Fragments from a Diary: Trials and Tribulations of a Kashmiri life
Zahir U Din
CRICKET
IN 2011, when India was playing Pakistan at Mohali in Punjab to make it to the finals of the Cricket World Cup, my eight-year-old son was in tears. Pakistan was losing, and he turned to me saying ‘Papa, they are not playing properly, what is wrong with them?’ I had never discussed the Pakistan or Kashmir issue with him. Why did he weep? A senior Congress leader from Sopore has rightly stated that every heart in Kashmir beats for Pakistan. The love for Pakistan runs in our blood. My own childhood was not any different from those of most other Kashmiri children. In 1971, when Pakistan was dismembered, my friends and I took out a procession in our locality. We chanted Pakistan Zindabad. I saw my worried father rushing out of the house. He slapped me and dragged me inside. I was shocked. This was the same man who used to tear out the first page of my books, the one, which carried the Indian national anthem. But that day he had slapped me.
Years later, while interviewing the late Advocate Ghulam Nabi Hagroo, the reasons for my father’s behaviour dawned on me. My father had been under the scanner for heading the militant wing of the Plebiscite Front. He knew what I was risking by going into that procession. In my childhood, a number of people would come to our house to meet my father. These visitors included Fazal Haque Qureshi, Azam Inqilabi, Ghulam Rasool Zahgeer, Abdul Gani Lone, Moulana Abbas Ansari,1 but only after I had attained sufficient maturity to understand that all these people had varying and different roles to play in the Kashmiri Tehreek (resistance movement) and all of them in their unique ways exemplify different aspects of the Kashmir issue.
So, in a way, I inherited my resistance activism from my father. In my youth, my circle comprised Shakeel Ahmad Bakshi, Ashfaq Majid Wani, Tahir Mir, Mushtaq-ul-Islam and many others. All of them played a significant role in the Tehreek, the freedom struggle in Kashmir. In 1982, Shabir Ahmad Shah, currently a well-known resistance leader, approached us, and we were greatly influenced by his personality. When he told us to disrupt the One-Day International match between India and the West Indies in 1983, we agreed. We hoped that by disrupting the international cricket match we would draw the world’s attention to the Kashmir issue. During the planning something went awry and some of us were arrested while digging the pitch during lunchtime. Suddenly we came into focus and we were placed under the government scanner.
POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER
Our family holds the dubious distinction of having the first ever reported Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) case, dating back to the 1965 war. My elder brother, Dr Bakhtyar Naseem, was eleven years old when India and Pakistan went to war over Kashmir for the second time. One evening, a neighbour called on my father. ‘I have heard that this area will be set on fire tonight,’ he informed him. My brother hid himself in his father’s lap. He was terrified.
Prominent people from the locality assembled in the house. My father had a twelve-bore gun and a pistol, which he brandished to encourage the people. Others brought axes and shovels to resist the enemy. However, nothing happened in the area. Instead, a part of Batamaloo was torched a couple of days later, by the Indian Army.2 This incident triggered symptoms of trauma in my brother. He recovered up to the point that he also undertook technical training in the state of Bihar but has always been ailing and distressed.
Some years back, we consulted the noted psychiatrist, Dr Arshad, who has examined hundreds of PTSD cases in Kashmir, the number of which has ballooned since 1989. Tracing my brother’s medical history from 1965 Dr Arshad said that ‘… this is the first reported PTSD case of Kashmir,’ adding, ‘Till now we believed that it was a recent phenomenon mostly connected to the ongoing conflict.’
Narrating the tale of the orchestrated fire, my brother said: ‘After the 1965 incident, I was never comfortable. I would take my younger brother with me to the loo. I was scared in Bihar and wanted to come back but my father was strict. One day he wrote me a letter with a single sentence: “Do or die”. I somehow completed my training and got married.’
He said that our father had taken him to a renowned doctor, Ali Muhammad Jan, and also Dr Allaqband, but without results. ‘Finally, I met the late Dr Beg and narrated my tale to him. He prescribed some medicines but I could not overcome my fears,’ he said.
‘And what scares you?’ Dr Arshad asked.
‘What will happen if I die? If my house succumbs to a quake, what will I do? If I get a heart attack, how can I survive? I am worried all the time,’ my brother replied. The session with Dr Arshad was soothing. My brother smiled when Dr Arshad said there was nothing wrong with him. However, there was a fair amount of sarcasm in that smile. His pain went back decades to that fire; he had lived through the grim political realities of Kashmir, and his ailment had only been exacerbated by time.
