One lost Paradise             

Waseem Gashroo

Whenever any non state subject person thinks of Kashmir, suddenly he imagines and portrays its vision, thinks either violence or the beauty. Regarded as the paradise on earth because of its charming beauty which attracts the minds of lakhs of tourists every year, forcing them to become uninvited guests. But that beauty is vanishing day by day now, people living in trauma, ailing hearts, weeping mothers, dried eyes of fathers who lost their loved ones, witness roads of bloodbath narrates a different story of the lost paradise.

In August last year I got a chance to leave Kashmir for my higher education, I hoped for a change. Every Kashmiri was witnessing sorrow and pain because their motherland was in the midst of destruction. In past three months I saw youth being killed, protests and stone pelting everywhere, arrests and harassments, the funerals of the unsung heroes who died while fighting. I felt what can I do to tackle this mess but situation worsened killings and unrest made life difficult to live there, I became selfish and wanted to escape, and I did. But for more two months Kashmir remained in the headlines and although I was thousands of miles away, I found myself in the middle of it all again.

I was born in Kashmir. I belong to a place known for hospitality around the globe, were love of people cherish the hearts and minds of people. The place which has history of composite culture and religious tolerance. In fact, Islam did not arrive in Kashmir through the clatter of the sword. It was introduced by mystics and Sufis who conquered the hearts of the people. Where one Hindu neighbor greets his Muslim neighbor on Eid and vice versa, where brotherhood survives since centuries without any discrimination on basis of religion, caste, creed or colour. I got birth in the same era of arrival of militancy, being a kid I witnessed outbreak of turmoil and confusion. I grew up in the situation where most of the male family members used to go underground to avoid arrests with or without any reason. The place I belong to is on the banks of river Jhelum on the banks I dreamed a happy and joyful life and even prayed for the return of peace.

The first bomb explosion that rocked Kashmir in 1988. People thought it was the outcome of a small political feud, although everybody knew the pot was boiling after years of political discontent. Then that September a young man, Ajaz Dar, died in a violent encounter with the police. Going against the Indian rule, the heat of anger since decades gave an outburst, a group of young Kashmiri rebels had decided to fight against the tyranny. They had dreamt of an independent Kashmir free from both India and Pakistan. Although this young man was not the first Kashmiri to die fighting for this cause, his death was the beginning of an era of tragedy. This dream is still alive and after two decades young and old, male and female still demands the independence.

The death of Shaheed Maqbool Bhatt gave rise to the outbreak. People felt the word “LAW” only remains in the books and are never implemented in the practical life, even Maqbool Bhatt himself said “my death will bring revolution in Kashmir” and his words proved fatal. Even the India's most wanted Kashmiri militant leader and chief of united jihad council, Syed Salahudin, contested the assembly election from Srinagar, nor that, unofficially, he was winning by a good margin. When the elections were rigged, he lost not only the election but faith in the process as well. His polling agents and supporters were arrested and tortured; most of them later became militants. Violence was introduced amid growing dissent against India and hundreds of young people joined the armed movement. Kashmir was changing.

I had just started schooling; the surrounding situation seemed disturbing the education system and every sphere of life, I took it as in childish mood because imagining such a huge political disturbance was not an easy job at the age of five or six. Then gradually I became conscious about the happening around me I came to know through my family member that we had an uncle who became victim of enforced disappearance in early nineties. That was a chocking incident in our family; every family member searched him from pillar to post but all in vain, every morning, each one of us would do the rounds of the security force camps to look for him. Authorities first submitted he is in our custody then later on refused to accept the fact. When I witnessed the tragic brutality of occupied forces in mid nineties, I was in the age of about 9 or 10 when army ruthlessly beat whole of our family at our home when we protested their demands to arrest our second uncle. This was the time when every Kashmiri was seen as a suspect, suspect because so called AFSPA (armed forces special powers act) was labeled in entire valley and few parts of Jammu region.  In “disturbed areas” the army and paramilitary forces are granted sweeping powers of arrest, search without warrants under section 4 of the armed forces (Jammu & Kashmir) powers act, 1990. The special powers extended by these laws are the objects of great misuse.

