Qazi Zaid from Kashmir
Protester clashed with the armed forces in the Kashmir region resulting with ten reported deaths in one day. The number has doubled in the last four hours, and more than a hundred have been injured. The protests followed the news of Burhan Wani, the Hizbul Mujahideen (HM) commander in Kashmir being shot and killed in an encounter in Kokernag area of south Kashmir yesterday( July 8th). Live bullets, pepper gas, and tear gas are being used to quell the protests. Doctors in district hospitals have reporting serious injuries to the head and upper body of the patients being brought for treatment.
To control the backlash of the encounter, six additional companies of CRPF have also been added to the force in Jammu and Kashmir. In a press conference earlier today, the encounter was described as the “biggest success against militants” by Inspector General Syed Javaid Mujtaba Gillani. Pro-freedom leaders like Geelani, Yasin Malik, and Mirwaiz Umer are put under house arrest. Entry and exit point of all major towns remain sealed as of now.
Despite curfew like restrictions, snapping of mobile phones, closing down the highway and railroad, an estimated half a million people reached the burial spot of the HM chief. The Amarnath yatra also stand suspended for now. Militant funerals have in the recent past seen exponential growth in the participation of people. In the recent funeral of some of Burhan’s associates, around 60,000 people had gathered.
Traffic on alternate routes to Tral, Burhans hometown, was managed by local volunteers, with traffic being diverted through rice fields and apple orchids. Towns and villages en-route to Tral served food and drinks to those heading towards the burial spot.
Young, and educated, the poster boy of the second wave of militancy in Kashmir, Burhan had acquired a massive following through social media. Popular slogans of azaadi have seen Burhan’s name been mentioned regularly in the recent years. Unlike the strategy of militants in the past, Burhan openly issued statements on the internet without hiding his identity. In a recent video shared on the internet Burhan openly challenged the claim of India over Kashmir, warning the Jammu and Kashmir police against working with the Indian army.
The killing could further escalate the tension in the region with more youth willing to pick up the gun once gain. The Peoples democratic party (PDP) which is in coalition with the Bhartiya Janata Party (BJP) has downplayed the issue. Ex-Chief Minister Omar Abdullah tweeted that he had heard the calls for independence in his mosque for the first time.
Although the armed forces term it as a success against militancy, there is simmering tension within the local authorities that this could act as a catalyst. In strikingly similar case in the 90s, militancy had escalated after the killing of another militant leader, Ishfaq Majeed Wani. Turning to militancy after 2008, where the movement in Kashmir morphed from armed rebellion in the 90s to street demonstration in the 2000s Burhan’s trajectory could point towards return of the gun.
Conflict is expected to escalate in the next few days. All major hospitals of the Valley are currently seeing a huge influx of the wounded.
Part-II
To Tral, With Fear, And Love
Srinagar-Tral: My confusion about explosions I heard being eid crackers or gunshots was short lived. Slogans followed the shots, which are a rarity in the uptown area of Srinagar where I live. I rushed downstairs to hear my father announce that Burhan Wani, the Hizbul Mujahideen commander had been killed in an encounter. My mother looked at me in a way that suggested that she needed to hear it was not true. I didn’t know yet.
I quickly checked my phone and saw missed calls from my friends and fellow journalists. Sheikh Saaliq who works with Hindustan Times had called. “Kyah chu Karun” [what do we do], between shock and professional responsibility as journalists, it was difficult to decide what to do exactly. Burhan’s killing might mean a thousand different things for Kashmir.The gunshots and tear gas shells outside my house had become more frequent at this point. Another fellow journalist and friend Haziq Qadri from Barcroft Media got in touch, he was stuck some three kilometers from my house. “They’re firing live bullets here, I’m on the road and there is no possibility of reaching your place” he told me. Haziq and Saaliq had both come from Delhi a few days earlier, to celebrate eid.
We debated whether to leave right away for Tral, the hometown of Burhan Wani, some two hours away from Srinagar, or whether to wait for some news from the people in Tral first. ‘Out of coverage area’ the voice said as I desperately called everyone I knew in Tral. Phone lines had been snapped in Tral it seemed. I checked if my camera batteries were fully charged, just as the electricity was snapped. I wanted to leave before the mobile phone services would be snapped in Srinagar too. That is usually the first government response to anything in Kashmir. The press cards give a false sense of security at such times. I am a freelance journalist, I don’t have one.
We spent the night waiting for any confirmation that would give us the excuse we needed to leave, we got none. The news desks of various news organisations in Press Avenue told me that it was not advisable to leave without a press card. I charged and recharged the batteries, cleaned my lenses thrice, checked if my pen worked and then did all of it again. The skies were thundering and the rain pouring by now, so we waited impatiently till the morning.
