u/INEVITABLE_786

Since then, although I'm feeling a strange sense of peace, a part of me is uneasy and sort of unstable, like an electron. Because I've no ideology to adhere to that could answer my existential questions, not that I'm necessarily looking for answers, but a human is a human at the end of the day. I've made peace with the fact that I just exist, and there was a near-zero chance of me existing in this vast universe, yet I'm still here. I've got limited time on my hands, and once I die, that'll be the end. I'll just cease to exist, just like I didn't exist before I was born. And honestly, compared to what Islamic theodicy tells me, this is a far more liberating and peace-giving idea to live by. The fact that I'm on my own, and that I've got only limited time before I just cease to exist and it'll all end, is an enchanting feeling, and I try to be happy with whatever time I've got in my hands. The problem is that I'm not an atheist. I still believe that there might be a higher being, or whatever you might call it, who created us. But after years of studying Islam, I've come to the conclusion that the God of Muhammad is not the true God.

So, since Islam was out of the equation, I thought of looking into different ideologies that aimed at describing the divine and our relation to it. At first, I thought of looking into Western ideas, but then this thought kicked into my brain: why should I look outside when I've got an option that comes from my own history and heritage? That's why I'm here. That's why I want the knowledgeable ones here to tell me, from net zero, what this belief is that my ancestors used to practice and how it works.

I'm from the Bhat caste. My father used to tell me, and he had heard it from his elders, that our forefathers used to be people of knowledge when it came to religion and all. They used to lead in temples and elsewhere. This also gives me a sense of belonging. I know it sounds childish and stupid, but yeah, it does.

Let's wrap this all up, because I've got to go and drop my father somewhere. So, I'll just reiterate what I want here: explain to me, from the beginning, the idea of the belief or whatever you might call it that my ancestors used to adhere to, how it gives meaning to our lives, and give me reasons as to why you believe it's the truth.

I might respond a bit late. Apologies in advance.

Why am I sharing this here? I genuinely don't know. Maybe venting this out will make me feel lighter, and I might find people going through similar experiences, which might reassure me that I'm not alone. Heck, why would it even matter? After all, I've to suffer this plight alone anyway.

My mother is one of the most educated women I know. Devout. Kind-hearted. Honest. And with such a loving and generous heart. But we all know good people are tested by God, and if I'm being honest, God went on a field day with her.

Her father was an uneducated farmer with a lot of land, and he had handed over the affairs of the house to his elder son, who royally messed up their entire family. From what I've heard from my mother, and mind you, my mother was educated, had her own job, and was basically independent, yet she had no say in matters regarding herself, her marriage, or anything else.

This brother of hers didn't want to get his sisters married within the vicinity of the town because he feared they might come back to their father asking for their rightful share of the property. So what did he do? He married them off in faraway villages. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But he didn't even care to check whether the families he was marrying them into were stable and decent.

And from what my mother told me, there had been one better proposal after another for her, but that brother of hers rejected them because he felt those families were too educated and lived too close to the town, which might cause him trouble regarding the property.

And as I said earlier, those poor girls had no say in that house. So they were married off like cattle. My poor mother had even received hints that the family she was being married into wasn't good from her friends at work, who had distant connections with them. Yet she couldn't do anything because her opinion held no value.

Regardless, the marriage happened. And the guy, my father, was a mama's boy. My mother was treated terribly in that house. There were always fights and quarrels. And they, my father's brothers, wanted to exclude him from the property. My father was even okay with it because, as I said, he was a mama's boy, and his mother always favored his elder brothers.

But my mother opposed this. She gave them genuine reasons, asking where her children would go and what would become of them. She persisted. For years, they forced us to live in a single room in a house with twenty rooms. My mother would go to her job and then was also forced to do labor in their fields and on the farmland. This severely damaged her health, and she became seriously ill.

They even resorted to taweez, and I'm not bullshitting. I myself, as a child, once saw my elder uncle placing a taweez outside our room.

So my mother fell critically ill. Hospitals here in Kashmir gave up on her, and she was shifted outside the valley to one of the major medical institutes. She remained there for about a year, almost in a coma. During that time, we stayed at our maternal home. We practically lived like orphans. My brother, my sister, and I had nobody except ourselves.

