A part of this post has been edited to include latest developments and impressions. The original article was published on CounterCurrents.org on May 6, 2014.
Read the article here.
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| A barbed wire, erected by the army a few years ago in an area that has been the grazing spot for decades, separates the village of Sitaharan from the designated firing range |
BUDGAM, J&K
For as long as most of the residents of Sitaharan, a hamlet in Budgam district of Kashmir, can remember, the onset of summer accompanies an inevitable announcement from the local mosque. It is that time of the year when the hitherto snow-crusted mountains in their backyard start becoming less hostile, allowing villagers and their cattle living in its laps to ascend into their huts and pastures at the top. But the seasonal relief is dispelled by the annual call from the loudspeaker broadcasting the arrival of the Indian Army.
In
the coming days, men-in-camouflage take their positions, some in the fields,
some barely a hundred metres from school yards, and aim at the mountain ranges,
focussing their viewfinders and locking in the target: Tosa Maidan. The meadow
sprawling over 11,200 ha was a designated firing range till April 18. Until
2013, from May to November, sometimes spilling over into the next month, artillery
shells rained from LMGs to Bofors as numerous regiments lined up for their
annual practice drill.
At
this time of the year, Mohammad Akram Shaikh (40) is a short, lanky man one
would find wrapped in a traditional pheran.
He is also the Vice-Chairman of Tosa Maidan Bachao Front, a committee consisting of members from 52 villages located in the periphery of the meadow,
including Sitaharan.
“In
places like Srinagar,” he says, “whenever there is an accident due to the army,
there is so much of agitation. There are also hartals at times. In our case,
there have been 63 people who have been killed over the years but not one
protest. Why?”
One
can look for an answer to Akram’s rhetoric in the mechanics of conversations
with victims and relatives of the deceased. It can manifest itself in the
simplest of inquiries like how old a person is. More often than not, the
respondent withdraws into himself, looking around for an external consultant.
Abdul Ahmad Mantu, a resident of Sitaharan, lost both his wife and daughter in
last two decades to unexploded ammunition. To field this question, he turns to
his sarpanch and the two put their
heads together. Finally, it’s the latter that emerges triumphantly: “Fifty
five.”
[The following paragraph was modified on July 6, 2014]
In 2011, members of a body that calls itself 'Jammu & Kashmir RTI Movement', led by Sheikh Ghulam Rasool, sought to assess the casualties due to the firing range. It has since been claimed that there were 63 deaths caused due to shells that remained unexploded when fired. 43 villagers were claimed to have been left permanently disabled. The information was said to be obtained from the Senior Superintendent of Police of Budgam district. In spite of repeated attempts over two months, members of the body including Rasool himself didn't share the said RTI document with me. Instead, my insistence was termed unnecessary since in March 2014, CM Omar Abdullah had himself acknowledged the figure alleged by the members. The spokesperson of Indian Army in Kashmir, too, was unavailable for comment in spite of repeated attempts in March.
After Rasool went public in 2012, the outrage that followed in the next couple of years has been significantly responsible in moulding the political ambiance in the valley, augmenting in the wake of the general elections. Even as political parties display eagerness to empathize ahead of the polls, the residents are firm on their stance of boycotting the elections unless their singular demand is met: no more deaths; ergo, no more firing range.
In 2011, members of a body that calls itself 'Jammu & Kashmir RTI Movement', led by Sheikh Ghulam Rasool, sought to assess the casualties due to the firing range. It has since been claimed that there were 63 deaths caused due to shells that remained unexploded when fired. 43 villagers were claimed to have been left permanently disabled. The information was said to be obtained from the Senior Superintendent of Police of Budgam district. In spite of repeated attempts over two months, members of the body including Rasool himself didn't share the said RTI document with me. Instead, my insistence was termed unnecessary since in March 2014, CM Omar Abdullah had himself acknowledged the figure alleged by the members. The spokesperson of Indian Army in Kashmir, too, was unavailable for comment in spite of repeated attempts in March.
After Rasool went public in 2012, the outrage that followed in the next couple of years has been significantly responsible in moulding the political ambiance in the valley, augmenting in the wake of the general elections. Even as political parties display eagerness to empathize ahead of the polls, the residents are firm on their stance of boycotting the elections unless their singular demand is met: no more deaths; ergo, no more firing range.
 |
| There is a severe dearth of infrastructure and road connectivity in the villages around Tosa Maidan firing range. Most of the population lives below poverty line; their main occupations consist of farming, cattle rearing and collecting firewood |
Until
a few years ago, with low levels of literacy,
near-absolute absence of documentation or any contact with the outside world
except since the advent of mobile phones, the residents had internalized the
constant barrage as a way of life. Every few years, candidates running for
elections would breeze into their villages, make hollow promises at various
decibels to end the shelling only to disappear along with ballot boxes.
“In
1984, then Chief Minister Farooq Abdullah had come and addressed the people at
Khag tehsil,” recalls Akram. “He had
told us that they (the army) will vacate Tosa Maidan and bring tourists here.”
But the declaration, as the next three decades would stand witness, never
panned out. For the locals, his reassurance about the meadow’s potential as a
tourist spot rankles with unfulfilled hopes.