In 2010, I did a study on PTSD in Kashmir for Action Aid International. During the course of my research, I met around 150 patients from across Kashmir. A woman’s woeful tale merits special mention here. After performing her son’s last rites, she went to bed. But after a while, she came out of her house and walked slowly to a shed in her backyard. She took out a shovel and paused for a moment. She looked behind. Nobody had noticed her. She walked towards the graveyard. The village chowkidaar finally saw her and followed her silently, suspicious. He grabbed her hand, but she said, ‘Leave me. I want to see my son’s face.’ She intended to dig up her son’s grave to have a look at his face. The watchman took her home and informed her family of her intentions. Frightened, they kept a watch on her, but still she managed to repeat the exercise three more times. Fortunately, each time she was prevented from finally reaching the graveyard. Ikhwanies (the name given to the militia raised by the government that include surrendered militants, small time criminals, and thugs who work with the army and paramilitary)3 had killed her son in 1998 in a Ganderbal village. The killing had affected her nerves. Medicine did not help her. She has now recovered, but not fully. Talking to a team of visiting human rights defenders, she was told about World Human Rights Day. ‘Ye kis chidiya ka naam hai?’ she asked.
There are thousands of such cases in Kashmir today.
STUDENT LIFE
In 1984, I was in Kashmir University doing my degree in law. In June of that year, sensing a need, a group of students, including me, converted the recreation hall into a mosque. This action was taken as untoward by the authorities and the district magistrate and the vice chancellor summoned us. We were given an alternative – a prayer hall in the campus. But we refused since students who want to pray on campus would be better served by a properly sized masjid and not just a prayer hall. The authorities raided the place one night and seized the mats, the pulpit and other things. Three of us, including me, escaped arrest. The rest were taken into custody and then detained under the draconian Public Safety Act (PSA).
My student activism continued even after I joined the legal profession in 1987. I was lucky enough to work with advocate Abdul Qadir Sailani for two years. He was noted for pleading the cases of political prisoners and was martyred for this in 1995. By the time I had established myself as a lawyer, the struggle for azadi had commenced. In 1990, I became an executive member and the spokesman of the Jammu and Kashmir High Court Bar Association. It was a time when many people had been taken into custody across the state. A team had to be sent to the various jails to compile a list of those detained. I accompanied the first team. We visited all the jails in Jammu and came out with a list of detainees. The list helped people trace their relatives, and I had the opportunity to understand the problems faced by Kashmiris in the freedom movement. These experiences cannot be explained here; a whole, fat book is needed for it. However, a few encounters that shook me do merit a mention.
Once I was talking to the superintendent of Hira Nagar jail in Jammu. A man from Kupwara in north Kashmir walked in. He was wearing a woolen coat even though it was the month of June. During this time Jammu is very hot and the temperature goes up to 50 degrees celsius. The man looked exhausted, and wearing heavy woolens with no weather-appropriate clothes suggesting penury. The superintendent called the man’s brother-in-law (the detainee) from the barracks and allowed them some talk time. While leaving, the man handed a polythene bag over to his brother-in-law. I could smell the stink emanating from the package. Before the detainee could take it, I snatched the package from him, which contained a rotting chicken, cooked for the detainee by his sister. The man, obviously poor as was apparent from his appearance, had taken one day to reach Srinagar from Kupwara, one more day on the bus to Jammu, and had finally reached Hira Nagar on the third day. During this time the chicken had spoiled but the man still handed it to his brother-in-law as he had nothing else to give. As the man left, I followed him out asking if he had any bus fare. He replied, ‘No, I will work at the bus stand for a few days and earn the fare,’ I gave some money to him asking him to return home as soon as possible. This man and this incident represent to me the epitome of the suffering of Kashmiris since 1947.
GAW KADAL MASSACRE
The date, 21 January 1990, is an important one in the history of Kashmir. I believe this day changed Kashmir forever and it changed me. It was the day when one of the bloodiest massacres was carried out by the government. On 20 January 1990, Jagmohan’s first televised address as governor of the state stunned me. It was very provocative. He said: ‘I will not take any salary. I will just take Rs 1,000 to meet my personal expenses. I promise you a clean administration. If anybody creates a law and order problem, meray haton say aman ka patta khisak jayega (the card of peace I am carrying will slip away from my hands)’. I took it as a clear warning to us Kashmiris; behave, or I will teach you a lesson.4
In less than twenty-four hours, the threat was carried out. The father of the area commander of the Jammu and Kashmir Liberation Front, Sheikh Abdul Hamid [also known as Hamid Sheikh], whom I had close relation with and addressed Chacha (uncle) called on me. The speech had frightened him. ‘They (the government) are taking on a massive search operation. What should we do now?’ I had no answers, but I told him to keep cool. ‘If they have decided to do that, there is nothing we can do about it. Let them come and search our houses. We have nothing to hide.’ I knew that we had the huge military might of India ruling us. By the time Chacha had stood up to leave, his face had fallen. I felt sorry for him.