I did not get to the main road and met Haziq in one of the by-lanes instead, it is much safer. “Saaliq couldn’t make it, he is near Dargah right now, the situation is very bad there,” he told me. Haziq was with another Journalist Inzamam Qadri. The three of us got on his scooty and left, the roads were deserted, no soul in sight. The way to Tral would mean that we would have to take the bypass road till the main highway from where we could reach Tral. Our first dose of reality came at the very first chowk on the bypass. Infamous white Armoured jeeps called the Rakshak were firing tear gas shells into the colony on the left. Young boys were daring the forces to come towards them where they would either attack on disappear into the by-lanes. We took the service lane on the right and sped past the confrontation with our eyes burning with pepper gas in the air. The funeral would be taking place at two; we did not want to miss the event.
We went a few kilometers ahead and saw that the road was blocked at the first bridge. Knowing a few tactics about how to deal in such situations we stopped the vehicle a few meters before. I got down and spoke to the protesters who had placed huge logs, some whole trees, and big boulders on the road. Just as I had started talking to them one of the protesters got aggressive, "It was our brother who was killed, was he not your brother, why are you out, is this a picnic for you" he shouted as some others tried to hold him back. After a few minutes of convincing the more sensible ones among them, and the fact that we were going to Tral, they agreed to let us pass, amongts slogans of"tum kitnay burhan maarogey harr ghar se burhan niklega"
Inzamam and me signaled Haziq to come but as soon as he got near, the aggressive protester snapped and started getting violent again. Haziq received a punch to his shoulder and we decided to turn back from this point.
We couldn't just as yet go back; we decided to try another route. Same story, CRPF this time. Another route, in the opposite direction from where a road that joins the highway leads, we failed again. We started driving towards Pampore a town which connects to the high way much further away from Srinagar, via a road that traces west side the Jhelum river. The highway runs on the eastern side but there way no way we could reach the highway in this situation. Passing through colonies and blockades by the people in every center, we finally stopped to analyse our route at a spot where 10 year olds had staged a protest. We were away from Srinagar now, but not in the right direction. One of the boys' Yaseen said that Pampore could be reached from the road ahead, but there were huge clashes there, 'Quran ki kassam' he added. I believed him.
Asking for directions from whoever we saw once in a while, we reached a spot where a bridge crossed the Jhelum river over to the eastern side and connected with the highway. It was a bad idea, there was a pitched battle going on with protesters on one side of the bridge, and armed forces on the other. We moved ahead, near a foot bridge, we would either have to leave the vehicle behind and cross, or keep going in the same direction hoping something would play in our favour. We drove along the bund of the river to a point where de-silting may have been going on. There were a few boats but no person in sight. None of us knew how to maneuver such a huge boat over flowing water. It was impossible to reach Tral. Every minute as it passed was frustrating us, there seemed to be no end to this.
The phones were still working, which meant we were not even 15 km away from Srinagar at this point. Every desperate attempt we were making was failing and we seemed to be going nowhere. We wouldn't reach Tral like this and we couldn't go back through all those blockades again now. Inzamam's phone rang; someone said that Saaliq had been shot in Srinagar while making his way towards us.
Things beyond this point for the next few minutes remain unclear. Until the phone rang again. It was Saaliq this time. He said that we should not be worried and that he was alright, It was some other Saaliq which had been injured. Not my friend, no, some other, injured, maybe killed. Journalism seemed like the worst career by now. We kept moving, the phones stopped working and we were into unknown territory. A group of men gathered outside a mosque said they were offering funeral prayers for Burhan Wani, in absentia, since they could not go to Tral. "A hero was martyred," they told us. One of the men suggested that we go towards the town of Pulwama, before reaching thw twon we can take a road to Tral, one that passes through Awantipora and crossed both the highway and the river at very safe spots. This seemed like a good idea, until we saw another blockade. It looked like the army, one can’t really tell.
As soon as we got near, four masked masked men in army fatigue ordered us down. We complied. "Hum patrakaar hain" Haziq said. This was a good idea, using hindi words, my gut told me, "Sir dilli se hain, hum wahan naukri karte hain, Patrakaar hain". "Haath upar kar" he blurted out, "Patrakaar hai saala, haath upar rakkkhh". Inzamam and I both shut our mouths and raised our hands above our heads. The feeling of vulnerability of your exposed body, and your own flesh against a metal bullet, that piercing feeling, with a man in front of you who holds a gun towards you, and cocks it, the sound of a bullet loading into place, just behind a spring waiting to be touched, and the idea of you dying in a ditch where no one weeps over your dead body is a feeling I felt in slow motion.
Haziq had pulled out his press card, maybe 'get out of jail card' here, or rather a 'please don't shoot me' card. One of the four persons lowered his mask, "Haan baaki bhi dikhao," he asked. Inzamam pulled out his card too, with one hand in the air, it reminded me of punishment at school, only that this was no teacher. I pulled out my drivers' licence, he looked at us and matched the photos only. "Aur kya hai bag me sabh talashi karo inki'." They frisked us top down. "Sir hum jaa sakte hain?" I asked. "Chalo chalo bhagho yahan se" he replied and let us go. "Pathar nai marenge toh goli nai khayenge," I heard him say to his associate as we left.
I was almost 2’o clock now, the burial was supposed to be at 2 and we were still far away from Tral. At 2 we crossed the highway and the river Jhelum finally, as if into a new world. The journey forward from this point took a new turn. There were no blockades, there were no check-posts. There were no empty roads anymore but buses carrying people on the roofs. There were rally upon rallies of bikes, with men and boys "Phir kyun na doge, Azaadi," trucks upon trucks of women,"Sharmaana chodo, Azaadi." A wave of colourful scarves, and flags, and people. The world seemed free here and the chants for Azaadi grew louder and louder as we moved forward, towards the eidgah, the burial spot of Burhan in Tral. The other side of the highway felt like a different world, two very different societies, one controlled by the army and the government and one by the people, and the differences were stark.
People were sitting on chairs alongside the roads, distributing water, and food to those moving towards Tral. There were managers of traffic, who had put up signs and were guiding people towards Burhan. Not from the main roads, but from lanes, bylanes, fields, orchids, streams and through houses. There were families with their trousers rolled up walking through paddy fields with babies in their arms, there were women singing songs that are sung in Kashmir when the groom arrives. Rows upon rows of people marched towards the eidgah in an equal participation of men and women. Those coming back were guiding those who were going. "There have been 20 Janazahs(funeral prayers) till now and groups are still coming, go fast and pay your regards," a man who was distributing yellow coloured rice called Teharr told us.
We reached the spot long after the burial. People by this time were covering the grave with handfuls of soil as a ritual. We has missed witnessing a historical event as it happened, but were witnessing a phenomena as it played out. We went to people and talked to them, got the quotes for the stories we had in mind, clicked pictures but the whole atmosphere that we witnessed cannot be described in a news story. No reports talking about these many died, and those many got injured, and police said this, and CM said that can convey to the world the reality of the situation. No headlines saying "MILLIONS VISITED DESPITE RESTRICTIONS" can tell the reader how the people got there, and how grownups sat down and cried besides a grave, while the children looked expressionless at their parents' faces.
A bearded preacher reciting prayers on the grave of Burhan Wani, asked for the martyrdom to be accepted in the court of Allah, to which the people replied with Ameen. Some broke down and sat on the ground, other tried to console them. I asked one of the young men decorating the grave with a few branches, crying silently, if he was alright. He said that he had lost his cousin three year back to the bullets of the CRPF. He said that his cousin’s body was also brought home like Burhan's. He had been there since the morning when Burhan's body was handed over. Another older man, sitting on the fence of the eidgah said that the skies cry when innocent blood is spilled, that is why Burhan also cried, that is why he picked up the gun.
Youngsters outside the walls of the eidgah compound told us that they had never seen anything of this scale and magnitude. Some of them added that Burhan was their hero and they would not let his sacrifice go in vain. Another young boy that we talked to took us to his house. We were low on fuel and there were no petrol pumps so he gave us some petrol in a bottle from one of the shops. He wanted us to stay in Tral for the night as going back would be very dangerous. I asked him what he thought about the whole scenario, he didnt reply right away. After a few minutes he looked at me and said, when Zulm [injustice] exceeds all limits, someone arises to fight it. I wondered if he wanted to be politically correct in what he tells me, before he added that Burhan was him, and he is Burhan and everyone in Kashmir is the same Burhan that can be.
We had to get back. No reports for the day would be filed after 9. The journey back to Srinagar was just as frustrating the the journey to Tral. When our phones finally got netwerk we learned that 8 people had been killed in the last few hours. The hospitals were being surveyed and profiling of those who bring in the injured was going on. The situation had spiraled out of control in the cycle of killing protest. On our way back we took a wrong turn and ended up on the highway near Pampore. A group of around 50 men of the army, the CRPF and SOG had blocked the road. It felt like we drove straight into the death trap. There were some boys being ruthlessly beaten up in an alley. Our cameras were seized, "Burhan ko dekhne gaye the? Dikhao kya liya hay." Our phones were also checked. Haziq had asked me to remove my memory card, which had the pictures. Our hands were checked for marks of stones. Inzamam was being taken into the alley, maybe his hands were dirty, and the punishment at school came to mind again.
The job of the men in the alley was to start beating up whoever was brought, as the officer announced that we be let go. It felt like snatching a friend back from the clutches of death, like hangmen taking a man to the noose, taking him to a dark place. One of the CRPF men threw stones at us as we left. Negotiations and pleading our way back, we saw groups of armed forces at various spots contended by youth. At every spot we played the card we thought we had to, being a journalist can get you those skills, but in this part of the world, that might just work enough to let you pass, just, or sometimes not. By the time we got back, it was too late for any report to be filed, I filed one anyway but it was too late for it to be carried. I can still hear tear gas being shot somewhere as I write this. Maybe someone will get shot, like the cousin of the boy I met in Tral, I just hope it’s not Saaliq, not my friend, someone else maybe. Then I remember what another one in Tral told me, we might just be the same in Kashmir, maybe someone else this time, maybe me some other time, unless I get a permanent press card.
Qazi Zaid is an independant journalist. His recent works have been published in the Huffington Post, Firstpost, Dailyvox and Greater Kashmir. He tweets @qazizaid89