It reached a point where the doctors there even declared her dead. Back at home, they had already started digging her grave. Then, during the flight back home, my father noticed her little finger move. They turned back, and miraculously, she was alive again.

Years later, I heard call recordings of my father's brothers and their children laughing about it, making jokes, and saying things like, "She should have just died already".

Leave all that aside. I'm out of the energy to write anymore, so I'll just start wrapping this up.

It took a few more years, but her health eventually recovered. Then those b*stards started quarreling with my family over the property once again because they thought our family was back on its feet, and that threatened them.

The issue escalated, and what did my father do? He sided with his brothers, who wanted to exclude his own children from the property, and humiliated my mother. There wasn't a day when my mother didn't hear things like, "I'll divorce you," or "How dare you go against my brothers?"

Leave all that aside.

For the last couple of years, all the expenses of our family have been handled and borne by our mother. My father doesn't care. I guess he still sends his salary to his brothers. Told you, he's a mama's boy.

At times, I've even told him that he shouldn't have gotten married in the first place and should have married his brothers instead.

My mother, who isn't in the best state health-wise, goes to her job. She built a new house for us away from those bastards. She sold all of her gold for that because my father didn't spend a single penny. It's an interesting story, but I don't have the energy or the courage to scratch those wounds.

Even now, she carries all the expenses, our education, clothing, food, and everything else. My father doesn't care. He doesn't speak to her. There's no central figure in our broken home. I've had no father figure. He doesn't care.

Maybe that's why I act stubborn and have ruined a lot of things in my life. Never mind.

She still cries before Allah and offers Tahajjud. I don't see how, even after everything that has happened to her, she still has hope in God.

Sometimes I make jokes about it when I wake up in the middle of the night and see her crying before Allah. I tell her there's nobody up there. Yet her faith remains unshakable.

I can't comprehend why she would deserve this. I haven't even mentioned the hell she's been through because you'd straight up spit on my extended family. And my own heart would break remembering all of it.

Nevertheless.

Yeah.

That was it about my broken family.

Why am I sharing this here? I genuinely don't know. Maybe venting this out will make me feel lighter, and I might find people, Kashmiris in particular, going through similar experiences, which might reassure me that I'm not alone. Heck, why would it even matter? After all, I've to suffer this plight alone anyway.

My mother is one of the most educated women I know. Devout. Kind-hearted. Honest. And with such a loving and generous heart. But we all know good people are tested by God, and if I'm being honest, God went on a field day with her.

Her father was an uneducated farmer with a lot of land, and he had handed over the affairs of the house to his elder son, who royally messed up their entire family. From what I've heard from my mother, and mind you, my mother was educated, had her own job, and was basically independent, yet she had no say in matters regarding herself, her marriage, or anything else.

This brother of hers didn't want to get his sisters married within the vicinity of the town because he feared they might come back to their father asking for their rightful share of the property. So what did he do? He married them off in faraway villages. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But he didn't even care to check whether the families he was marrying them into were stable and decent.

And from what my mother told me, there had been one better proposal after another for her, but that brother of hers rejected them because he felt those families were too educated and lived too close to the town, which might cause him trouble regarding the property.

And as I said earlier, those poor girls had no say in that house. So they were married off like cattle. My poor mother had even received hints that the family she was being married into wasn't good from her friends at work, who had distant connections with them. Yet she couldn't do anything because her opinion held no value.

Regardless, the marriage happened. And the guy, my father, was a mama's boy. My mother was treated terribly in that house. There were always fights and quarrels. And they, my father's brothers, wanted to exclude him from the property. My father was even okay with it because, as I said, he was a mama's boy, and his mother always favored his elder brothers.

But my mother opposed this. She gave them genuine reasons, asking where her children would go and what would become of them. She persisted. For years, they forced us to live in a single room in a house with twenty rooms. My mother would go to her job and then was also forced to do labor in their fields and on the farmland. This severely damaged her health, and she became seriously ill.

They even resorted to taweez, and I'm not bullshitting. I myself, as a child, once saw my elder uncle placing a taweez outside our room.

So my mother fell critically ill. Hospitals here in Kashmir gave up on her, and she was shifted outside the valley to one of the major medical institutes. She remained there for about a year, almost in a coma. During that time, we stayed at our maternal home. We practically lived like orphans. My brother, my sister, and I had nobody except ourselves.