“Unlike Gulmarg, Tosa Maidan is a
real natural beauty,” says Akram. “Budhiya
ko chudiya pehnai to Gulmarg bani
nayi naveli dulhan. From the inside, it is still a budhiya, no?”
 |
| A resident of Shunglipura, Raja Begum’s husband was killed in after he stepped on an unexploded shell in Tosa Maidan. She and her four children survive on charity from the local mosque |
The village of Shunglipura, at the alleged figure of 43, stands head and shoulders above its neighbours in the
number of lives lost over the last three decades. With animal husbandry as their
primary occupation, locals try to save up as much as they can over summer, so
that it would last through the frost. As a result, several pairs of curious
eyes and feet with nothing better to do accompany a visitor during off-season.
In one of the several brick houses
caked with mud and cement in equal parts, Raja Begum sits with four of her
children one afternoon. Her story is similar in skeleton to almost every other,
the only difference being victim’s name, year of the incident and whether the
body is found in part or whole. “He went with maal (native tongue for livestock) and didn’t come back,” she says.
In spite of jumping through
countless hoops at the government offices over the years, cases of a family
receiving ex-gratia compensation are hard to be found. Those FIRs registered,
if people go the distance, act only as a record of deaths. Every month, Begum
gets money from the local mosque to sustain her family. She hasn’t joined in
any of the protest cavalcades where men raised slogans from their village to
the capital. When asked for her reasons, she smiles and stays mute. Over time,
I would get my lesson in cultural intelligence: women are not supposed to step
outside their houses, let alone their villages.
 |
| Abdul Ahmad Mantu, father of the deceased, shows the picture of his daughter who was killed in an explosion in the year 1995 |
The neighbouring village of
Sitaharan has seen four deaths and an equal number injured due to accidents.
While the incidents are few and far in between, their immediate concern has
always been the deafening noise that engulfs them for months on end. Of all the
artillery, it is the dreaded Bofors guns that are the cause of their misery of
students and adults alike. As Ghulam Ali Sheikh, the sarpanch of the village chuckles, “Sometimes, we wonder if Bofors
was an omen for us or Rajiv Gandhi.”
Although the alleged perpetrators
continue the drill year after year, locals’ ire is directed at the incumbent
government. On April 15 earlier this year, finance minister of the state
government Abdul Rahim Rather declared that there will be no further extension
of lease. But the official resolution of the Front demands a written assurance
granted to the effect. The sentiment is that political will is malleable, as
endorsed by the precedents set. It’s the reason why they haven’t allowed any
candidate to as much as enter the village for election campaigning.
Sipping tea at a stall in
Shunglipura, a local told me, “If they give out the lease again, all of us –
men, women and children – will go on the roads and start vandalizing things.
They will shoot us dead. But if this continues, we are all going to die one
day.”
A chance visit to the Khag police station, one of the first structures that mark the start of Khag tehsil when one is on the way back from the villages, told me that the policemen were acutely aware of the resentment brewing in the villages that fall under their jurisdiction.
In our conversation, a Special Police Officer (SPO) associated with the station, identified himself as a person who has frequently joined the army for their drills. It is mandatory that two policemen accompany each regiment during drills.
“Most of the shells used are near their expiry dates,” he says, adding that at least 15% of the shells fired remain unexploded. The same act up as soon as fiddled with. Due to the lucrative price metal fetches in scrap market, some of the residents also go to collect some of the shells, another reason often cited for the high toll. But since both of these categories fall under accidental deaths, none of them account for any action taken.
While there have been feelers sent by the government on caving in to villagers’ demands, policemen at Khag anticipate the toll to only climb higher, whether or not the army comes back. They claim that the melting snow is bound to bring some shells downstream in the course of the future. One of them admitted candidly, “In here, shells are strewn like [water/plastic] bottles. When the locals will go up this summer, the unfortunate ones are bound to step on some and get blown apart.”
On May 19, a seven-year-old girl on her way back from school died after she stepped on an unexploded shell that is said to have flown downstream. Her five-year-old brother who accompanied her lost both his legs to the accident.
[EDIT: On May 19, 2014]
A chance visit to the Khag police station, one of the first structures that mark the start of Khag tehsil when one is on the way back from the villages, told me that the policemen were acutely aware of the resentment brewing in the villages that fall under their jurisdiction.
In our conversation, a Special Police Officer (SPO) associated with the station, identified himself as a person who has frequently joined the army for their drills. It is mandatory that two policemen accompany each regiment during drills.
“Most of the shells used are near their expiry dates,” he says, adding that at least 15% of the shells fired remain unexploded. The same act up as soon as fiddled with. Due to the lucrative price metal fetches in scrap market, some of the residents also go to collect some of the shells, another reason often cited for the high toll. But since both of these categories fall under accidental deaths, none of them account for any action taken.
While there have been feelers sent by the government on caving in to villagers’ demands, policemen at Khag anticipate the toll to only climb higher, whether or not the army comes back. They claim that the melting snow is bound to bring some shells downstream in the course of the future. One of them admitted candidly, “In here, shells are strewn like [water/plastic] bottles. When the locals will go up this summer, the unfortunate ones are bound to step on some and get blown apart.”
On May 19, a seven-year-old girl on her way back from school died after she stepped on an unexploded shell that is said to have flown downstream. Her five-year-old brother who accompanied her lost both his legs to the accident.
Further Reading:
Prem Kumar Jha, consulting editor of Tehelka, being skeptical about Tosa Maidan issue: http://www.tehelka.com/why-the-tosa-maidan-tussle-is-a-ticking-time-bomb-in-kashmir/
A rebuttal to Jha's reportage by Sheikh Saaliq, a freelance journalist:
A counter response to Saaliq's piece by Jha:
