The Lost Native

I have just retired from the Indian Defense Services, namely the Indian Army, and I am now in the process of reorienting myself in an entirely different world. After putting in about 30 years of service with the Indian Army, I have come to realize that one is only born as a fauji. Now that I am looking back, the previous years of my life are rewritten by the colours of service shades.
The other day I was wondering why I experience such a sense of unease with the civilian environment; after all, I was born and brought up in this environment. I have been educated and groomed around this setup, yet it makes me feel so out of place after my retirement. How has the military training of such a short period successfully remoulded my personality forever and managed to erase the previous impressions and beliefs I had? From what I can see, the norms have changed, so have the ways of life that seem to be acceptable. Is this rather newly developed idea and way of life going to be of any advantage to me, or shall it put me in distress of unknown dimensions? All these answers feel like they will come forth in due course of time, but one thing is for sure, I am finding myself in a different environmental pool in which floating appears to be difficult, and if I’m being honest, swimming across will also be a very hard task.

Anyway, I am (Retd) Colonel Hira lal Kher from rural Kashmir. My family belonged to the Khar family of Batsargam, Kulgam Kashmir. Batsargam was a small beautiful village that fell within the district of Kulgam, in the now infamous valley of Kashmir! There were about ten Hindu and four Muslim families that considered Bastsargam as home back then. With all the Pandit families having moved out of Batsargam, my village is no more the same as it used to be, and I would not mind if it is called something else now. It has now become the victim of the unpleasant change in its culture, demography, structure, form, and shape in every respect.
A small Hindu majority village in the entire district was made Hindu free within no time. Obviously, everything in the village has changed for the worse as far as Kashmiri Pandits are concerned. Most of the families in my village were small-time landlords. The primary profession of all the residents was farming. In the villages, jobs were taken up as additional sources of income, and in some sense, they were also considered a social status symbol. Education was not on the front burner for most families back then, but it had started gaining importance, and efforts were made to educate the children more and more.
There were hardly any private schools in the villages and towns around Batsargaam, and the source of education was mainly Govt schools. The teachers those days were highly committed even though they weren’t all that qualified. Many teachers were hardly educated, and their contribution was obviously negative as they used to create an environment of disinterest and poor performance. However, it is important to mention here that few of the teachers were highly committed, and whatever students of that time achieved in their life subsequently, a major portion of the credit goes to these class of teachers. Respected teachers like Bashir Ahmed ( Maths), Bashir Ahmed (Science), Deena Nath Ji( Maths), Bushan Lal ji (Science), Md Ayub ( Non Medical), and many more stalwarts who have made a great deal of contribution in laying the foundation of many successful professionals subsequently. So by effect, their contribution to the society in general, and individual students in particular, is praiseworthy. I have my personal gratitude to all these Gurus and salute them with humility.

This is similar to the story of the rest of the valley, that is why you would find an overall development in the field of education in Kashmir. There may be many more factors, but the contribution of a few teachers, especially those of science and maths are the major contributors to this development. We, the students of the valley, never felt out of place or inferior in knowledge when we moved out of the valley for further education or training. The other factors, like the cheap fee and free education for the poor, also contributed simultaneously. The fee was paid annually and was in the range of six to eight rupees. Many students did not pay, and it used to be written off for them. Similarly, uniform and books were provided free of cost. The overall support system was very kind and facilitating. All credit goes to the system that existed then, except for the enrollment of underqualified teachers within the establishment. Lots of incompetent, uninterested, and unfit teachers were employed during that time and subsequently. Although separate schools existed for boys and girls, coeducation was also accepted as a norm. Come to think of it the culture of Kashmir back in the day was based in progressive values while also balancing our local traditions.
A lot of teachers and allied staff were following the leftist ideology. These teachers were generally well-read and committed to their profession. Surprisingly most of these teachers joined Jamaat later and supported the separatist ideology. In fact, I am told that these teachers played a critical role in providing support to the anti-national movement while being part of the system and taking full benefits from it. Why these developments were not picked up by Govt agencies in general and the designated agencies that supposedly work for the security of the countrymen and women, is a million-dollar question. Anyway, the attitude of the elders to educate their children irrespective of sex was changing and changing fast. There are many logical reasons for this change. The disadvantages of not being educated were being realised more and more. One such aspect was letter reading and writing.
During my childhood, I had regularly observed the postman being requested by people on a routine basis to read their letters. These were letters that people received from their children who used to go outside the valley with the aim of earning some extra money during the winter season. This is the period of the seventies and early eighties; back then, these letters at times carried a lot of secrets of the families, and the local postman was privy to all these by default. That is why the postman was well received and respected during those days in rural areas, more because of character than the fear of letting the secrets out.

In 1982 I went to Madras for my engineering. At that time, it was superficially peaceful back in the valley, but a sense of discomfort had set in. This could be sensed by those who allowed themselves to be exposed to it. More importantly, the situation could be well-read by those who took a pause from the routine of life and allowed the mental faculty to analyse the existing environment and suggest alternatives. Such people took intelligent decisions about their future and left the valley in a planned manner. Such people did not go through the difficulties and troubles of the forced migration process. The majority of such people were from the cities and a few from the villages. The rest of the Pandit community refused to smell the coffee, although they drank it hard and raw later when the distress struck. Many threads of the incoming situations did exist, and all one needed to do is track one such thread. The Campus of the University of Kashmir was one such place, where the display of the fast-changing environment was free, open, loud, and clear. More than regular education, other ideologies were openly debated and propagated. It is during this time that open celebrations used to be held whenever the Pakistani Cricket team won a match against us, which was, unfortunately, getting more and more discomforting for nationalists.
During those days, there used to be protests all around the valley for every irrelevant issue, and we Pandits were the targets. Imagine, an incident of firing in Afghanistan would lead to a strike in the Valley, and the pandit students in the colleges would be invariably made the targets. Also, during these times, Hindus remained indoors to avoid trouble and considered each incident as an isolated case. I suppose the situation existing at that time was gaining momentum rapidly for future events to follow. This wave was neither read nor evaluated properly by the Pandit community and other minorities. Thus, the telltale signs of ensuing trouble were unfortunately ignored, and a heavy price was paid by all of us subsequently.