That day a massive crackdown took place in Chhota Bazaar during the first-ever search operation in Kashmir. It was a gloomy day and the sun hid behind the clouds. We were all burdened because not only had men been arrested during the crackdown but women had also been molested. The treatment of the women sent shock waves across Srinagar. People came out to register their protest.
‘Allah-o-Akbar Kabeeran Kabeera!’ was the slogan that was chanted across Srinagar that evening. We also assembled in Magarmal Chowk and expressed solidarity with the Chhota Bazaar people. Around midnight, two army vehicles arrived. Many people ran for shelter. But the troops had arrived to rescue their officer, who lived in Magarmal Bagh. The officer and his family left for good that night. Soon after, a bearded man from Sarai Bala, who used to play cricket with me in erstwhile Hazuri Bagh, arrived. ‘Ashfaq sahib [another JKLF commander] wants you to take out a procession tomorrow morning,’ he told me.
I did not trust him, and something deep inside forced me to seek clarification from Ashfaq Majid Wani. I asked somebody to call him. Good God! He had not spoken to the person who had called on me, and did not want people to take out processions in the morning. He urged us to restrain others from doing so. We tried our best but destiny had something else in store for Kashmir that day.
Processions were organized from Batamaloo, Rajbagh and elsewhere. I was with Chacha in Batamaloo, desperately trying to keep the people indoors. I found myself arguing with a stranger on the Silk Factory Road near DAV School. Chacha was nowhere to be seen. The CRPF personnel fired several rounds in the air here, and people ran for shelter. I myself reached Sarai Bala. A small group was walking towards Lal Chowk, and I joined them. Meanwhile, a huge procession appeared from the Rajbagh area. Many people joined it and we started marching towards Chhota Bazaar.
A party of police and CRPF stopped this peaceful procession. The men in khaki opened fire without any provocation. I did not know what to do. People began running for their lives, and I got swept up with the crowd. In the panic, I saw a man named Farooq Ahmed who was my brother’s driver fall to bullets. A CRPF trooper with a light machine gun (LMG) was firing indiscriminately on the scared people. This had never happened before in Kashmir. Rouf, the younger brother of my brother’s friend, went to him and tried to snatch his gun. Sensing danger, the trooper emptied the entire magazine in his chest. Rouf fell in a pool of his own blood. Again, though I knew him well, I did not have the courage to pick him up. All I wanted to do was run away from the scene. At last, I made it to Lal Chowk. I reached my place in the evening. I hated myself for not having helped Farooq and Rouf. But could I have helped them at all?
The morning of 22 January was very painful for me. Chacha awakened me. ‘There are nearly ten bodies in the control room. Get up, we have to bury them,’ he said. I was out in the graveyard in fifteen minutes. Many people were waiting for the bodies. When the truck bearing them arrived, things went out of control. A few graves had been dug. I think we buried the bodies without offering Nimaaz-e-jinaza (funeral prayers). My elder brother was taking photographs of the bodies, and I appreciated his wisdom in keeping a record. The identity of the corpses could not be ascertained. In fact, the bodies remained unidentified despite my brother’s photos. On another note, a policeman who had accompanied the bodies told us that fifty-two people had been killed on the spot, and around 250 had sustained injuries. A few bodies were buried at Sarai Bala as well. One of my friends, Muhammad Ashraf, was at the graveyard there. He too had received a minor injury at Gaw Kadal. His eighty-year-old neighbour was among the dead. ‘What a lucky man he has been. He died a martyr’s death after enjoying life for eighty years,’ Ashraf said. I had no comments to offer.
A few days after this incident, journalist Tavleen Singh visited Kashmir. Somebody gave her my number, and we visited the site of the massacre. There was still a heap of shoes and slippers there, left behind by the protestors when they ran for safety. ‘The heap of shoes is mocking Indian democracy,’ I told Tavleen, who looked down as if shamed.
