DANGEROUS KASHMIR

 DANGEROUS KASHMIR

 

 As I crossed the new Banihal tunnel called ‘Navyug Tunnel’ and emerged in the Kashmir valley one july morning in 2023, I stopped at a Toll Plaza. Kashmir had been quiet for past few years and normalcy had been restored. However, I had not forgotten my earlier stint in the valley when militancy was rife. I paid the toll fee and as I moved on my son asked me why had I paid. We faujis are exempt from toll on National Highways on production of I Card. I told him I didn’t want to be shot for Rs 200. The incident reminded me of those bleak days.

I was with my wife and infant son driving to Jammu sometime in 2004. On our way to Jawahar tunnel, we stopped at Qazigund for Breakfast. We had Paranthas in the tourist lodge and were moving to the car when a vagabond in tattered pheran approached me. He had long matted hair, black shaggy beard and he gesticulated with his hands in the air and grinned. He asked me for some alms. I had carried a packet of bread from unit with me for emergency. With Breakfast done, I thought I could do away with it. I opened the car and gave the guy the bread thinking that he will have a good meal. The guy moved away towards the market tossing the bread in air like a ball and catching it as it dropped. I froze. The bread was made by Army Bakery and had the logo of ASC Battalion in bold letters on it which I could see from far off. Thoughts flashed in my mind that the guy transformed into a terrorist. It was common for them to move around in disguise for recce of future attack sites. Few days back there was an IED blast in the area where an Army vehicle was blown. Attacks on Army were common. I thought of asking him to return the bread and take money. But it would have hastened our discovery. I decided and got everyone immediately into the car and sped off. Only after crossing the Banihal tunnel did I rest easy.

 Nowadays, Kashmir is normal and Srinagar is the most happening place with tourists enjoying the unique vibes beyond midnight. Still old memories do not fade and on probing, locals come out with them. The other day, my friend Hussain, an Army contractor narrated his brush with terrorists -

 My village was unlike a kashmiri village in that its very close to Army Cantt. Most of the families have atleast one member working with the Army. There are porters and  labourers,  contractors and regimental shop owners. Nowadays there are boys recruited as soldiers in regular army and TA. I was also brought up in same environment.  Since childhood I hanged around with soldiers. A variety of them. Dark guys from south, yellow faced mongoloid Gurkhas, short and sweet Garhwali, Kumaoni and Dogras, Burly Sikhs and rustic Jats. I felt truly at home with all of them. When complete Kashmir was abuzz with propaganda of muslim subjugation by kafir Indians, folks in my village were untouched by all the vitriol. We lived in a close proximity, intermingled with the microcosm of India and never felt any discrimination. The soldiers were always good to us - helpful, polite and utterly friendly. They as well as officers had nothing but utmost respect for the elderly and women and love for the children. My father also was a military contractor and supplied vegetables and fruits to the Army Supply Depot. As such, I also frequented the supply point and units and ran errands for the soldiers who could not venture out of the camp.

It was 1989 and the situation in the valley had gone out of control. Murders and blasts were routine and most of the days the towns were shut down. Jamait e Islami Mullahs spew venom from the mosque loudspeakers, the politicians had gone into hiding. Minority Hindus were being killed randomly and had began to leave for Jammu. There was permanent curfew in the nights. Schools were mostly shut. I had all the time to loiter in the camp managing deliveries of vegetables.

 

 Those days, the soldiers were paid salary in cash. The unit duty officer used to go to the bank with an armed guard and get currency notes in a trunk on 1^st of every month. The soldiers were paid money as per their demand. They had to send money to families back home by depositing in the bank. As they could not move out of camp, the adjutant had roped me in. I used to take the money from the soldiers to deposit into their family accounts and charged them 20 Rs per case. Like this I used to make decent sum every month. I had trained from ITI in electronics repairs and had hired a shop in Kupwara town where I repaired radios and tape recorders. I was also engaged in a very dangerous business of renting out Bollywood Video Cassettes to Army units. Those days only Army units used to have TVs. Our village had one in panchayat. The militants had banned cinema and TV as unislamic. Srinagar and towns had had all Cinema halls shut after few were bombed or burnt down. The Indian Army soldiers were addicted to hindi movies and I like some other enterprising youth were filling the void by smuggling the cassettes from jammu. We had a well oiled machinery of conduits and couriers who ferried the cassettes up and down from Jammu by a series of taxis that plied between the summer and winter capital.