It reached a point where the doctors there even declared her dead. Back at home, they had already started digging her grave. Then, during the flight back home, my father noticed her little finger move. They turned back, and miraculously, she was alive again.

Years later, I heard call recordings of my father's brothers and their children laughing about it, making jokes, and saying things like, "She should have just died already".

Leave all that aside. I'm out of the energy to write anymore, so I'll just start wrapping this up.

It took a few more years, but her health eventually recovered. Then those bastards started quarreling with my family over the property once again because they thought our family was back on its feet, and that threatened them.

The issue escalated, and what did my father do? He sided with his brothers, who wanted to exclude his own children from the property, and humiliated my mother. There wasn't a day when my mother didn't hear things like, "I'll divorce you," or "How dare you go against my brothers?"

Leave all that aside.

For the last couple of years, all the expenses of our family have been handled and borne by our mother. My father doesn't care. I guess he still sends his salary to his brothers. Told you, he's a mama's boy.

At times, I've even told him that he shouldn't have gotten married in the first place and should have married his brothers instead.

My mother, who isn't in the best state health-wise, goes to her job. She built a new house for us away from those bastards. She sold all of her gold for that because my father didn't spend a single penny. It's an interesting story, but I don't have the energy or the courage to scratch those wounds.

Even now, she carries all the expenses, our education, clothing, food, and everything else. My father doesn't care. He doesn't speak to her. There's no central figure in our broken home. I've had no father figure. He doesn't care.

Maybe that's why I act stubborn and have ruined a lot of things in my life. Never mind.

She still cries before Allah and offers Tahajjud. I don't see how, even after everything that has happened to her, she still has hope in God.

Sometimes I make jokes about it when I wake up in the middle of the night and see her crying before Allah. I tell her there's nobody up there. Yet her faith remains unshakable.

I can't comprehend why she would deserve this. I haven't even mentioned the hell she's been through because you'd straight up spit on my extended family. And my own heart would break remembering all of it.

Nevertheless.

Yeah.

That was it about my broken family.

Bangus cha travan az?

After more than four years of questioning, searching for answers, and studying, I finally gave up. I feel so light at heart and have a strange sense of joy.

Now I'm alone. I don't have my God with me anymore, nor do I have someone I can share my sorrows with. But it didn't make much of a difference when I believed I had God either. So I think I'll be okay.

Feel free to ask me anything.

My great-grandfather was a peasant under Dogra rule. I'm Kashmiri, for context. From everything my parents and older relatives have told me, he was an extremely hardworking man. He cultivated a large stretch of land, around 30 kanals.

To give some background: the Dogras bought Kashmir from the British in the 19th century for 75 lakh rupees and treated the entire territory as their private property. Being Hindu rulers, they largely excluded Kashmiri Muslims from meaningful land rights. Kashmiri Hindus (and Dogras) were made jagirdars, chakdars, mukarraris, and so on. These titles essentially gave them control over large plots; they collected revenue from the cultivators and passed a share up to the Dogras. In practice, the Dogras handed land rights and intermediary power to Hindus while shutting out the Muslim majority.

Who actually worked the land? Kashmiri Muslims. They owned nothing, had almost no security of tenure, and were reduced to tillers. They were also subjected to forced unpaid labour for the state, known as begar. My great-grandfather was one of those peasants. He tilled a big holding for some Hindu jagirdar and was allowed to keep only a small portion of the produce. The Dogra forces would haul him off for begar whenever they needed labour, and he went. A lot of Kashmiri Muslims eventually gave up or lost whatever tenuous hold they had. My great-grandfather, like many others, just kept at it.

Years later, under Sheikh Abdullah, land reforms were introduced. Jagirdari and similar systems were abolished. Land was transferred to the actual tiller, ceilings were placed on how much any one person could hold, and ownership rights were given to the people who had been cultivating it. Because my grandfather had been tilling that large plot, he received the land.

These days, whenever the topic comes up in conversation, one of my friends, whose great-grandfather was a jagirdar under the Dogras, gets visibly salty. He talks about how “their” land was taken and handed over to peasants, and sometimes he openly mocks peasants. I come from a family of peasants, so it stings, and I struggle to respond in a way that lands.

