses me relentlessly. Often, he moistens me with his saliva before threading the needle. I am his measure, his length and breadth. No tailor can deny my importance. Though small, I bind fabrics, thoughts, and lives. I stitch the first garment and the last, from birth to death.

To a potter, I am the tool that cuts the spinning mass of clay from the wheel, separating creation from motion so it may dry. I am versatile. For a tailor, I bind; for a potter, I cut. I know when to stitch and when to sever. I can be gentle or harsh, a healer or a destroyer.

I entertain as well. I serve music lovers as the string of instruments. I sing. I am a born musician. I am the string of the rabab that touches the human soul. Within me resides a sea of melodies. I am the composer’s companion and the poet’s passion. I carry verses into harmony. I sense the poet’s mood and the singer’s vision. I am the lifeline that lifts music to the heavens.

I am also life itself. I am the invisible thread within the human body, the rhythm of breath. As long as I move, life continues. When I am severed, life ceases. I am inhalation and exhalation. When I am drawn back into time’s reel, the body returns to the soil. I even serve the gravedigger, who measures the body before its final rest.

I am mysterious. I string garlands of roses to welcome the living, and I wrap the dead in their final garment. I am faithful. I burn or decay along with the body. I am present at birth as the umbilical cord and at death in the final stitch of the shroud.

I suffer, I fade, I break, just like life itself. My stitches cannot withstand the relentless passage of time.

Saints know the secret of my sincerity. I serve them too, in their moments of devotion. They make rosaries out of me. I am their need. I rest upon their prayer mats like a silent supplication rising to Heaven. Every devotee recognizes my sacredness. The beads I hold, the prayers I count, the secrets they whisper, I remain their confidant.

I take many forms. At times, a nylon line passing through the narrow hole of a bead, bearing witness to each prayer uttered. At other times, a fragile thread that breaks under haste and rough handling. Unlike humans, I am fortunate. I am used in temples, mosques, gurdwaras, and churches alike, irrespective of color, creed, caste, or religion. I serve all. I dissolve differences.

I serve sisters on a special occasion when they tie me around the wrists of their brothers. They call me Rakhi. I carry love and concern. Around those wrists, I seal a bond of affection and a pact of trust. People adorn me beautifully to express their emotions. Brothers honor me, and sisters see in my delicate form a symbol of strength. I bring joy when tied. Though some wear me as mere tradition, I carry deep sentiments. I spread warmth, soften hearts, and dissolve malice. I am a binding force, a thread of harmony connecting souls.

I also bear the weight of blessings when worn as an amulet around the neck. I serve those who wrap me across their bodies as a sacred band. I become a wish tied at shrines, fluttering with silent prayers. I am a mother’s hope, a sister’s bond, a dream of fulfillment, and above all, a healing touch.

Yet I also hold secrets, serious ones. People fashion belts out of me to secure their garments; they trust me. But at times, I am violated, torn apart by those who act without humanity. In such moments, I become a helpless witness to cruelty. My sanctity is shattered, my purpose defiled. I hang my slender form in shame when my frailty fails to protect dignity. I wish I were stronger, unyielding like metal, to guard what is entrusted to me. My delicacy becomes my weakness, and I silently bear the burden of that failure.

But I have another form. My second coming is unyielding. I become a noose. I tighten around the neck of wrongdoing, revealing the strength within my fibers. Where I once served gently, I now serve justice. My grip becomes firm, my purpose resolute. I stand as a tool of law, ending the tyranny of the cruel. My strength breaks what my softness once could not.

I carry within me a dual nature. I am gentle for those who understand my worth, yet unforgiving toward those who abuse it. Beneath my humble form lies a hidden force, silent, steadfast, and capable of both creation and destruction.

Though I am thin, I am unbreakable in purpose.

I am just a thread.

(Mushtaque B. Barq is a noted writer, translator and currently serves as an English Mentor at Cambridge School. A recipient of several honours, including the G.N. Firaq Memorial Award and the Kalidas Literary Award, Ahad Zargar Award. He is known for his poetic finesse and for promoting Kashmiri literary heritage through his work.)