My shop in Kupwara was on first floor, the ground floor was housing the camp office of local town commander of Rashtriya Rifles. The post was abuzz with gun toting soldiers coming and going. Outside was a bunker made of sandbag manned whole day by armed soldiers. A bullet proof jeep for the commander also used to be parked closeby.  I felt completely safe of militancy in this citadel in midst of the most turbulent town of the valley. Oblivious of any threat, a pile of Video Cassettes was stacked behind my chair.

 That particulad day I was busy repairing a radio when two young men entered my shop. They wereThin, tall, bearded young Kashmiris. However, one had hawk like eyes whereas the other spoke in a hissing voice just like a snake.

‘Salam Valekum’ the hawk said.

‘Valekum Salam’

‘Whats that behind you’? the snake pointed behind my chair.

I turned and saw the video cassettes.

I looked at them without replying.

‘Don’t you know films are unislamic? Are these not banned?’ He demanded.

By now they had drawn out pistols.

I felt a drop of sweat sliding down my temple. “ Where was the Army? It dawned slowly upon me that it was sunday - A Dry Day and the post was vacant today. I myself used to observe a holiday on Sunday but had come that day to repair the radio for which its old owner was after me.

 Suddenly my heart was beating like an express train. It was pounding against my chest. I thought my end was near. What will my parents do when they find my bullet ridden body! Or maybe they will dump my body in the Pohru river that flowed past the market.

 

I was at my wits end. ‘Who are you’ I muttered.

“ we are Mujahideen of Al Badr ( Al Badr was a new tanzeem that had suddenly appeared on the horizon of Kashmir Militancy recently. They had conducted some daring operations recently)

“ We are fighting the holy jihad for fraud muslims like you. To free you from the kafirs. And you slaves can not even follow basic tenets while we die for you’ Spat the snake.

 I was frozen. My legs were paralysed.

‘We have come to know that you are a mukhbir of the Army. Yours is a village of dogs. Feeding on scraps from the kafir Army. Now get up and come with us. We will make an example of you’ The hawk was pointing his pistol towards me and pointed with his head towards the door.

There was no way out for me. I followed the snake out of the shop with hawk following me. My legs were like lead. I felt I would collapse any moment. Snake was still holding the pistol in his hand. So I was certain for the hawk. I had picked my pheran as we left the shop foolishly thinking it would be cold in evening. Suddenly I threw my pheran in the face of hawk following me and jumped in the street on the left teeming with a crowd of people who had emerged from the jamia masjid after afternoon prayers. I ran like a mad man. I lost my slippers and bumped into people but I never looked behind. The snake and hawk followed me shouting and firing in the air. They could not aim for me as the street was too crowded. I ran and ran till my lungs were bursting. I ran across the Pohru where a mini bus had just started moving towards Srinagar. I opened the rear door of the departing bus and climbed it. It was almost vacant. I slumped in the nearest seat.

 So what happened to the shop? I asked.

‘I didn’t dare to go back. After a week the militants lobbed a grenade into it and burnt it down. It was a rented shop.

After a month or so there was a huge encounter in the lolab valley and hawk and snake were amongst the 5 militants of Al-Badr eliminated by the RR. Only after that incident I ventured out of my village. And I never dealt in the video cassettes after that’.

 Those days of militancy are hopefully over in Kashmir for ever. People are looking into future with lot of hope. The things in Kashmir are beyond normal. I infact think Srinagar is safer than Gurgaon. The other day as I used a public toilet near Lal Chowk, the sweepress sitting outside asked for fee. I paid her 5 Rs as demanded. Another guy, an outsider who was with me in urinal moved away in haste and had crossed the road when the woman called him for money, The guy to my utter astonishment shouted back to her “Army”! I was astounded by his cheek to seek that particular free service which was not only a pittance but him disclosing his identity to all and sundry. It was both - endorsement of his bafoonery as well as dead or comatose militancy in a place where not long ago you could lose your life for a simple video cassette of a Bollywood Flick! Amen !!!