A lot of people from India visited Kashmir in February 1990 to take stock of the situation. All of them posed the same question: What will happen now? ‘This is going to be a turning point in our history,’ I would answer them. The coming months proved my thinking right. The massacre had made the movement a mass uprising. The people in Delhi also felt the heat. Tavleen came again, and we met at Broadway Hotel. She wanted to meet the leaders of the movement, but I could not help her. Finally, she wanted me to accompany her to a place, the name of which she did not disclose. ‘George Fernandez, the Kashmir Affairs minister, wants to talk to the leaders. New Delhi is ready to grant the state total autonomy. Please come with me and speak to him,’ she said.
Tavleen had forgotten that I was an ordinary lawyer and not qualified to represent the Kashmiri people as a whole. But her desperation told me a lot. The bloodshed at Gaw Kadal had left an impact. New Delhi was desperate to discuss the future of Kashmir with a commoner.
JOURNALISM
By January 1992, I had decided to bid farewell to the legal profession. I went back to the university to do a masters’ in mass communication and journalism. By the time I had graduated, the Valley’s first English daily, Greater Kashmir, had been launched. I joined as a reporter and by the end of 1996 I had become the associate editor. This provided me the opportunity to meet people from all walks of life, including politicians, militants, activists, prisoners and bureaucrats.
Early on we also suffered what could be called the first casualty in our journalist fraternity. I remember seeing my colleague and friend Mushtaq Ali, who was a videographer, at my friend’s residence in Magarmal Bagh. A feast had been organized in connection with his waleema (marriage feast on behalf of the bridegroom) on 7 September 1995. Well-known journalist Yusuf Jameel and photographer Habib Naqash were among the invitees. Mushtaq enjoyed a hearty meal, and little did we know that it would be his last. Someone entered and informed us that the foreign tourists who had been taken hostage by Al Faran had been spotted. Yusuf Jameel, Mushtaq Ali and other writers rushed to their respective offices. I urged Mushtaq to have a plate of phirni but he left in a hurry. Had he stayed back to eat, he would not have fallen prey to the parcel bomb, which was sent to Jameel’s office. But then, death keeps a definite calendar.
While Yusuf and Mushtaq had been having lunch, a veiled lady had left a parcel for Jameel at his office on Residency Road. After their arrival in the office, Mushtaq had snatched the parcel and started opening it while Jameel and Habib Naqash watched with keen interest. When Mushtaq removed the wrapper, the bomb went off and he sustained critical injuries. Three days later, he succumbed to his wounds in the hospital.
IKHWANIES
In 1996, we learned that the Ikhwanies (counter-insurgency militia) had been involved in Mushtaq’s murder. The Ikhwanees were a dreaded lot, consisting mostly of surrendered militants, extortionists and criminals who were used by the government as an arbitrary militia. They went on a rampage of killing and looting, and became notorious for their ruthlessness. We had a sweet old man, Noor Muhammad, in the office. He would translate the militants’ notes to the press. One day, I told him to keep aside the note Kuka Parrey, the father of counter-insurgency in Kashmir, had sent for me. I did not translate it. Instead, I made it a news item, but that did not go down well with Parrey. He called me the next afternoon. I was playing cricket on the office lawns. Fayaz Ahmad Kaloo was in the office. Parrey abused him and told him to come to his headquarters in Hajin next day. He was told to bring me along. We were worried, but after an hour, Parrey called again and ‘pardoned’ us. We were told to carry the press note in its totality, along with a photograph of Parrey on the front page. We had nothing to do but obey. However, that very day I vowed to myself that one day ‘Counter-insurgency orphaned’ would be the headline in Greater Kashmir when Parrey himself would be killed. A ruthless Mafioso in cahoots with the government and the army, it was evident that Parrey’s end would be as violent. My promise was fulfilled when Parrey was finally killed. Soon after this incident, the Ikhwanies abducted Fayaz Ahmad Kaloo with the intention of killing him. However, he managed to escape. It was October 1996. I wrote an editorial titled ‘Either disown them or give them uniform’. This was the first write-up against Ikhwanies in the state, and with this, we declared a war on them.