Kashmiri Pandits who are considered to be a community with special attributes could not understand how our central Govt pampered the then ruling family of the state. There were various speeches of Sheik Abdulla at various gatherings that almost threatened the merger of the state with Pakistan, and within the next few days, you would find the same Abdulla making a statement in Delhi that no power on earth could take Kashmir away from India. In those days, the Govt at the centre was intellectually inept and lacked foresight. It was as if they were all intoxicated during the day and sozzled during the night. It is this state of mind that made the politicians of the valley, in the beginning, think that the regions of Ladakh and Jammu did not matter and the fate of the state would be decided by the politicians of the Valley. This sense of false superiority is something that was expressed by the politicians loud and clear in the time to come. It became a monster that did a lot of harm, and this harm continued until the year 2014. It is this overconfidence that made Dr Abdulla state that even if Mr Modi comes to power many times, no power on earth can revoke Article 370 and 35A because he and his family had continued to get away with everything anti-national until then.
A certain section of people within the valley are well aware of who has harmed the valley the maximum and how. They also know that many parties like Pakistan, China, etc. are interested in finishing Kashmir once and forever if they are given a chance. It is clear to them that Pakistan and Afghanistan are both failed states, and no such country can do any good to the valley. Unfortunately, the intellectuals and moderates in the valley are shit scared of the rogue elements who are out there to target such people and their ideologies. I have no doubt about the intellectual competence of my community, but I am sure, in this regard, most of the community failed to pick up the leads.

What the Kashmiri Pandit community should not forget is that most of the Kashmiri Muslims are converted Kashmiri Pandits and that too not many years back. So the intellectual attributes of the Kashmiri Muslims, wise as they are, are no less than those of the Kashmiri Hindus. This was very evident from the status of the three regions of the state. Both Jammu and Ladakh were left behind in everything and that too, with the support of politicians from both these regions. Honestly speaking, the most suitable region when we talk of development is the Jammu region because of obvious reasons such as proximity, accessibility, and favourable weather, but Jammu was left high and dry. Apart from the dominant nature of Kashmiri politicians, it was the lack of commitment, foresight, dedication, and planning of politicians from the Jammu region that harmed the city. They are mainly responsible for neglecting Jammu. While the politicians in the valley recommended the opening of schools, politicians in Jammu were interested in opening local liquor shops. Obviously, the damage was done to the roots of the society, then expecting the tree and its fruit to be healthy and tasty is like chasing a wild goose.

I have seen quite a few of such scary incidents in Kashmir, which should have been eye-openers for the administration and should have stood out to the minorities of the valley. One such incident was the one which took place in Habba Kadal area post, at a ceremony where Dr Farook Abdulla was taking over as the president of the state party. Some people in the procession raised Pakistani flags during the ceremony. The atmosphere was full of undesired expressions to notice. Since not many Hindus were part of the procession, such activities were neither observed nor reported with the intensity and importance that they deserved. Moreover, there were people with the procession to moderate such activities. I was shaken up by the sheer number of people participating in the procession. My imagination of how destructive such a procession could turn if it was instigated haunted me for weeks. A few bad elements are more than enough… The next day while sharing the details with one of my friends, I was educated by him that procession management is an art, and these artists know how, where, and when to channelise it as per directions received from the organisers. It is a sort of harnessed energy for the purpose of displaying one’s strength, and at times it takes a destructive shape.

The other scary incident was when Mr. Z A Buttoo was hanged in Pakistan. The amount of loot, burning, and destruction that took place in Kashmir was more horrifying than an English World War movie. I witnessed the entire scenery unfolding in front of my eyes. There were mobs that looted shops, burned properties, and they were absolutely ruthless. Every village was on fire, and in some cases, close relatives participated in the process of destruction. The fire and smoke covered each and every village and town, it engulfed the valley. In fact, people participating in these activities were seen carrying the looted material. Suffice to say that telltale signs were bold and clear for the Kashmiri Pandit community to take note off, but these early warnings were unfortunately ignored. Those pandit families who read the situation well did not go through the hell of migration and established themselves well in advance. Thus a huge price was paid by almost the entire community. I am more surprised by the lack of foresight of the Pandit community from Srinagar, who were by and large mobile and could have planned and executed an early exit cum settlement outside the valley. I was studying in Srinagar and knew all too well that most of the Pandits from Srinagar were well connected outside the valley. It was not that hard for them to relocate in a planned phased manner. The villagers, however, had little time to think and were under the impression that the Indian Army would come for their rescue. They also had huge immobile assets such as land and cattle, which could not be disposed of so easily. It is also true that the magnitude and intensity of the crisis were kept secret by Kashmiri Muslims to such an extent that they did not inform their Hindu neighbours in advance. While everything appeared normal during the day, the situation underneath was highly turbulent. It is these turbulent currents that took the shape of a volcanic eruption, the magnitude of which surprised each and every one. In many cases, the Kashmiri Muslims participated in destroying the properties of their neighbours after looting them. Some even compelled the Pandits for the distress sale of their assets. The Govt at the centre during those critical years was practically nonexistent. There was no stability, and its survival was on a day to day basis or maybe less than that. It was during this period when a complete cultural transition took place with sonic speed.

In the late seventies and early eighties, audio systems in buses played Hindi movie songs, and people of all ages enjoyed listening to those numbers. A few years later, this music was replaced by the preaching of Islam. I used to observe these things. There are many observations of a similar kind during that time. Therefore, to say that everything was sudden is neither true nor practical. The situation got further momentum, and the recipe was cooked enough for a great taste of all-round death and destruction. Surprisingly the Muslim community eagerly waited for this dish to be served to them and liked the sweetness of the poison initially but never found a suitable antidote for reducing the pain that this sweetness caused to their community. The victims of the violence were the ignorant, the innocent, the simple, the noble, and the harmless. In the history of mankind, there is no parallel example of cruelty to a community that has never been involved in any kind of violence, even under distress situations. The previously recorded forced migrations of the same community, from the same place, at the hands of the same community is a testimony to this claim. No doubt, genocides have taken place in many parts of the world, but in those cases, both the parties were involved more or less, be it directly or indirectly. But in the case of the Kashmiri Pandits, who have a record of being peaceful and nonviolent, the action of planned killing with an aim to eliminate or convert the whole community is even worse than what we now call a genocide. Furthermore, it is important to mention here if the majority community of 97%, with some percent of it well-armed, threatens the minority of 3% it is a proof of them being cowards and fundamentalists. A level playing field would have shown different results and even then it would not have been justified to select the methodology of inhumanity and insanity.

I am surprised with no reaction from national and international human rights bodies. Nobody in the world took notice of it, and no action was initiated by national and international human rights organisations. Such organisations are not caged with the constraints of vote bank politics or other appeasement compulsions. The miseries continued thereafter, and this community continues to live deprived of all the constitutional guarantees of this nation in particular and international bodies in general. The emotional, social, and physical distresses continue. In spite of our relentless hard work to avoid getting sucked in this whirlpool, the deliberately manifested destructive eddy currents of pain and helplessness submerge us repeatedly. The mental pain, agony, physical distress, and fatigue that the community has been unnecessarily subjected to, needs to be recorded in all possible prints, forms and signatures and preserved to display for generations of humanity to come. It will be a document of mammoth dimensions and holocaustic effects that historians will get horrified to analyse. It will be a testament that will convey the absence of any government and nongovernment body during this period in the country. It will also stand as proof of biased decision making at international levels, including the UN. Kashmiri Pandits have all the rights to denounce the UN for not taking up their case at that time as it does for other communities on a regular basis. A small step by the UN at that time would have been of great help and would have saved a lot of human lives. It would have reduced the intensity of pain and destruction that the community went through then and continues to suffer through till this day. UN, as a body, must hold its head in shame for this serious neglect in which one of the world’s most peace-loving communities was planned to be eliminated. A group of scholars and volunteers need to put in this effort for the sake of the entire community and humanity as a whole.

After my retirement from the Army, I decided to visit some religious places in the valley, which we, as a family, used to frequently visit like Kheer Bawani, Manzgam, Nagbal, Martand, etc. Manzagam was my favourite place to visit as a young boy. We used to go there as a family and enjoy a couple of days of stay there. It was full of natural beauty. I was shocked to see the place being encroached. I was told that the intent of the locals was to encroach the entire temple property. If it hadn’t been for the efforts of Mr Kuldeep Raina, this religious place would have been taken over and converted. A lot of effort has been made, and many facilities are made available by the team that looks after this place, but the attractive surroundings are lost forever. Incidentally, the sadhu (Late Shri Sukh dev Giri) who used to be there in the temple did not migrate and was murdered brutally. Does it not indicate the scale of insecurity that prevailed at that time and the distress that the community was facing? If a saint in a temple cannot be spared, then one can imagine how bad the situation was then and how destructive a mentality existed.
On my return journey, I decided to take the route via my village to show it to my family, who had not seen it before as I got married post-migration. I used to tell them the stories of my beautiful village, but once we halted there, the situation turned out to be quite the opposite. My son refused to get down from the vehicle. It was very challenging for me to convince them that my village indeed was beautiful then, and the present form is totally different. Our stay that lasted just around five minutes’ was so draining that I have failed to put it in words. The place which belonged to me for generations and generations was now illegally occupied by outsiders, and it was me who was not welcomed there. Most of the places are either encroached or being misused. The area of Ganash Bal (Temple area) has lost its semblance of a temple, and the charm in the surroundings feel like a distant dream. It was a temple of meditation, with no buildings but an environment of peace and harmony with all the creations and elements of nature. There was no restriction for any one to visit or rest in its premises irrespective of faith and belief system. Its majestic tree cover was a constant reminder of power and supremacy of nature and the Almighty to all the visitors and devotees. The same place has now been converted to a village with an incredibly toxic environment, giving a feeling of visiting a radioactively affected area. In fact, worse than that. It was shocking to experience the ground realities. The exact assessment of the change can only be done by those who have lived there prior to our forced migration because the parameters of comparison are available for constructive analysis.
In my village, all the houses belonging to the Pandits had been burnt off in one go and just in one night. One could only find heaps of the ruminants of debris. All of the construction material that our families took generations to build were now of no use to the local population. The land encroachments were everywhere. I found the situation highly compromising, disgusting, annoying, frustrating, and intimidating. I could hardly recognise the place. The complete alignment, layout, and surroundings had changed. Apart from a few fading landmarks, everything had changed. What frustrated me the most was the casual behaviour of locals as if nothing had happened. It was a painful experience. Although my intention was to spend some time there, I was restless and distressed with the existing environment there. A place which is mine legally, socially, culturally and traditionally has been forcibly made alien for me and a sense of insecurity and discomfort has set in, which is frankly, just soul-crushing. The property that we as a family worshipped and looked after like a spiritual gift is now in ruins. My home is being misused and exploited by people who are neither known to us nor were part of the village. These people, disinterested and ill-behaved, have changed this heaven into hell, full of pain, destruction, and disbelief. I wish I had not taken up this tour as it has ended up shattering me emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I could not sleep for some time after this visit. The encroachment of land was to the extent that the village had lost its original orientation and alignment. The five minutes I spent in the place I once called home, felt like being put in boiling oil. I saw drugs being cultivated in the gifted land of this area. This area is the most fertile land and used to be the rice bowl of the valley. Now it has become a drug-producing area. I consider a drug menace the worst crisis on the planet. I am sure very soon there will be many addicts around that area. What a tragedy!
Most of the Islamic terrorist outfits have used drugs as a source of huge income, which they used for the purchase of arms and ammunition—what a tragic exploitation by an ideology.
It was a very draining, painful, shocking, distressing, horrifying, and maddening experience. Imagine the property on which our buildings existed 30 years back is being encroached, and semi-permanent structures are built by those who neither belong to the village nor are even remotely known to anyone in my family.
Assuming that this encroachment has taken place without the active support of the local community and administration in a structured manner is outrightly foolish and devoid of any logic. The fact is that the properties of Kashmiri Pandits in the valley are up for grabs and these are not isolated incidents, it is a pattern. This cannot be done by known people, so the other alternative is to settle unknown outsiders and name them whatever suits as per the situation. Well, if it is for the welfare of some community members, then locals should give them a place in their property. It appears that the aim is to allow encroachment on our homes by the Muslim community for some years, and then they would grab it. It must be happening all around the valley wherever the Pandits have their properties.

Who the hell says that state administration existed there for the last 30 years. If it existed, some action would have been taken, and the properties of the Pandit community could have been identified and freed from encroachers. Necessary legal action should have been initiated so that others would get discouraged from resorting to such activities. But nothing of that sort seems to be happening on the ground, although administrative orders to that effect exist.

When the men, material, and machinery are together out there to target a particular minority, tall claims of Govt Of India have no meaning. Because of poor response, or shall I say no response, from the administration, the Pandit community is in such distress, that they have to sell their properties. That serves the most desired objective of the local population in general and Islamic fundamentalists in particular. I was also told that maximum loot is done by the families who have one or more members in the police department because they fear no law. I don’t know how far it is true, but there are signs of such a phenomenon.
Staying there any further was neither healthy nor desired. The drive back to Srinagar was full of old memories of happy times and comparisons with the present situation. Although the village is physically there but its soul is dead. The reincarnation of Kashmir is possible only if conditions on the ground become conducive again. In its present form, THE NATIVE IS LOST FOREVER!

By:- Col. Hira Lal Kher

Holocaust Day protest at Jantar Mantar (19/1/2020)

The miraculous saga of a captive( stories of forced exodus of kashmiri Hindus)

As Ramesh Marhatta, a Hindu village boy, originally from Uttrasu in Omanagari of South Kashmir unveiled to me the layer after layer of his horrendous tale of kidnapping, night-long torture and gunshots by armed terrorists way back in 1990, I shuddered to think of the brutality and savagery with which the terrorists will have done to death hundreds of our innocent community members when armed insurgency broke out in 1990 in Kashmir. Ramesh Marhatta, I imagined, is the rarest of the rare cases of a Kashmiri Pandit escaping definite death while in the captivity of the jihadist terrorists who were out for the genocide of the community. The pain and suffering inflicted on the kith and kin of the unfortunate slain Pandits under similar circumstances still resound under the blue dome of the sky waiting for the day of retribution.
The youthful Ramesh left his village and came to Srinagar to find a means of subsistence for himself and improve his life somewhat. After a number of unsuccessful attempts, he somehow managed to find an opening as a casual radio announcer in Radio Kashmir in 1985. He decided to work with perseverance in the hope that one day he might get regularized and thus manage his life.
He hired a room in Sonawar, a locality not far away from the Radio Kashmir where he worked to earn a living. The room on the first floor of the building belonged to a local Muslim gentleman who was good and sympathetic to him. As he continued walking up and down day after day to his workplace, he came to know a taxi driver he sometimes hired to ferry him to his workplace or residence in Sonawar. The taxi man, a Muslim, was known by the name of Nana. They often met and gradually developed friendly relations with each other.
It was early 1989. Ramesh and some more of his colleagues noticed that the local Muslims, who usually called themselves lucky guys if they found casual employment in Radio Kashmir, had begun to decline the offer. No Muslim was prepared to be recruited in Radio Kashmir. To him, it was somewhat puzzling.
On 26th of September 1990, Ramesh returned from work to his room and went to the kitchen to prepare a bite. It was 7.40 PM and the time for the news from Radio Kashmir. He switched on his transistor and sat down to hear the news. Suddenly, he heard a loud sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. A large group of men with masks over their face and Kalashnikovs in their hands barged into his room. He was taken aback and trembled at the sight. The masked men brandishing guns and pistols and numbering anything between 30 and 40 began hurling endless abuses on him without giving any reason for doing so. Ramesh’s heart sank as he saw death hovering over his head. One among the terrorist group began questioning him about his profession and the reason for his staying back in the valley. He replied that he had a family to support and was only a casual radio announcer, and he had no scope of earning a livelihood in an unknown place like Jammu with inclement weather.
As the interrogation proceeded, one from among the group numbering anything between 30 and 40, armed and masked men asked Ramesh to come out of the house with them. At this moment suddenly the owner of the house appeared in the room. He heard that the terrorists wanted Ramesh to come down. He picked up courage and told the terrorist that they could ask Ramesh any question here in the room and there should be no need of taking him out. While this altercation was going on, Ramesh found that one of the masked men was no other than Nana, the taxi driver who had befriended him. However, he gave no indication that he had recognized Nana as that would have cost him his life in no time.
Then in this melee, the terrorists blindfolded and handcuffed Ramesh. He was dragged down the stairs like a corpse. They kicked and heckled him as they dragged him to the other side of the road. They banged his head against an electric pole which sent a shock down his spine. He got unnerved and resigned to his fate.
Blindfolded and handcuffed Ramesh was dragged through some lanes and then dumped in a vehicle and brought to some destination. After alighting from the vehicle he was taken through a passage he thought was something like a slippery tunnel. As he was dragged on, he received many baton strokes from his captors as if he was a beast and not a human being. Once inside a house, his blindfold was removed and hands untied. Now began the dreadful night-long interrogation and torture of Ramesh. He was made to sit in a chair. One after the other group entered the room, subjected Ramesh to questioning, often repeating the same questions again and again. In between questioning, the terrorists would rub burning cigarette bits against his body and he cried in pain and agony. Each group adhered to the same pattern of questioning, hurling abuses and rubbing burning cigarettes against his body.
At about midnight a group of terrorists entered the room. It was led by a lady whom they addressed as Asiya Ji. The torture method which this group employed was to place a hot rod on his feet. The pain was unbearable and he lost power even to cry. The leader of this terrorist group introduced himself as Azam Inqilab. Till then he had not heard the name of either Asiya or Azam Inqilab. Ramesh vividly recollects that only a few of the group of 30 or 40 spoke chaste Urdu which made him think they were Pakistanis while the rest of them were Kashmiris. Those who spoke only Urdu spoke it with Punjabi accent. They beat, thrashed and kicked him as hard as they could and then told him to lie down. Now the group engaged itself in discussing how he was to be killed. One suggestion was to cut him into pieces under sawmill while the second proposal was to gun him down on the roadside near a drain. The plans of killing Ramesh were discussed in his presence and within his hearing. He was already half dead with pain, agony and torture, and they were planning how to deprive me of the remnant of life left with him.
As the discussion among the terrorists about how to put an end to Ramesh was going on, the sound of azaan – the call for the Morning Prayer – came to his ears. He imagined it could be about 4 AM the usual time for the morning azaan. While listening to the call for prayer, Ramesh realised it was the same voice he used to hear every dawn around the same time when he was in his room. It came from a loudspeaker fitted to a three-storey house.
Dawn was nearing. The terrorists collected some gunny bags and rope lengths. They again blindfolded Ramesh. After about thirty minutes of walk, the terrorists put him on a vehicle and moved away to execute him. After reaching some unknown destination, the car stopped and Ramesh was pulled out of the vehicle and pushed towards something like a nullah. Ramesh knew that he would be killed in a couple of minutes and thus begged for life saying he had done nothing to punish him with death. In this disorderly situation, Ramesh’s handcuff became loose and he removed the blindfold from his eyes. As he opened his eyes he caught the sight of some light atop the Shankaracharya temple on the sombre and serene hillock. As he looked around, he found about 15 terrorists surrounding him and some more sitting in a Contessa car parked at a little distance. All terrorists had aimed their guns at Ramesh. The dance of death began.
A young boy with a gun stood behind Ramesh. He fired four shots at him. Three of the four shots hit him in the right hip and abdomen area. With bullets embedded in his body, Ramesh in desperation took to his heels and ran away in a zigzag manner while the terrorists continued showering bullets on him. Fortunately, none of those bullets hit him, Ramesh ran towards a nearby army camp about 200 meters away and asked the guard on the gate to let him in to save his life. The guard suspecting that Ramesh was a terrorist, aimed his gun at him and asked him for hands up. The wounded Ramesh had no strength to lift his hands and fell down on the earth. The guard dragged him inside the gate. When Ramesh spoke to the teashop owner close to the gate of the camp, the vendor came to know that he was a Hindu who had been kidnapped by the terrorists and wanted a safe place. The guard immediately informed his superiors and instantly there was movement in the camp because the news had been flashed across last night that a Hindu radio announcer had been kidnapped in Sonawar area by the militants.
The army authorities reacted immediately and brought an ambulance and Ramesh was admitted in the Badami Bagh cantonment hospital. The army doctors operated on him. Three days later he regained his consciousness. The surgeons told him that the bullets were removed after 18 hours of surgery. The message went across that the kidnapped person had miraculously escaped death and was being treated in the hospital for the gunshots. The day Ramesh regained consciousness, Governor Girish Chander Saxena accompanied by the Director-General of Police visited Ramesh in the hospital, consoled him and praised him for his bravery and fortitude in going through such a deadly ordeal in captivity. The DGP asked him if he could bring to his mind the locality where he had been kept as a captive for the night. Ramesh had no clue but told the DGP that the sound of the azaan he had heard at 4 AM while in captivity of the terrorists was precisely the same which came out from a loudspeaker fitted atop the three-storey house of the locality in Sonawar where he lived. A few days later the DGP visited Ramesh again and told him that his guess was correct and the police had swooped on the hideout of the terrorists in the same locality wherefrom a large cache of arms and ammunition was recovered.
In the meanwhile, a terrorist organization called Hizbul Mujahideen issued a press statement in local newspapers that Ramesh had attacked the jihadis of their group and hence an attack on him was conducted. This was an example of the disinformation campaign of the militants with a twofold purpose. One was to shift the onus of attack on him and the second was to strike fear among the Hindus in the valley to take note of HuM watching their movements and activities. The question put to Ramesh by the terrorist, viz “Why did you stay back in the valley while others (Hindus) left”, is a clear proof of the fact that ethnic cleansing of the valley was a definite agenda of the jihadi terrorists in Kashmir way back in the early 1990s.
Ramesh Marhatta was awarded by the State government for his bravery and his services were regularized in the AIR. He and posted to Kathua.
I congratulated Ramesh Marhatta for his bravery and the good luck he had to escape the bullets of the terrorist. This real story reveals how brutal and savage the terrorist was to the hapless Kashmiri Hindus, hundreds of whom were gunned down in homes, on streets, in offices or workplaces, in buses and odd places. This is the pattern of genocide that was unleashed against the small religious minority in 1990. Ramesh Marhatta, like all of us, laments those thirty two-years from the date of the event, as no inquiry commission, no investigation and no FIR about these crimes have been ordered.
feedbackexcelsior@gmail.com
By-K.N. Pandita

