I Ahmed Wani
The pain struck suddenly during my long drive from Jammu to Delhi in my Scorpio, shortly after leaving Amritsar. My foot throbbed unbearably, forcing me to pull over near Beas town. Limping into the hospital run by Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB), I was met not with forms or questions, but with immediate, compassionate care. From X-rays and bandaging to medicines, everything was provided free—no probe into my religion, caste, or origins. They treated a stranger like kin, embodying pure Sewa that asked nothing in return.
In that healing silence, a profound realization hit: On which piece of earth do we truly belong? Just days before, on January 6, 2026, the National Medical Commission (NMC) withdrew recognition from the Shri Mata Vaishno Devi Institute of Medical Excellence (SMVDIME) in Katra—barely months after it opened its doors for the 2025-26 MBBS batch. A fully functional college, funded partly by Hindu shrine donations, shuttered amid protests that fixated not on infrastructure alone, but on the religious identity of its students.
Of the 50 merit-based NEET seats, 42 went to Muslim students (mostly from Kashmir), seven to Hindus, and one to a Sikh. What should have been Jammu and Kashmir’s pride—youth conquering a fiercely competitive exam—sparked outrage. The Shri Mata Vaishno Devi Sangharsh Samiti (SMVDSS), an umbrella of nearly 60 right-wing groups including VHP and Rashtriya Bajrang Dal, labeled it a “conspiracy” and “infiltration.” They demanded closure, arguing a Hindu-funded institution should prioritize Hindus. Protests filled Katra’s streets with slogans, memorandums to the Lieutenant Governor, and calls for rescinding the list.
The NMC cited “serious deficiencies”: 39% faculty shortfall, 65% in tutors/residents, empty wards, inadequate equipment, and low patient inflow, following a surprise inspection. Yet students and faculty rejected this as politically motivated—claiming facilities were adequate and the rushed check (with just 15 minutes’ notice during winter break) was influenced by the agitation. Protesters themselves claimed credit for prompting the inspection.
The political fallout was swift and divisive. BJP MLA and Leader of Opposition Sunil Sharma hailed the decision as a “triumph for faith and justice,” congratulating authorities while crowds in Jammu burst firecrackers and distributed sweets—as if extinguishing 50 medical dreams were a festival. Ashok Koul, BJP’s J&K General Secretary, downplayed it as a “mere technical withdrawal” due to compliance, denying party orchestration despite affiliates leading the protests.
Chief Minister Omar Abdullah’s anguish was palpable. “Ours is perhaps the only place where a fully functional medical college has been shut down,” he said on January 8, calling it an “injustice” to meritorious students. He criticized the celebrations: “If you feel happy destroying J&K youth, burst crackers.” Vowing to relocate the 50 students as supernumerary seats in other government colleges (preferably near home), he questioned the loss for a region desperate for doctors.
PDP president Mehbooba Mufti condemned it as “majoritarian madness” and a “dangerous precedent,” warning that punishing Muslim merit emboldens exclusion. “If Muslims educate themselves, they’re infiltrators; if not, backward—what path is left?” she asked, urging action before it becomes a national trend.
Social media reflected the rift. One tweet captured the heartbreak: “Muslims are criticized if they pursue education and called ignorant if they don’t. What are they supposed to do?” Another highlighted irony: celebrations over a shutdown that sacrifices J&K’s healthcare for vote banks. Pro-BJP voices cheered the “victory,” while others decried mob rule over merit.
This echoes broader patterns—hijab rows, minority quota protests—where achievement is twisted into threat.
We have reached a tragic nadir in modern education. Ancient Kashmir, revered as Sharada Desh, was a pilgrimage of pure knowledge. Sharada Peeth, the temple-university dedicated to Goddess Sharada (Saraswati), flourished from the 6th to 12th centuries CE as one of the subcontinent’s foremost centers. Scholars like Abhinavagupta (Kashmir Shaivism), Kalhana (Rajatarangini), Adi Shankara, and others converged here. Buddhist monks and Vedic sages debated freely; subjects spanned Vedas, philosophy, grammar, astronomy, medicine, and music. Education was open to all—free, boundless, divine. No creed barred entry; only curiosity defined worth. Kashmir earned its title: the Land of Learning.
Yet today, in the same soil, merit bows to identity, colleges close over faith. When will we reclaim our past? When will we rebuild where the quest for knowledge is every student’s religion—where only PEN (Permanent Education Number) identifies us, not caste, creed, or community?
Let Sharada’s light rise again—not eclipsed by hatred or votes, but guiding every seeker. In true Sewa and shared wisdom lies our true belonging. Otherwise, history’s echoes will mourn not just lost seats, but a lost soul.
Blurb: In a region once revered as Sharada Desh—where knowledge was worshipped without borders of faith—we now celebrate the closure of a medical college because 42 students dared to excel on pure merit. What ancient sages built with open hearts, modern politics buries under communal firecrackers.