In 1995, a friend persuaded me to compile a document on enforced disappearances that had been carried out by the Indian Army in Kashmir. He suggested the title, ‘Did they vanish in thin air?’ I retained the ungrammatical title as a tribute to him. While compiling the document, I travelled across the state and found to my dismay that most of the disappeared came from very poor families. In most of the cases, the disappeared person was either the only brother of five sisters, the only source of succour to aged parents, or the only bread earner in a large family. Many of the families did not cooperate with me. Many human rights workers, non-governmental organizations (NGOs), researchers and film-makers from all parts of the globe had made their lives hell. They had often visited these hapless souls and made them narrate the painful stories again and again. There were some cases where the so-called human rights defenders and scribes had taken away the family’s only photo of the disappeared person. In 2000, I came out with the revised edition of the book and a second volume appeared in 2003.
HURRIYAT
I had cultivated credible sources in the Hurriyat headquarters, Rajbagh. I often filed stories on the internal bickerings of the group, much to the discomfort of its leaders, but I have always believed that dissent is of great value. In those days, the election for the post of chairman was due. I came to know from my sources that Mirwaiz Umar Farooq would find it very difficult to get re-elected for a second term. I filed a story on it, but the leaders took this leak very seriously.
The next day, Muhammad Yaqoub Vakil, a leader of the Awami Action Committee (AAC), came to my office to confirm the source of my story. He threatened me with dire consequences if I did not tell him. I lost my cool. ‘Who are you to question me? Let the executive council of the Hurriyat Conference call me,’ I shouted at him. He left, but not before giving me a scornful look.
That same evening, I was told to present myself before the executive council of the Hurriyat conglomerate on a particular date. I could have ignored the ‘order’ but decided to go anyway. This time, I was not greeted with the usual smiles. The council members, Syed Ali Geelani, Professor Abdul Ghani Bhat, Maulana Abbas Ansari, the late Abdul Gani Lone and Mirwaiz Umar Farooq, all were angry with me. Yasin Malik was the only person who behaved normally. In fact, Malik was in the eye of the storm as well because he was suspected of leaking the ‘vital’ information to me.
I was told to disclose my source in the Hurriyat headquarters, but I refused. ‘If you have leaks in your house, you better plug them,’ I replied. The boldness I was displaying was too much for them. I could sense that some of them were on the brink of losing their nerve. Maulana Abbas Ansari and Abdul Gani Lone were close friends of my father’s. They would call on him almost every week. While Lone sahib watched me keenly, Maulana Ansari offered an uncalled-for explanation. ‘He called me last week to learn about a Quranic verse,’ he said. I had called him a week earlier when we were preparing for a special issue of Greater Kashmir on Seerat-un-Nabi (life of the Prophet).
Lone sahib encouraged me by whispering in Professor Bhat’s ears. The pitch of the whisper was deliberately high enough for me to hear. ‘Why was he summoned here?’ The whisper emboldened me. There was an adjective prefixed to this whisper that conveyed to me that I was doing well.
Mirwaiz said: ‘We know the person who feeds lies to you. He is a petty employee here. We will set him right.’ It was evident he knew who the person was but needed confirmation from me. Their questioning lasted two hours. While answering, I made sure to point out their shortcomings. This approach of mine only added fuel to the fire, but I had started to enjoy myself and knew this was a ‘historic encounter’. I deliberately took this approach to give them my feedback.
Finally, I stood up to leave, and walked slowly towards the door. ‘Zahir sahib, humay umeed hai ki aayinda aap kuchh nahi likhengay,’ (‘Zahir, we hope you will refrain from writing about the Hurriyat Conference in the future’). It was Syed Ali Geelani. I turned back and said: ‘Geelani sahib, main likhoonga aur bahut tez likhoonga,’ (‘I will continue to write hard’). My motive was not simply to rile the freedom leaders but to make sure that my writing served as a reflection of their strategies and keep valuing constructive dissent.
JUDICIARY
In July 2000, the state home department issued a written order directing the jail superintendents not to honour court orders seeking the release of political prisoners. I was then with Greater Kashmir as associate editor. I filed the story and called the chief secretary, Ashok Jaitly, for his comments. ‘You have called at an odd hour. Please do not bother me,’ he said. The impugned order was withdrawn fifteen days later, when the Bar Association registered strong protest. However, the judiciary has not been able to safeguard the basic human and civil rights of Kashmiris.