Dozens of people used to kill every day labeling as terrorists or protesters. The Azadi (Freedom) sentiment was seen in everyone, some initiated by guns and some by supporting their cause. . The movement was the only topic of discussion among people, Soon people started coming out onto the streets, thousands would march to the historic jamia masjid or to the United Nations office, shouting slogans in favour of ' Azadi!' (Freedom). The majority of Kashmiris never felt that they belonged to India. These mass protests became an everyday affair.

As the death toll of Kashmiris mounted, the world saw the violent movement only as the outcome of territorial dispute between India and Pakistan which had its roots in the 1947 partition. For India, the future of Kashmir is non-negotiable - it is an 'integral part' of the country, the only Muslim majority state in the union and thus a cornerstone of its democracy and secular credentials. India always called the rebellion a Pakistan-sponsored terrorist movement, while Pakistan projected it as a jihad - a Kashmiri struggle to join Pakistan just because they shared a common faith. For Pakistan, Kashmir is also important because the majority of its population is Muslim - it is Pakistan's 'jugular vein', and an unfinished task from the subcontinent's partition in which Pakistan was born as a home for Indian Muslims. With these claims on Kashmir, both countries have choked the voice of Kashmiris. The Indian government has reacted with an iron fist, deployed large numbers of security men and turned Kashmir into one massive jail.

I remember the night when security forces cordoned off our village and made announcement of crackdown on loudspeakers, the chilling winter breeze almost stopped the breath of people, for two consecutive days, our village school ground was made a massive  jail without roof.

I still have the nightmare that shakes me. The tough time our family had in 90’s. I narrate the situations to my friends what our family have gone through. Loss of family member, torture and harassments to other members. I was wondering when dawn of hope and peace will arrive. This is tragic story of only one family, thousands of other families in Kashmir have also gone through. Families of such disappeared families united together under the banner of APDP (association of parents for disappeared persons) to bring their loved ones back home.

Kashmir was turned into battlefield, its warriors brought in the agendas to transcend the demand for self-determination. In the process, the genuine political struggle for the unification of Kashmir and the demand of the people that they should be allowed to decide their own future was forgotten. Kashmir was given a flashpoint between two countries and not because Kashmiris were suffering. In fact, it seems that both countries want to fight to the last Kashmiri.

I still remember my grandmother worrying about other family members, I remember my mother’s scratch on her legs when she was participating in a pro-Azadi rally were paramilitary forces used baton charge to disperse protesters. I also remember my father shouting in pain that was given by security forces during interrogations. I remember the evening when security forces opened fire in our kitchen. I am the witness to all this, I have seen Kashmir change.

State elections in 1996 apparently aimed at ensuring a representative government in Kashmir. But actually it was nothing more than a farce. The security forces herded people to polling stations and even conducted 'nail parades' to check - by the indelible ink pasted on the nail of the forefinger - that people had voted. I saw people playing ‘hide and seek’ with security forces to avoid dubious election process.

The man who represents Kashmir - not only in New Delhi, but across the world as India's union minister- is Farooq Abdullah, the son of Kashmir's legend Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah. Last year in 2010 during the mass uprising he was seen addressing a gathering In one of state, saying “Kashmir bharat ka ek atoot anng hai, aur hum who hissa bhi wapas lenge jo humse batware ke waqt cheena gaya tha”,(Kashmir is a vital part of India and we want our Kashmir back that was occupied at the time of partition) it seemed a patriotic thoughts were made but just after few days when he was quizzed by journalists about the situation in Kashmir, his comments were “Kashmir ko goli maaro”, the coercion by the police and the security forces that made media gagged in Kashmir over such comments. The publication of newspapers was stopped, because if such words made their place it may harm the dignity of the minister. Who he does actually represent, nobody knows.

Kashmir used to be known as a crime-free state. My parents told me that the average yearly murder rate in Kashmir before the unrest was three or four. Today, if two people perish in a day, it is considered peaceful.

By 1992, there were hardly any young men left in the few villages in north Kashmir around my home. Many had joined the militant movement. Some had died, while others had gone underground; some had surrendered and become counter-insurgents and were part of the pro-government militias. Many had migrated to the urban area of Srinagar city, which was then deemed comparatively safe. The complexion of the separatist movement was changing fast, and it no longer represented the genuine political aspirations of the people. The pro-Pakistan jihadi groups who dominated the movement tried to impose their radical religious, social and cultural agendas, ignoring the fact that their extremism was alien to the very ethos of Kashmir. The power of the gun for sometime showed a glimpse of hope to the Kashmiris but they were unaware of the consequence. Claiming 1.2 lakh lives in two decades was enough to seduce the movement but still it’s not enough.

I matriculated from a school which has its roots connected to Jamaat e Islami, the organization which was regarded as the core agency behind the introduction of militancy. I was given Islamic knowledge as well but was never introduced with any of extremist or militant group.

I too wanted to join, though I didn't know exactly why or what it would lead to. I was a teenager and had not seriously thought about the consequences. Perhaps the rebel image was subconsciously attracting me. I wanted a change, a change that could lead us towards far then destruction. The young mind never thought of aftermath. I stopped killing my emotions thinking we have lost one not another now.

The militant movement was rendered a mere tool in Pakistan's plan to bleed its arch-rival India with a thousand cuts.

It was mere chance that I got admission into journalism for my bachelors program. And when I started writing about the unrest later after a year, I felt that I had been part of this tragic story from the beginning. I knew the militants and the mukhbirs (the police informers); those who surrendered and those who did not; those who faced death because they had a dream and those who were sacrificed by mere chance, neither knowing nor understanding the issues at stake; those who believed they were fighting a holy war and those who joined for unholy reasons. But, as it turned out, there was more to the story.

I wrote my first write-up for a local daily entitling “role of media in conflict zone Kashmir” I got a chance to know my paradise well through the literature, whenever I researched for write-ups. The feedback enhanced me to write more about the war.

A few months later the lull in guns turned into mass uprising, being a media student and a Kashmir born I witnessed the strikes, rallies, killings, harassments once again but it was new era, this time I was not handcuffed, I used my camera to trap down the situation, I used my pen to narrate the situation. This time guns were silent and voice were raised by common people. Separatist camp used to run the entire valley; organizing rallies and strikes paralyzed routine life. On 11 august, 2008 separatists organized a rally towards Muzzaffarabad (P.O.K) against the economic blockade by some Hindu radicals in Jammu, who also claimed the lives of about ten Kashmiri drivers carrying food materials to the valley from various parts of country. Tens and thousands of people participated; I was one among them, the trap laid by police and security forces to restrict demonstrators to move forwards at “Chahal” lead to one more massacre. Leaving about six civilians dead including senior Hurriyat leader Sheikh Abdul Aziz and scores of others injured. I arrived at the site of a massacre to find wailing women and unshaven men sitting in huddles. Bodies lay scattered, like rag dolls discarded by careless children. I felt a lump growing in my throat, my legs felt heavy. I felt incredibly tired and wanted to throw down my notebook and sit silently with the mourners. The noise of the camera shutters invaded my private thoughts, forcing me to think about the moral duty I have to perform.

The continuous interaction with death and destruction was providing a necessary thrill, and the killing fields of Kashmir were becoming nothing but news pastures. Later on entire Kashmir was made a massive jail imposing curfew and restrictions on the human movement for consecutive eleven days.

The killings haven’t stopped yet, last year’s uprising claimed 115 lives. The younger one was just eight years old he was carrying a stone in his hand against the armed policemen that made him to lose his life. It has become easier now for police to kill a Kashmiri then labeling him as a stone pelter. When violence rules the day, there is nothing but tears to jerk out of the reader's soul. Today, there are more than 500 martyrs' graveyards dotting Kashmir, and every epitaph standing on a grave tells a story - a tragic story of unsung heroes. Engraving epitaphs has become a lucrative business. In the process, my reactions to such incidents also began to change. I could no longer relate to these tragedies.

I belong to Kashmir's cursed generation - the youth of the Nineties. I have lived all these troubled years in Kashmir and am still well and alive. But in the process my tears have dried up. I have lost normal human feelings in the midst of my profession. I am immune to the death of my own people; I have developed an inability to mourn.

And it seems that the outside world too is unable to feel the pain of Kashmir. Kashmir is like a trading market now, where everyone tries his luck. One Kashmir is divided into three parts one occupied by Pakistan, another by china and rest under India.  After more than 150,000 deaths, there still appears to be no headway towards peace. Nobody knows the actual identity of a Kashmiri. The international community needs to resolve issues between India and Pakistan. The pain and agony is crushed under the policy of development, it is necessary to make end to this menace, it is imperative to end the suffering of the Kashmiri people.

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