What I’m looking for are solid, clear arguments I can use. The core point I want to get across is that just because his ancestors were loyal to the Dogras and were rewarded with control over land that the rulers had seized and then distributed by deliberately excluding the majority, that does not make their claim to permanent ownership morally or historically legitimate. The people who actually worked the soil for generations, under coercion and without rights, had a far stronger claim once the old system was dismantled.

Any help framing that cleanly would be appreciated.

This isn't just about what I've personally faced and experienced, but also about my study of Islam.

I was born and raised a Muslim, and like other Muslims, I believed that Islam was the absolute truth.

I've always been a curious soul, so I began researching and studying Islam deeply. Along the way, I found a lot of contradictions. I used to study the arguments of Muslim scholars and academics regarding those contradictions, and most of them referred to different interpretations and similar explanations. Regardless, my faith was still strong.

Then I went even deeper. I discovered the mathematical error in the Qur'an regarding inheritance. I'm a student of science, so in my heart of hearts, I knew there was actually an error in the Qur'an. That was the first major blow to my faith.

I tried working on it myself. I made extensive notes about it and solved the equations on my own. The conclusion I reached was that there was, in fact, an error in the Qur'an. And because it was a mathematical error, no alternative interpretation could fix it. The arguments of Muslim scholars and academics regarding this issue weren't satisfactory at all.

It shook my faith, along with all the other doubts that had gradually seeped into my heart. I mean, if the Qur'an really came from an all-knowing Being, there shouldn't be a single error in it.

Regardless, I've been an unlucky person for most of my life, and for the last six years, I haven't been mentally well. Recently, some things happened in my life, and they turned out to be the worst possible outcome. I used to pray and ask Allah for good, but what happened was the worst of the worst outcome. It has completely shattered me and broken my soul.

I'm totally blank. I don't know what to believe anymore. I still haven't left Islam because I haven't yet channeled my thoughts into action. But I don't know how much longer I can hold on like this.

This isn't just about what I've personally faced and experienced, but also about my study of Islam.

I was born and raised a Muslim, and like other Muslims, I believed that Islam was the absolute truth.

I've always been a curious soul, so I began researching and studying Islam deeply. Along the way, I found a lot of contradictions. I used to study the arguments of Muslim scholars and academics regarding those contradictions, and most of them referred to different interpretations and similar explanations. Regardless, my faith was still strong.

Then I went even deeper. I discovered the mathematical error in the Qur'an regarding inheritance. I'm a student of science, so in my heart of hearts, I knew there was actually an error in the Qur'an. That was the first major blow to my faith.

I tried working on it myself. I made extensive notes about it and solved the equations on my own. The conclusion I reached was that there was, in fact, an error in the Qur'an. And because it was a mathematical error, no alternative interpretation could fix it. The arguments of Muslim scholars and academics regarding this issue weren't satisfactory at all.

It shook my faith, along with all the other doubts that had gradually seeped into my heart. I mean, if the Qur'an really came from an all-knowing Being, there shouldn't be a single error in it.

Regardless, I've been an unlucky person for most of my life, and for the last six years, I haven't been mentally well. Recently, some things happened in my life, and they turned out to be the worst possible outcome. I used to pray and ask Allah for good, but what happened was the worst of the worst outcome. It has completely shattered me and broken my soul.

I'm totally blank. I don't know what to believe anymore. I still haven't left Islam because I haven't yet channeled my thoughts into action. But I don't know how much longer I can hold on like this.

About the Indian forces stationed in the Valley. Whenever I come across them, there's a strange feeling. I don't know if this happens to other Kashmiris too, but I immediately go into a sort of defensive mode. In my heart, I know they aren't my friends and that they might harm me. I don't like them either. Yet both sides pretend as if there's nothing going on and simply move on. It's as if there's a veil between us.

A few days ago, I was driving through a relatively isolated area with no settlements. I saw a party of Indian soldiers, probably RR or SOG. They all appeared to be Indian from the way they looked and everything else. I immediately went into that same defensive mode. I slowed down, and in my heart I started thinking that they are not my friends and that they can indeed harm me. Maybe it's because of my earlier experiences. Maybe the more privileged Kashmiris who haven't personally faced the brunt of the conflict won't relate.

But yeah, is there really a veil between that Indians can't see through, or do they just pretend that everything is okay, that Kashmiris are happy with being patrolled at every step and see the forces as their friends? Why do they pretend, when the truth is as clear as the sun?