The role of the judiciary in protecting human rights came up for discussion at a seminar organized by the High Court Bar Association, Srinagar, on World Human Rights Day some years ago. Most of the speakers discussed the technicalities of this role. However, a young lawyer said that the process of eroding the supremacy of the judiciary began the day the Sher-i-Kashmir took over as the emergency administrator of the state in 1947. The audience listened as the lawyer compared the judiciary, pre-1947 and post-1947. ‘Maharaja Hari Singh was an autocrat. All powers vested in him. But no enforced disappearance, no custodial killing, no fake encounter has been reported during his regime,’ he said. Hari Singh, he said, allowed the judiciary to flourish. ‘When his queen Maharani Tara Devi wrote a note to a magistrate urging him to take a lenient view in a case, the all-powerful maharaja tendered an unconditional and written apology to the magistrate,’ he said. On the contrary, the lawyer said, a halqa president of National Conference from Budgam district wrote a note to a high court judge, urging him not to hear a second appeal in a revenue case, and Sher-i-Kashmir directed the learned judge to quit unless he did as directed. ‘The learned judge resigned in protest,’ the lawyer said. ‘Today, a stage has come when the judges have started expressing their helplessness in open courts.’
In 2007, the then chief judicial magistrate (CJM), Budgam, expressed his inability to ensure the presence of the accused in the Jalil Andrabi murder case. ‘The relatives of the deceased are justified in casting aspersions on the judiciary for its failure to administer justice,’ the learned magistrate remarked. In a petition filed by the Bar Association in Jalil’s case, the late Justice Rizvi made a similar remark. The lawyer pointed out that this had never happened earlier.
THE LEGEND OF SHEIKH MOHAMMAD ABDULLAH
In 2006, a friend from India made a derogatory comment that forced me to search the past for answers. I was lucky to interview around 100 people who were witnesses to the historic events of 1931 onwards. My research culminated in a book titled Bouquet, which became a tribute to the unsung heroes of Kashmir and was published in 2007. In this book I wanted to show that Kashmir had produced a galaxy of heroes. Her people had never accepted foreign occupations and had instead offered resistance.
During my research for Bouquet, I learned that in 1947 Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah faced stiff resistance to his assuming power. As a result, he had exiled many political workers to ensure a comfortable stay in the chair. He also invoked the draconian Defence of India Rules (DIR) to crush dissent. This legislation empowered the government to detain a person for up to two years without trial. Hundreds of cases can be cited here to prove the point. One case is notable. It is said that Noor Muhammad Sofi registered protest in an inimitable style. He went to Sheikh Abdullah’s house to greet him dressed as a sadhu. Sofi had begun wishing his friends and acquaintances in typical Hindu style. ‘Namaskar, how are you?’ he would ask with folded hands. When he was asked why he was roaming around in a sadhu’s attire, Sofi would reply: ‘I am doing what our leader will make us do after twenty-five years. He has sold us cheap.’ Sofi managed to hold a protest rally against the accession in Lal Chowk itself. The National Conference workers watched helplessly. Nobody dared to oppose him. Needless to say, Sofi was arrested, tortured and detained. Shortly after his release, he was found dead in his hotel room. To this day, his murder remains a mystery.
LEGALITY OF THE ‘ACCESSION’ TO INDIA
Before commenting on the legality of the accession of Jammu and Kashmir to India, it is necessary to know about the day the maharaja ran away from Srinagar. Three books written by the most important persons of those times give conflicting reports of this day. Dr Karan Singh’s autobiography (Oxford) says that the maharaja was in Srinagar on 26 October (p. 86). ‘The hostility between my father and the Kashmiri leaders was greatly heightened by the fact that his move to Jammu on the night of 27 October 1947 in the wake of tribal invasion (on the insistent advice of V.P. Menon) was seized upon by the Sheikh to attack and malign him in bitter and brutal fashion.’ However, he says the exodus took place late at night on 25 October (p. 58). Karan Singh later became the first Sadr-i-Riyasat of Jammu and Kashmir.
The man at the helm of affairs, Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah, also seems ignorant of the important date. In his Aatish-e-Chinar (pp. 416–17) he writes, ‘Maharaja was very much tired on his arrival in Jammu on October 26. He went to bed and directed his staff to awaken him only when V.P. Menon comes from New Delhi. His arrival shall convey that India has accepted my request for accession. If he does not come, shoot me with my pistol.’
However, Sheikh Abdullah also writes (p. 408), ‘On October 26, the invaders destroyed the power station at Mahore and the Capital plunged into darkness. People say when Rome was burning the king was playing his flute. Similarly, Hari Singh was receiving gifts from his courtiers on the occasion of Dussehra in his palace Darbar Garh, Srinagar.’
Sheikh Abdullah repeats the mistake on p. 411. He states, ‘While the invaders were looting and killing people, the Maharaja led a caravan of more than one hundred vehicles to Jammu on October 25. He was accompanied by his close relatives and Queen Tara Devi. Hari Singh also took the golden idol of his family temple along.’
The third book is Looking Back, written by the then prime minister of Jammu and Kashmir, Meher Chand Mahajan. On p. 151 he writes: ‘Mr Menon and I suggested to him that he should leave for Jammu as soon as possible as the situation may demand his personal negotiations with India. For this purpose, it would be more convenient if he were in Jammu than in Srinagar. Eventually he was persuaded to leave Srinagar at about 2 am on the 26th morning.’
Mahajan gives the vital information on pp. 152, 153 and 154. ‘The cabinet meeting in the evening affirmed the decision of the Defence Council to give military aid to the Maharaja to drive out the tribesmen. Around dinnertime, the Prime Minister [Nehru] sent a message to me that with Mr V.P. Menon I should fly to Jammu to inform the Maharaja of this decision and also to get his signature on certain supplementary documents about the accession. I frankly informed him that I was not prepared to go to Jammu till I get news from my aerodrome officer at Srinagar that the Indian forces had landed there. Panditji did not insist and said, “You can fly to Jammu next morning.”’
Mahajan says (p. 154): ‘In the early hours of the morning of the 27th, I could hear the noise of the planes flying over Sardar Baldev Singh’s house and carrying military personnel to Srinagar. At about 9 a.m. I got a message from the aerodrome officer at Srinagar that troops had landed there and had gone into action. On receipt of this message, I flew to Jammu with Mr V.P. Menon.’ On the same page he says: ‘Mr Menon and myself met his Highness. After some discussion, formal documents were signed which Menon took back to New Delhi while I stayed at Jammu.’
So Mr V.P. Menon was in Delhi on 26 October and flew to Jammu the next morning (27 October). Who signed the instrument of accession at Jammu on 26 October?
A UNI report dated 28 October 1999 gives details of a seminar, and says that Dr Karan Singh was a witness to the signing of the instrument of accession. Karan Singh did not contest the UNI news for obvious reasons and the confusion continues to this day.
Surprisingly, Karan Singh in his address did not claim to be a witness to the signing of the instrument of accession. Instead, he said, ‘It was in my presence that the Maharaja ordered Brigadier Rajender Singh to stop the intruders till the Indian army arrived.’
The political activists I have interviewed believe that the maharaja only shifted his treasury to Jammu on 25 October.
LAW ON OUR SIDE: JAMMU AND KASHMIR HISTORICALLY AN INDEPENDENT STATE
In 1953, a division bench of the state high court heard an important case titled Magher Singh vs the State of Jammu and Kashmir.5 The bench comprising Janki Nath Wazir CJ and Shahmiri J gave a landmark judgment which laid down that Jammu and Kashmir was an independent state from 14 August to 26 October 1947.
The appellant, Magher Singh, prayed for a declaration that the Jammu and Kashmir Big Landed Estates (Abolition) Act was ultra vires to the powers of Shri Yuvraj and therefore, in spite of the passage of this Act, the plaintiff was the lawful owner of 811 kanals of land in villages Kadyal and Kotli Arjun Singh, tehsil Ranbirsingh Pora of district Jammu. The counsel of the appellant agitated the following points to prove his claim.
a)His Highness the Maharaja of Jammu and Kashmir was not an absolute sovereign and therefore he could not entrust his legislation to any other person.
b)Shri Yuvraj being a delegate of His Highness was not competent to enact the law under Section 5 of the Jammu and Kashmir Constitution Act 1939.
Shahmiri J held, ‘In regards to the first point that His Highness the Maharaja was not an absolute sovereign, it is urged by the learned counsel for the appellant that before the partition he was under the paramountcy of British crown and after he executed the Instrument of Accession in favour of the dominion of India on October 26, 1947 he surrendered his part of sovereignty to the dominion of India and therefore was a limited subordinated sovereign and consequently he could not delegate his legislative authority to Shree Yuvraj [sic].’
The Justice explained: ‘While the Maharaja of Kashmir was under the Paramountcy of the British Crown before the partition of India from August 15, 1947 under section 7, Indian Independence Act (10 and 11 Geo VI Ch 30) passed by the British parliament the Suzerainty of His Majesty over the Indian States lapsed and all functions exercised by His Majesty at that date with respect of state of Jammu and Kashmir, all obligations of His Majesty towards Jammu and Kashmir state or the ruler thereof and all powers, rights, authority or jurisdiction exercisable by His Majesty at that date in relation to Jammu and Kashmir by treaty or otherwise lapsed and the state became an independent and sovereign state in the full sense of International law. Thus, whatever limits to the sovereignty of His Highness in relation to matters coming within the sphere of paramountcy existed before August 15, 1947, these ceased to exist and His Highness became an uncontrolled and absolute sovereign even in relation to such spheres from that [sic].’
Similar views were expressed by Wazir CJ who stated: ‘It is contended on behalf of the appellant that His Highness the Maharaja Bahadur Hari Singh was not an omnipotent sovereign but was a subordinate sovereign. His sovereignty, if any, was lost after the state’s accession to India … This contention is based on a misconception of the true constitutional position of His Highness … Maharaja was the fountain of all powers, executive, legislative and judicial. He possessed all the essential attributes of absolute sovereignty and his position can well be compared to the British Parliament. A reference of section 7 of the Indian Independence Act, 1947 will further make it clear that even the external sovereignty of His Highness reverted to him after the lapse of the paramountcy of the British crown. His Highness thus became an omnipotent sovereign after the new dominions of India and Pakistan came into existence [sic].’
If accession was a treaty between India and the Dogra maharaja, India can be accused of violating its terms and conditions. The democratic state of India never respected the treaty and has not, till date, fulfilled the conditions agreed upon by the Government of India and Maharaja Hari Singh. As per the treaty, India was supposed to make a reference to the people after restoration of normal conditions in the state. Even the international community repeatedly urged the Government of India to ensure a free and fair plebiscite in Jammu and Kashmir. But India, through legislative and administrative means, tried to integrate Jammu and Kashmir to India against the will of the people. And unfortunately, it always found collaborators and puppets to strengthen its hold on Kashmir. Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah, the tallest leader of Kashmir ended his twenty-two-year political wilderness in February 1975. The Plebiscite Front that strived for twenty-two years for the right to self-determination was sacrificed in lieu of power. But, the agreement did not last long and could not bring the much-needed peace to the beleaguered people of the state. After twelve years, in 1989, Kashmiris resorted to arms to enforce their rights. The struggle continues to this date.
RETRACING OUR HISTORY
My life experiences and research has revealed that our history has been doctored to suit Indian interests. Kashmiris needed a peoples’ version of their history which for me has become a lifelong project. In the meantime, my colleagues in the Jammu and Kashmir Coalition of Civil Society urged me to produce a history book in a story form for students that resulted in my writing of Flashback, which was published in 2013. However, this is not the end. The year 1947, the tyranny that was imposed on the Kashmiris soon after, and the events that preceded this year are very important to Kashmiris. However, we are often told to forget 1947 and move on. But how can we forget it? Our dispute has its roots in 1947. We have to go back to this history to prove that Kashmir is an independent democracy. And that is what my activism and scholarship hopes to chart.
Zahir U Din is a renowned Kashmiri journalist, lawyer and civil society activist. He has been the associate editor of the Greater Kashmir. His books include two-volume compilation on enforced disappearances in Kashmir, Did They Vanish in Thin Air?; a book on the unsung Kashmiri heroes titled, Bouquet; and Flashback, which is the narrative history of Kashmir. Currently, he is finishing a book on peoples’ history of Kashmir.
NOTES
1They are well-known Hurriyat Conference leaders.
2Handoo, Bilal, ‘Batamaloo Blaze’, Kashmir Life, 10 August 2015, http://kashmirlife.net/batamaloo-blaze-issue-21-vol-07-2-83161/ (accessed on 6 July 2018).
3See Bhan, M., H. Duschinski, and A. Zia, ‘“Rebels of the Streets”: Violence, Protest, and Freedom in Kashmir’, in H. Duschinski, M. Bhan, A. Zia and C. Mahmood (eds), Resisting Occupation in Kashmir, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2018.
4For more, see Mir, Farhat, ‘Governor’s Rule in Jammu and Kashmir: Residents recall Jagmohan Malhotra’s 1990 reign with fear, horror’, Firstpost, 2018. https://www.firstpost.com/india/governors-rule-in-jammu-and-kashmir-residents-recall-jagmohan-malhotras-1990-reign-with-fear-horror-4602271.html (accessed on 7 July 2018); also see Handoo, Bilal, ‘He came as a nurse, but …,’ The Free Press Kashmir, 2018, https://freepresskashmir.com/2018/01/19/jagmohan-he-came-as-nurse-but/ (accessed on 7 July 2018).
5See AIR 1953, J&K 25 Vol. 40, C.N.17.