CC_India

The entrance to the educational complex is through two
openings, one a gap in barbed wire, the other a securitised
gate through which jawans and students enter.
Photo Credit: Sahba Husain
“They call you for ‘work’ but once you go there is
no telling whether you’ll ever come back”. In December
1998 Hakim Din Mohammad (my husband)
was called away by Subedar Balraj 8th JK LI to the
army post in Guntrian. He did not return. I went
to the army post. They said he’d gone to report
to the CO in Sackloo post. He used to work as a
‘source’ for the army. With no sign of his return, I
told them I would file an FIR against the jawans.
They threatened me. For four and a half years, they
kept me under house arrest. [She was not allowed
to exit the guarded gate of the fenced out village].
Even when one of my 6 daughters fell sick, the
jawans brought a doctor home, but did not allow
us to go to hospital. Only when the army unit was
transferred, could I leave. I had difficulty registering
a case of cutodial killing, but the police blamed
me for not coming forward earlier.”
Equally, the women and their families are vulnerable to
the militants who come for local recruits, shelter, food
and directions, only to be followed by the soldiers who
beat up the villagers or worse. And then the militants
come back and accuse them of being ‘informers’. Girls,
women and men have been summarily beheaded, or
have had their ears and nose slit. Who the perpetrators
of violence and injustice are, is never clear, nor is there
any lofty morality of choice in being a ‘source’ for the
army or working for the militants. At issue was survival
as Shahpari from a remote border village in Buddhal
reminded us.
“It was 2000, we were at our dhok (a stone dwelling)
to access alpine pastures for our animals, my
husband, our 7 children and I. 13 militants came
and took away him away to show them the way. I
tried to stop them. Who would get grass for the animals
if he went? They didn’t listen. Next day three
militants returned. He wasn’t with them. They
were angry. Had he come home? Had I sent him to
report to the chowk (police)? All through the grilling,
one of the militants was sharpening his knife
in readiness. Gripped by terror, I appealed to one
of them to spare us — we have small children to
look after. Pleading I said, “I swear by the Koran, I
haven’t sent him to the chowk. I don’t know where
he is”. They turned on me. What did I an illiterate
woman know of the Koran. I pointed to the roti
(daily bread) and said, “I’ll swear by the roti. A
man has to have food in his belly before even the
Koran.” This outraged them. They began to thrash
me and the children. My husband returned at 6 pm.
They killed him. An hour and half later, they killed
my niece’s husband at his shop down in town. He
used to tailor uniforms for the army. After that for
two years the army declared the dhoks off limits.”
Militants targeted Hindu families but what perhaps was
even more painful was the realisation that their Muslim
neighbours lured by the prospect of appropriating their
lands, were now reluctant to see their return. In 2005
in retaliation for the security forces killing three militants,
10 men of three Hindu families were killed. The
34 UNEQUAL CITIZENS: Women’s Narratives of Resistance, Militarisation, Corruption and Security