[Reader-list] Showkat�s last run

Wed Sep 5 11:02:31 IST 2007

Dear Aditya

  Link posted was incomplete. It should be:

   http://www.thesundayindian.com/09092007/section.asp?sname='Cover%20Feature'&idate='09/09/2007'

  Aditya, if you know these people, please convey to them that the web page is poorly designed. The Cover Feature comprises of 7 connected articles that are not accessible by logical weblinks leading from one to the next one. Back and forth navigation has to be done.

  I am reproducing the 'feature' as a composite piece. It includes Yasin Malik's avowal of  having 'turned' Gandhian.

  Kshmendra Kaul

              SHOWKATS LAST RUN
No salt, please
Now is the time for India to make inroads into Kashmiri hearts 
  http://www.thesundayindian.com/09092007/storyd.asp?sid=2550&pageno=1

           Six decades ago, a young Kashmiri boy befooled Pakistani tribesmen, giving them wrong directions for reaching Srinagar. By the time they realised this, the marauders had lost precious time and the Indian Army landed in Srinagar. Maqbool Sherwani was nailed to a Cross and shot dead by the seething tribesmen. Sherwani saved Kashmir for India. Then came a time when Sherwanis legacy became an eyesore. Even his mentor-Kashmirs tallest leader, Sheikh Abdullah, was not spared. Angry Kashmiris vanadalised his grave. Sixty years later, Kashmir is trying to lick its wounds. The wounds are too many, but they are healing gradually. Its time to ensure that no further salt is rubbed. 

            Showkats last run
His colleagues thought no bullet had his name written on it. But that run would prove to be his last. Rahul Pandita and Zubair Dar tell the story of super cop Showkat Bhat, and those of four others, revealing the tangled picture of Kashmir 
  http://www.thesundayindian.com/09092007/storyd.asp?sid=2549&pageno=1

           Kashmir is like a Kafkaesque fantasy. A few hours before we land at the Srinagar airport, four Gujarati tourists have been killed in a terrorist attack. And yet, as we move along the Dal Lake, we see hordes of domestic tourists, enjoying shikara rides and Kashmiri cuisine. Young soldiers watch nervously, their fingers fixed on the trigger. Any passerby could be a suicide bomber. As we pass the Lal Chowk area, a young man fires at a BSF soldier, killing him on the spot. While we are in the valley, a dreaded Lashkar militant commander, Abu Talah is killed in an encounter. A senior police officer tells us how Talah and his men had strangled a man with the drawstrings of his pajamas.

It is because of villains like Talah that Showkats story needs to be told. He is almost a part of the Kashmiri folklore, but no media has ever bothered to tell his story. For them, he is mere statistics. But Showkats life is much more than that. It is an unstated revolt against external interference in Kashmir. We bring you his story. 

Somewhere, somehow, the lives of four other Kashmiris form a trajectory with that of Showkats. Together, they form a curve. You can call that curve Kashmir. 

      SHOWKATS LAST RUN
The kashmiri cheetah
One kick turned Showkat against militancy. Despite his fathers worries, long before he turned 28, he was an encounter specialist. And then... 
  http://www.thesundayindian.com/09092007/storyd.asp?sid=2551&pageno=1

           Showkat is running. He is dashing actually, like a cheetah, clutching an AK-47 assault rifle in his hands. No matter where a fidayeen attack takes place in Srinagar, Showkat is there. Even when he is under suspension for a short period, he cannot stop himself when the Passport Centre comes under a fidayeen attack. Within minutes, Showkat is inside, in defiance of superiors; a little later, he comes out, with a fidayeens body on his shoulders. He puts the body in front of his Inspector-General. Showkat seems invincible. No bullet could have had Showkats name on it, say his colleagues.

It is nine months after Showkats famous sprint that we enter into the sanitised environs of the police headquarters in Batmaloo, Srinagar. Inside a room, where senior police officials are discussing a recent encounter, Showkat is running, this time on a glossy calendar. One foot in the air, and another bouncing back from its toes, moving inside Lal Chowks Standard Hotel building, where two fidayeen militants have laid a siege. That is Showkats last picture, his last run. There were bullets which got to kiss him, eventually. But then, Showkat did not die behind a sand bunker or steel plate. Exposed to the militants firing line, he was hit while moving to safety an Asst Commandant of CRPF. He breathed his last in the lap of his colleague & friend, Inspector Vishal Singh. 

Inside the police headquarters office, Sanaullah Bhat (above) does not betray any emotion. He sits in one corner, staring at his sons picture. A gardener by profession, Showkat was the youngest of his three sons. It was a norm during the early 90s that families had to offer their eldest son to militants, says Sanaullah. In 1994, Showkats maternal uncle was killed by militants as he refused to toe their line. The family was still in mourning when a dreaded militant of the area came knocking at their door. He kicked Showkat as he lay sleeping, shouting that my eldest son should join them or else he would destroy us, remembers Sanaullah. Showkat, who had just passed the ninth standard then, could never forget that kick. Two years later, he joined the Special Task Force. From 1996 onwards, Showkat became a permanent fixture at encounter sites.

           Inspector Vishal remembers every single moment of that final encounter. I was taking rest in my room when Showkat came running, saying there had been a fidayeen attack in Lal Chowk. We immediately rushed in a bunker van, with Showkat jumping into it before me. After occupying the top floor of the hotel where two Lashkar fidayeen were hiding, Vishal and his team first evacuated six civilians trapped in various rooms  students who had come to join a B.Ed. course at the local university. Then they began drilling holes in the ceiling, and entered inside. The militants, they found out, were operating separately. Once the crossfire began, there was so much smoke inside that we could not see anything; we just kept shooting, says Vishal. After a while, one of the militants secured a vantage position and intensified his attack. Due to heavy firing, one of the police teams decided to shift to another location. Showkat helped everyone move, and as he came out finally,
 the fidayeen, who was hiding behind a staircase, fired a burst at him... and that was it!

Remembers one of Showkats colleagues, Once, Showkat fired in the air after a senior officer accused him of theft; that day he was very angry. He was put under suspension, and order which was revoked after his display of courage during the Passport Centre encounter. He used to hate Pakistani militants. He would say: we cant become slaves of foreigners, remembers Sanaullah. I learnt so much from Showkat, he was my teacher. Its difficult to lose a friend like him, says another colleague, Rajesh Kumar. We havent lost him, reacts an officer, pointing towards Showkats last picture, there he is. Yes, he is there, continuing to inspire with his valour. Running. Dashing actually. Like a Cheetah. 

            SHOWKATS LAST RUN
Split-wide-open man 
Whenever there are casualties from firing or handgrenade attack, Maqbool is summoned. 30,000 calls later, he is a tired man... 
  http://www.thesundayindian.com/09092007/storyd.asp?sid=2552&pageno=1

           As Showkats body lay on a steel stretcher inside the police mortuary, his colleagues waited for one man. Where is Maqbool, call him, a senior police officer directed his subordinate over a cellphone. A team was dispatched to Maqbools home. An hour later, a man walked down the corridor, muttering something to himself. He stumbled a bit, and after his sallow eyes met those of a police constable, he asked: Where is the body? It is after much persuasion that Maqbool agrees to meet us. Some of his colleagues suggest that we should take a bottle of whisky along. He cannot move his finger these days without taking a swig from his bottle. You see, his job is like that, says another staffer at the mortuary. Finally, after evading us for days, Maqbool meets us at the mortuary.

Maqbool is the autopsy man of Kashmir, the lone paramedic who conducts postmortem for the police. Not a day has passed since 1990, when he didnt have a body waiting for him.

Dr. Kachroo persuaded me to touch a body of a teenager for the first time during my training. I was terrified; cold sweat ran down my spine, says Maqbool. Thirty thousand autopsies later, Maqbool is on the verge of a breakdown. I lose my temper very easily over trivial issues. I fight with my family and my colleagues. I wish I could quit this job; it is not fit for a human being, he says.

In the past two decades, all cases of unnatural death have come to Maqbool. Sometimes, just a few body parts wrapped up in cloth; sometimes, a young girl killed in a hand-grenade attack, her intestines gouged out; and sometimes, a young man with his brain spilled outside his skull. It is most difficult to conduct autopsy on naked bodies of young women, who would normally not reveal even a single strand of hair to an outsider, says Maqbool.

There is one incident that Maqbool can never forget. On October 21, in 2002, as Maqbool cut open the body of his namesake, police constable Mohammad Maqbool Wani, he saw the heart in motion, though his lungs and liver were badly damaged. Maqbool immediately raised an alarm, and Wani was shifted to the hospital. He is still alive, and in touch with the man who saved his life.

Maqbool is fifty now. He is on medication  to ward off stress and to avoid infection from decomposed bodies. Does he remember his first autopsy after violence broke out in J&K? Yes, it was Aijaz Dar, the first Kashmiri youth killed in an encounter with the police, in September 1988. He pauses and then continues, I know my job will be over once the violence ends. So be it; I dont want to see dead bodies now. He closes his eyes. The body count may have decreased, but it has not stopped. 

Until that happens, Maqbool will remain in demand whether he likes it or not. 

          SHOWKATS LAST RUN
His revolutions
He took up guns for the sake of change. Today, Yasin Malik is a changed man himself... 
  http://www.thesundayindian.com/09092007/storyd.asp?sid=2553&pageno=1

           Five months before Maqbool put his knife across Aijaz Dars body, four young men crossed over the Line of Control for arms training. On July 31, 1988, they carried out their first operation  two bomb blasts that rocked Srinagar, one outside the telegraph office, and the other near the golf course. A year later, the men carried out their first killing  a local BJP leader was shot dead outside his house. Kashmir would be plunged in violence, with many young men joining the armed struggle. People would dance on the streets, hug the gun-toting boys, and declare that they would collect next months ration in Azad Kashmir.

Much water has flown down the Jhelum since 1988. Thousands of people have died and Azadi is still a distant dream. Two of the four men, who crossed the border, are dead now  Ashfaq Majid and Hamid Sheikh died in the early days of insurgency. Only Yasin Malik and Javed Mir carry the legacy of the famous HAJY group (named after the initials of the four men). Both Malik and Mir have shunned the path of violence, and have instead picked up the political flag.

It is on the 19th anniversary of the armed struggle that we catch up with Yasin Malik in Central Kashmir. It is a village called Vatrihyel. This area was once known as the Tora Bora of Kashmir, whispers one of Maliks aides. Vatrihyel is the 1,600th village that Malik is visiting as a part of his Safar-e-Azadi (journey of freedom) campaign. He has been on the road for 75 days. The campaign begins after sunset and ends well after midnight. 

In 1988, we realised that there was no space for argument in a non-violent movement. Gandhi was successful because of genuine political space provided by the British, something which India never offered to Kashmiris, says Malik.

Malik is a chain-smoker; there is always a Gold Flake cigarette between his fingers. Years of sustained police interrogation have left him a frail man. A valve of his heart is damaged. He suffers from facial paralysis on one side. A slap from a cop damaged one of his eardrums. He has been so far arrested more than 200 times. There was a time when I weighed only 42 kilos, Malik lets out a feeble smile. The militant of yesterday is now trying to connect with the masses, like Gandhi. It is actually Mao who said that revolution begins from villages, Malik clarifies. 

Travelling atop a truck, and accompanied by his men from the JKLF, Yasin Malik addresses the waiting crowd. We have proven people wrong who said that Kashmiris cannot fight, he tells the gathering. Malik asks them not to play into the hands of politicians. Dont go to political rallies like hired Bihari labourers who throng them. Mufti Syed and Farooq Abdullah talk like mujahids here, but outside they talk differently, he tells them.

           In every village, where his group makes a stopover, Malik reads out the names of the martyrs from that village. 

Basheer Ahmed Dar, Manzoor Syed... from Shoolipora village. His men are carrying kerosene torches. A mashaal (torch) has spiritual connotations. It also signifies the composite culture  the sufi tradition of Kashmir, says Malik. In his speech, he describes his meetings with Musharraf and American & British officials. He also recites a couplet of the Urdu poet Iqbal, which talks about the struggle of a flame against strong winds.

During that nights last stopover, a woman hands over a bowl to one of Maliks men. Please give it to Malik sahib, she pleads. A neighbour of hers, a young girl, climbs the truck and garlands Malik. After retiring in a tent erected on the grounds nearby, Malik shares the contents of the bowl with the TSI team  choicest pieces of chicken. After dinner, he is smoking again, as usual. There is a big chance for the Indian government to involve Kashmiris in the peace dialogue. I am charting a non-violent course now, but Yasin Malik will become irrelevant if New Delhi does not grab the opportunity, says Malik.

What about Kashmiri Pandits? Pandits are very much a part of Kashmir. They have to come back. There have been some mistakes during the struggle, but we will rectify them, he says. 

How does he describe the moment when he crossed over for the first time? Malik does not answer for a while and then we chance on a deep smile. It was pure romance, he ruminates. Its time to stub out the cigarette, and light another... 

            SHOWKATS LAST RUN
The bat lady 
She addresses the boys of her age as beta. As Sakina teaches them how to wield the bat and how to make the ball work, betas listen aptly... 
  http://www.thesundayindian.com/09092007/storyd.asp?sid=2554&pageno=1

           While Malik was romancing the gun, a young girl in downtown Srinagar refused to play with dolls her parents bought her. Her own romance would begin with a leather ball, and, as her parents realised years later, it spun off into a career. 

As we meet Sakina Yousuf at the grounds of the Kashmir University, she is watching a cricket match. Sakina is of almost the same age as the boys in the university cricket team. But when she enters the ground, wearing her track-pants, the friendly shouts are reduced to a hush. The boys greet their coach.

It all began in my locality, when I would reject dolls, and instead join the boys for a game of cricket. By the time I was in 11th, I was a pro, says Sakina. In one of the matches against another school, Sakina scored 55 runs. And she was not out! At that time, there was no coach for cricket in Srinagar. Realising her potential, one of her teachers suggested that she join the National Institute of Sports to train as coach. When I told this to my family, one of my uncles created a ruckus. He said girls dont go about playing cricket; he said it was a boys bastion, says Sakina. But it was her father, an employee with the Telecommunications Department, who supported her. I made my father understand, in bits and pieces. Once he was convinced, there was no looking back, she remembers.

Her days at the National Institute of Sports taught her to say goodbye to shyness. When I came out, I was completely changed; I was confident of what I was doing and what I needed to do...

It was in June this year that she was temporarily appointed as the coach of the boys team at the university. On the first day, I just observed the boys; I was wearing my usual salwar-kameez. The next day she chose to wear the battlegear  her track-pants. I was a bit nervous, but I didnt let it show on my face, she divulges.

Initially, the boys were apprehensive but once they realised that Sakina really meant business, they went along with her. One of the boys had a problem with the grip. I showed him the technique, and he has overcome that handicap, says Sakina. As the match is on, she addresses some of the boys as beta. And surely, the betas listen.

How has it been playing cricket in Kashmir during the peak of militancy?

Oh, I have never known the old days, which my parents keep talking about. I have always known crackdowns and cross-firing incidents. So, for me, the condition has never been so good as it is now, shares Sakina. Then she adds quickly, In fact, the curfew worked in my favour as I could play cricket on empty streets.

She is the best, says one of her betas. Chak de Kashmir, shouts another. 

            SHOWKATS LAST RUN
Humour in the time of war 
Its difficult to laugh in Kashmir. But Majboor tried, and now people laugh when he passes through a metal detector...
  http://www.thesundayindian.com/09092007/storyd.asp?sid=2555&pageno=1

           There are not many people in Kashmir who would share Sakinas enthusiasm for curfew. Those days meant absolute shutdown of schools, colleges and offices. Shops would be closed and people were confined to their houses for days together. People were increasingly slipping into depression. Humour turned extinct and laughter was almost forgotten. Except that one programme on Radio Kashmir  Zafraan Zaar (a riot of laughter), written & anchored by humourist and theatre artist Ghulam Ali Majboor would manage to bring a smile in the lives of thousands of Kashmiris battered by insurgency. 

Majboor is essentially a Bhand (traditional Kashmiri theatre) artist. Now 55, he says his first performance came at the age of six. Bhand theatre was, once upon a time, the Bollywood of Kashmir, says Majboor. But after 1947, the popularity of the Bhands declined. They turned into drum-beaters for various political parties. Militancy dealt the final blow. One day, the militants came and warned Majboor that they considered theatre a sin! They ordered him to burn all his costumes and destroy the musical instruments. I told them that if tomorrow they achieved their goal, they would have to call Bhands for celebration. And if Bhands had no costumes and musical instruments, how would they perform? They were so happy that they left immediately, remembers Majboor.

In one of his performances, Majboor plays the role of a king, who, along with his prime minister, has to pass through a metal detector in order to reach his throne. His army chief arrives in the court with bruises all over his body. Upon being asked who did this to him, he replies, The Ikhwanis (renegade militants). Immediately, the king and other courtiers begin to tremble. This performance left the people in splits, says Majboor.

As we are about to say goodbye, he dons a gown worn by his forefathers, and poses for a photograph. He has a miniature axe in his hand, as kings in Bhand performances carry. So that humour does not turn extinct. And laughter never forgotten. Never again in Kashmir.

Aditya Raj Kaul <adityarajkaul at gmail.com> wrote:
  *Showkat's last run*
**
*His colleagues thought no bullet had his name written on it. But that run
would prove to be his last. Rahul Pandita and Zubair Dar tell the story of
super cop Showkat Bhat, and those of four others, revealing the tangled
picture of Kashmir
*
Kashmir is like a Kafkaesque fantasy. A few hours before we land at the
Srinagar airport, four Gujarati tourists have been killed in a terrorist
attack. And yet, as we move along the Dal Lake, we see hordes of domestic
tourists, enjoying shikara rides and Kashmiri cuisine. Young soldiers watch
nervously, their fingers fixed on the trigger. Any passerby could be a
suicide bomber. As we pass the Lal Chowk area, a young man fires at a BSF
soldier, killing him on the spot. While we are in the valley, a dreaded
Lashkar militant commander, Abu Talah is killed in an encounter. A senior
police officer tells us how Talah and his men had strangled a man with the
drawstrings of his pajamas.

It is because of villains like Talah that Showkat's story needs to be told.
He is almost a part of the Kashmiri folklore, but no media has ever bothered
to tell his story. For them, he is mere statistics. But Showkat's life is
much more than that. It is an unstated revolt against external interference
in Kashmir. We bring you his story.

Somewhere, somehow, the lives of four other Kashmiris form a trajectory with
that of Showkat's. Together, they form a curve. You can call that curve
Kashmir.
Link: -
http://www.thesundayindian.com/09092007/section.asp?sname='Cover%20Feature'&idate='09/09/2007'

*--
Aditya Raj Kaul
Blog: www.kauladityaraj.blogspot.com
Campaign Blog: www.kashmiris-in-exile.blogspot.com
RIK Website: www.rootsinkashmir.org
US Website: www.unitedstudents.in*
_________________________________________
reader-list: an open discussion list on media and the city.
Critiques & Collaborations
To subscribe: send an email to reader-list-request at sarai.net with subscribe in the subject header.
To unsubscribe: https://mail.sarai.net/mailman/listinfo/reader-list 
List archive: <https://mail.sarai.net/pipermail/reader-list/>

---------------------------------
Fussy? Opinionated? Impossible to please? Perfect.  Join Yahoo!'s user panel and lay it on us.