Source:-Daily Excelsior

The Gool Massacre of Kashmiri Pandits

My Father Mr. Ashok Kumar Raina S/o Shivji Raina, native from Sopore(Baramulla Distt) was a great educationist, superb human being and a very loving father. As a person, he was very simple, down to earth, honest, tolerant, brave and very caring, He was M.Sc Physics (Electronics Hons.) from Agra Unversity. At a very young age of 23yrs, he was appointed as a Physics lecturer in Jr.College. He was very happy, the way his career was shaping. Routine transfers and new academic approaches were keeping his life busy. He was a responsible family man and created a nice balance between his personal and professional life.

In 1988, militancy had sneaked in our beautiful Kashap Land “Kashir”. There was Islamic terror spreading at a very fast pace and their motive was to spread hate, horror and scare in minorities particularly Kashmiri Pandits. Militants wanted to establish Nizama Mustafa. They started harassing and killing Kashmiri Pandits and also targetting Army and Airforce officials. Our Pro India sentiment was always mocked and crushed. In 1989 -90 under the sinister plan of ethnic cleansing, lakhs of Kashmiri Pandits were driven out from there homeland Kashmir. I remember me and my sister was sleeping and my father came and told us to get ready as we are leaving Kashmir. We got few suitcases ready and with the help of some local friends my father arranged Minibus for our family (me, my sister, my grandparents, my mother and father) left for Udhampur. I was 11 yrs old and my sister was 14 yrs. On the way, we saw thousands of KPs in trucks, cars, buses heading towards Jammu. My father told us that we are moving out of Kashmir because it is not the safe place for our community now, once things normalise we will come back, right now it is better to stay away from Kashmir.

It was a mass exodus and it was very painful. This was the story of every Kashmiri Pandit. We became migrants in our own country. We took refuge in Udhampur. The life of hardship and struggle started but in my heart, I was sure that we will see a better life as I considered my parents as heroes and knew that they will make it better for us. Every day I used to see the pain and agony in my grandparents and my parent’s eyes. Our usual schools started and we started adapting to different culture and climate.

Finally a good news after a long time, in Aug 1991 my father got promoted to the post of principal Hr. Sec School. It was a great achievement and a sense of pride for all of us that at 42yrs, he was given such a huge responsibility. At this age, he already had 21yrs of lecturership experience and that itself was a big achievement. Being a young officer he was posted to Kargil(Ladakh), one of the toughest location in India. He served in Kargil from 1991 – 1994. We always used to wait for winters when my father used to come back home, those days used to be the best days. He used to bring a variety of dry fruits and the famous and best one was kubani ( apricot). We used to eat lot of them

Meanwhile, during this time we shifted from Udhampur to Jammu. In 1994 my father completed his serving tenure of 3 yrs in Kargil and he was transferred to Jammu.
Along with my father, 14 other people were transferred back to Jammu. Almost all of them were adjusted in Jammu ; except my father .

He was given the new appointment, he was transferred to Gool (Ramban). There is a norm in J&K Govt who so ever serves in Ladakh for 3 yrs is given an easy and posting of his choice option. My father has already served in Ladakh for 3 yrs and he was transferred to Gool which was also a very tough posting. My father personally met with then education minister and highlighted this issue, but he told my father you are a very young and dynamic officer and you have to go.
My father was denied the fundamental right of posting of choice by the Minister. By rules, he was not entitled to have back to back tough postings. The only fault of his was that he was young. A criminality happened there by flaunting the said norms. My Grandfather told him not to go but my father was very dedicated to his work and finally, he joined at Gool.
Gool was basically a hilly terrain and there were traces of militancy in and around that area. Gool as an area was influenced by Hizbul Mujaheedin Group. My father started his work and started spreading education in that area. There were young Kashmiri Pandit lectures working with him. I remember in some seasons ,all of them had to walk more than 30 km to reach Gool. I have seen bruises and burns on my father’s feet, he was a tough and strong man, he never bothered and moved on.

The darkest day of our lives was just around the corner. My father had come for summer holidays, it was 14th June 1997, the next day my father was leaving for Gool.
In the evening, I and he took my grandmother to an optician and then we went to Shiv Mandir in Jammu. I had chat with my father on loads of topics and we came back home. Ravinderji and Sushilji came to our place to discuss with my father, the travel schedule for tomorrow, as all 3 of them were going back to Gool.

Next Day morning on 15 June 1997 my father left for Gool, it was very early in the morning I was fast asleep. I told my mother why didn’t you wake me up as I wanted to say Goodbye to him. I never knew that I will never be able to say Goodbye to my father. Next day morning me, my mother and my grandmother were sleeping .At around 4 am , bell rang and my mom opened the door .There were few police officers who told us that the bus my father was travelling in was attacked by militants and several people are injured. Me and my mother rushed to my uncle and my uncle went with them. At around 7 am it was across all the newspapers that 3 Kps were killed by militants in Gool. I lost my senses and the day was a long walk of sorrow and grief. Our family was devasted and shattered. In the evening the dead body came, thousands of people were outside our house. we saw him for the last time, I kissed his forehead and finally said goodbye. My sister was holding me and crying. Everyone was crying and my mind had stopped working. I remember even after taking 11 bullets his face looked calm, his body felt soft. At around 10:30 pm all the 3 martyrs were laid to rest in the flames of celestial bliss, OM Shanti. It was the death of humanity.

According to some eyewitness
The bus in which they were travelling was stopped by men in army uniform, 7 Kms from Gool. All Hindus were asked to step down. By then it was clear that they were not security forces but Islamic terrorists. There was some resistance from Muslim passengers, seeing this, terrorist said they are not going to harm them, their commander only wants to talk to them, they even swear by their Prophet and Holy book. 6 Hindus ( 4 KP’s and 2 Jammuites) were taken out of which 2 people escaped one by jumping off the cliff and other by running up a hill. The remaining 4 were made to walk 30 metres near the nullah and 3 Kashmiri Pandits were fired upon by terrorists and martyred and the 4th ( Jammunite ) was allowed to go. The Message was clear. KP’s are the target.

– Shri. Ashok Kumar Raina – Principal
– Shri. Ravindra Kabu – Lecturer
– Shri. Sushil Pandita – Sr.Teacher

So it was a planned targeted killing. He was killed because he was a Kashmiri Pandit. He was killed because he was doing his duty with utmost sincerity and honesty. He was killed because he was the symbol of Kashmir Pandit growth. This heinous crime was executed by Billu Gujjar of Hizbul Mujahideen and Amanullah Gujjar Group. A couple of months later he was killed by Security Forces.

It took me longtime time to understand that my mentor, my hero, my inspiration, my father, was not there with me anymore. I am sure he is watching me from the skies and keeps on blessing us ..Luv you and miss you always ..

By- Vikas Raina

Ethnic cleansing of Kashmiri pandits(newspaper clippings)

(From the Twitter handle of Rahul Pandita and Dr.Rajesh Bhat)

Scenes from the 3 Decades of Kashmiri Pandits

(3 Decades of Kps)

Year1989-90

Dulari-The Seventy year old Matriarch , was standing in the middle of her Garden. Not a leaf of Grass was left in her frost-bitten-lawn. It was the peak of winter. She gave a cursory look around and strolled slowly , occasionally touching some of the dried up plants . She stopped near the Rose shrub and began to inspect the marigold plant, she has sown last summer just adjacent to it.

‘The marigold plant has dried up completely , so has this The Rose Bush’, She thought gloomily.

‘These winters eat up everything. I really wish the summers come soon.’ She looked upwards to the Post –Noon- Sun . Even though it was a bright shimmering sunny day, Nevertheless, The Sun too seemed to shiver.

After inspecting her Garden, she goes inside. It is around 1 Pm and time for Lunch. She washes her hands and sits in her Extended Kitchen- That basically serves as a Dining area for her family. She calls her daughter-in-law Phoolaji.

‘Hayayi Phoolaji, Battae sharei’ (Phoolaji serve the lunch)

It was the end of the year 1989.The Terrorists had become Blatantly Brazen after the kidnapping of Rubaiyya Syed. The Muslim neighbors too in hushed tones could be heard talking about, soon-to-get ‘Azadi’ . The Blanket curfew in the valley had forced all the family members of Dulari to stay indoors. Her family as well as Kashmiri Pandits neighbors too talked about the prevailing political circumstances that was filled with uncertainty. Yet, No one had imagined that a majority of Kashmiri Pandits will have to flee Kashmir within a month!

The Macabre dance of Death unleashed by the AK-47 laden Terrorists on KP’s had started and were targeting minority Hindus with impunity,

And then came the night of 19 Jan 1990-That changed forever the history of Kashmiri Pandits! The Kp’s were fleeing Kashmir in hordes. Dulari was no exception. She too left Kashmir as did her neighbors and relatives.
Future looks uncertain in Kashmir.

Year-2000-01

Dulari is now surrounded by new neighbors of Pan-India ethnicity in Faridabad . All these years, she has managed to speak her own version of Hindi. She uses a lot of Gesticulations in her conversations with neighbours as Kashmiri words pops up now and then unintentionally from her Mouth.

Dulari along with her Family had shifted to Faridabad in late 1995. Her elder Son has bought a House in Faridabad. It is built on a 100 sq yard plot. The front as well as the back yard is cemented . She is Old but still hard working and has lost no love for Gardening. She has secured and fenced a small patch of land may be 100 sq feet bordering the front side of her house. She religiously looks after that small garden. She has also sown with love the famous ‘Haak’ (collard greens) of Kashmiris in that lawn.

It is the month of March. She is inspecting her kitchen garden. Not much is there. Just one gaze is enough to tell about the health of her green friends. She opens the make-Shift gate of her garden. She squats near the marigold Plant and touches the flower.
‘Dear, If we would have been in Kashmir, I would have surrounded you with many more flowers and attended you better’. She was silently conveying her feelings to the flower.

‘Soon the marigold will be gone and so will be Haakh’ . These Harsh summers don’t spare anything’. She whispered .

‘Alas ! Kashmir was so beautiful!’ she sighed.

She does not have the same vigor, She once had in Kashmir. She feels the heat of the March Sun and slowly walks inside .

‘Hayyeyi Phoolaji Batta shaer’ (serve the lunch) – She orders her.

It has been 10 years now since KPs were forced into exile. Future in Kashmir still holds uncertain for them. She and her family are amongst the Lucky ones, who didn’t had to live in the dirty, unhygienic tattered tents of the refugee Camps-where still many of the community members were languishing .

Year-2018-19

Phoolaji-Her Daughter-in-law has become the new Matriarch since Dularis Death 12 years back.They now live in an apartment in Mumbai. After the death of her Mother-in-law; Phoolaji too has developed some love for Gardening.

In the balcony of her Flat, she has sown some saplings of Marigold as well as ‘Tulasi’ (Basil). Whenever, she waters or de-weeds the plants, The face of Dulari flashes in front of her mind. By planting and looking after the potted-Plants, she gets a strange sense of satisfaction. It is as if the soul of Dulari is watching her and is bestowing her with blessings.

She is standing in her Balcony. The Black clouds are moving fast as if they are on a mission! Needless to say, The infamous monsoons of the Mumbai have already arrived . Now and then the sky is roaring and it seems , it is going to pour too. To save the plants from being flooded by the downpours; Phoolaji shifts the pots to that area of the balcony, where they will be safe and Dry.

As soon as she had shifted the pots to a safer Dry place, The rains start.

‘Madamji, please come inside. The lunch is ready.’ Her maid shouts from the Kitchen.

She walks slowly towards the Dining area of her Flat and sits on the dining chair. She is served food by her maid. Today her maid has made ‘Haakh’. She is about to eat, when the familiar thought crosses her mind, yet once again.

‘The taste of Haakh was divine at Kashmir ! It would have been much more fun and happiness, had we been living at Kashmir !

But, Alas! Mahadev(God) had different plans. The medley of thoughts and emotions was disturbing somewhere in her Heart and Mind.

Soon after, the aroma of the food diverted her mind and brought her to her present at Mumbai. She takes the morsel of rice mixed with Haakh .

She can not forget that It has been 29 years and The situation for KPs in the valley has not changed a bit yet. To forget about the past, she switches on the TV , browses the channels to watch her favourite serial. While browsing, her eye catches the fleeting headline in one of the News channels. She stops at that Channel. The focus of the news is Kashmir again. The newsreader announces about the clashes between the protestors and the security forces. She again changes the channel and finally stops at a “Bhakti” (Devotional) channel.

Phoolaji is carrying forward the legacy,Customs and rituals left behind by her Late Mother-in-law.She has immortalised ‘Dulari’ by keeping her Photograph at the same pedestal as that of Devis and Devtaas in their small in-house temple.In the mornings and sometimes in the evenings too , incense sticks or Dhoop is gyrated reverentially around her photo too; along with the idols and photos of all major Devis and Devtaas to invoke their blessings!

The Show of life Continues …..

Open letter to Mr. Rahul Gandhi -from a Dattatreya-koul

Dear Rahul Gandhi Ji,
Greetings!
My name is Sandeep Koul and my Gotra is Dattatreya. It was heartening to see that you openly confessed your Gotra at Pushkar as Koul-Dattatreya .I saw the byte of the Priest on T.V, wherein he declared emphatically that you and your ancestors are ‘Kashmiri Brahmins’.

It is widely speculated or rather believed that you had to publically announce your caste and Gotra in order to look correct politically. However, your confession also portrays the polity of today’s India. Being just ‘secular’ is not enough today. Being Indian-without being framed as a Hindu or Muslim is just impossible today. And being Hindu, without divulging your caste is equally impossible.

Being a seasoned politician, I don’t need to tell you why?

B. T. W, Every time I fill a form, I am being asked my Religion as well as the caste.

Religion as well as caste based politics is the norm of today. We have plethora of politicians who exist today because of Religion, caste, region or all of them.
Sh.Mulayam singh Yadav , Sh.Lalu Yadav, Chautala’s, Khushwaha’s , Mayawati, Abdullah’s, Mufti’s etc are the names who have thrived on caste or Religion -based-politics.

However

They have done a lot to mitigate the problems of that section-whom they represent. Also, a section of the followers, who identify with them because of the same caste and religion- have this impression that they belong to them and have faith in them.

When Pt. Jawahar Lal Nehru died, I was told by my Late Grandmother that Kashmiri Pandit men and women lamented on his bereavement and in an impromptu procession , Kashmiri Pandit women were beating their chest in grief. Kashmiri Pandits also grieved the Death of Lt. Indira Gandhi. It was as if someone from their own family had departed. The tragic Death of late Rajiv Gandhi too was condoled by your own community of Kashmiri Pandits.

But , everything changed after that.

The Kashmiri Pandit community felt cheated by the congress leadership after 1990. If you will go through the social media sites, you will come across scores of posts by Kashmiri Pandits denouncing and castigating you, because Kashmiri Pandits feel that Your party left them, when they needed you the most!

Sometimes looking ‘politically correct ‘ backfires too. Your party’s tacit policy of neglecting KP’s is so obvious.Just because, your Own-community of Kashmiri Pandit did not form a substantial vote bank; does not mean that justice should not be given to them!

Since, you have publically proclaimed of being a ‘Kashmiri Brahmin’, (either because of compulsion or to look politically correct in today’s political scenario; ) I want to share just 3 facts with you and ask some questions being a fellow Kashmiri Pandit of ‘Dattatreya’ Gotra.

1.Majority of the Kashmiri Pandits were forced to flee Kashmir because of being ‘Hindu’ as well as for loving their country-India by the Jihadi-Islamists. They were assassinated brutally and till today, their Murderers are roaming free .

Question:-why are the murderers of the community-whom you belong to-roaming free? Why didn’t your Government formed an S.I.T to probe the killings and give justice to your own community!

2.The properties and temples of your own community-The Kashmiri Pandits-has been illegally encroached upon by a section of people, who are not from our community. The sad and the cumbersome part is that the onus goes on to the Kashmiri pundits to prove their claim on the encroached properties; which is very difficult in a hostile environment.Thanks again to the burgeoning of unchecked jihadi-Islamists coitere influence, that has made its way into the Government institutions too.

Question:-though, an attempt was made in NC-Congress regime to redress this grievance, However, why was the hostile environment against Kashmiri Pandits ignored? Why didn’t your Government made the process more easy and more friendly , so that justice without delay should have been delivered to your own beleaguered community!

3.A section of Kashmiri Pandits still live in penury and in unhygienic circumstances at places such as Jagati in Jammu.

Question:-why are your fellow community men living in such hostile conditions? What has your Government done for them?
Why didn’t you even once, visited your own community, when they were living in tattered tents with bruised hearts?

If your fellow contemporaries such as the Yadavs can deliver justice to their own communities, why cant you do the same?

Don’t you think, you too owe to that community-who has given you an identity of being a Kashmiri Brahman and has given you a Gotra- *Dattatreya*.

Think about it!

Regards
Sandeep Koul-Dattatreya.

(P. S:-It was not Sh.Jagmohan Malhotra who was responsible for our exodus. It may be a politically correct statement for you. But it is not true. )

QABALI ATTACK EYEWITNESS VERSION….

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁
QABALI ATTACK
EYEWITNESS VERSION….

An Eyewitness Account of the 1947 raid by Tribals from Pakistan-by T.N.Bhan

My name is Triloki Nath Bhan and I was 18 years old young boy living in Sehyar, test Srinagar when Pakistani Army along with Kabailies from North West Frontier Province, launched a series of surprise attacks across Jammu and Kashmir on October 24, 1947. As is well known the Pakistani invaders quickly overwhelmed the the forces of Maharaja Hari Singh. Most of the Muslim units of J& K Army comprising of Mirpuri deserted and joined the invaders after killing their Hindu and Sikh Officers. Muzzafarabd fell within a few hours of the attack and the invaders proceeded towards Baramula, Sopore and Srinagar. At the Uri bridge Brigadier Rajinder Singh lost his life putting up a valiant fight .He held the invaders for two days which gave time to the Maharajah to flee the valley. and the Indian Army to intervene. 

The Pakistani invaders entered Baramula on October 26, 1947 and proceeded to indulge in Rape, murder, loot and arson, especially targeting Sikhs and Kashmiri Pandit community. By the morning of October 27th some raiders had reached the outskirts of Srinagar. Hari Singh’s exit had totally broken the morale of the government and security establishment. Police stations were empty. anything could happen at any time. Sheikh Abdullah and his National Conference organized a voluntary force of young men known as Salamati Fauj in the city with specific direction to maintain communal harmony at all costs. This worked, Halka Committees became the police station. I remember I also joined this force to patrol the streets to ensure nobody disturbed the communal harmony. Most of the Hindu leadership had left the valley for Jammu. As the Kashmiri Pandits trickled in from the countryside we began to hear the tales of atrocities, plunder, rape and murder of innocent Hindus and Sikhs by the Pakistani invaders.

Although Kashmir’s Pandits were leaderless as even our RSS leaders such as Bal Raj Madhok had left the city we the grassroot RSS Swyamsewaks began to organise ourselves to defend and protect Pandit honor. I belonged to Putli Dharamshalla Shakha. We decided to go out of Srinagar to visit other cities and villages and see for ourselves the condition of our Kashmiri Pandits brothers and sisters so that help could be arranged for the needy. I was accompanied by other Swyamsewaks such as Maharaj Krishan Mirza, Amar Nath Ganju, Manohar Nath Bhagati, Lakshmi Narain Kaul, Bhaska nath ganjoo, Durga Nath Dhar, Trilokinath Dhar, Prithvinath Dhar, Naranjan Kaul, Brijnath Moza and others. These volunteers hailed from Sehyar, Rehbaba Sahib and Rishipeer. We began our journey on 30th October 1947. Starting on foot in the early morning we first touched Shalteing about four miles down the road from Chhatabal Custom Post. Here we went inside the enclosed Chinar Grove and found two dead bodies of the Kabali-invaders who had been strafed by the Indian Air Force aircraft. Onward we reached Pooshbugg a village near Pattan where kabalies had executed 14 Kashmiri Pandits as they were performing fire veneration “Hawan”. The fire was still smoldering. Luckily all fourteen had already been cremated by the Pandits of the neighboring villages who had escaped the onslaught of these savages. All Pandit houses were looted. We tried to enter the town of Pattan but we were not allowed to enter. We could only guess the gruesome condition of Pandits in the town.

After Pattan we continued our journey to Sangarhama-detour to Sopore.There is a thick willow grove on the right side of the main road. A Muslim boy told us that we should go and see what had happened there. Visiting the Grove was most horrendous and traumatizing experience as we saw pieces of Indian currency notes and human skeletons scattered in the area. The boy told us that Sikh adults had killed their women and children here to ensure they did not fall in the hands of these heartless and treacherous Paksitani’s. Dazed we turned and left toward Sopore. We had walked about 200 yards we found a Kacha road to the left leading us to a Seer (Hindu Shrine). There we found a Mullah was teaching Quran to two Pandit women who were dressed in a Burka. As the Mullah saw us he took to his heels as we began chanting “Har Har Mahadev”, the women retracted and threw their Burkas. The shrine in Seer was reduced to heap of rubble and two Muslim men were pulling out the nails from the burnt wooden planks. The worse was still to come. We saw couple of KP’s men and women coming towards us all in tears, and crying. They told us that the local Muslims had invited two Pakistani Kabailies from Baramula and all our brethren had been asked to assemble in the ground near a mosque where a calf was slaughtered in their presence. Pieces of raw beef were forced down their throat and abuses were heaped. Their houses were looted-clean sweep, even the doors and window frames were pulled out. We spent the night with them, the bedding was the hay of rice. Of course we recited the bhajans the whole night. On the dawn of next day we began our journey towards Sopore. In this town not much damage was done. The leader of Kashmir pandits was Jat Kak Zutshi father of Jeevan Zutshi of California. Mr. Zutshi had worked with Muslim elders in the city to protect the KP’s. Unfortunately Jat Kak had become a target of the Kabaleys and he hid under the hay in the house of a Muslim friend on the condition that he convert to Islam. Jat Kak Zutshi’s family was my neighbor in Jamalatoo in Srinagar. 

The next day we proceeded to Bomai Village which is a couple of miles from Sopore on way to Handwara. Here the first assassination of a Batta had taken place a few days before the Pakistani invasion. The Martyre was Pandit Sarwanand Kaul an honest and diligent Intelligence Officer in the State Government. He was kidnapped and butchered a couple of kilometers from his house. We comforted the family. Buomay Battas were safe. No damage , except they were terribly shaken and fearful. We had lunch with them and assured them that the whole of Indian nation was with them.

On Reaching Handwara we witnessed six kucha earthen mounds burying six Kashmir Pandits belonging to one family. It was a mass suicide committed the family. Then we witnessed the same thing as we had seen earlier in Seer. Houses had been looted, KP residents were helter skelter seeking shelter to save their lives. We stayed in Handwara for the night sleeping on the bran (kuchh). In the morning we started to dig the bodies but the Commander of the area prevented us and said that Army would do it. It was a very tense night for us as firing from both sides was still going on. Taking the kuchha route to Baramula via Langet we continued our journey.

At Langet we found two dead bodies who were cremated by us. Langet had special significance for me as it is close to Trihagram where my maternal uncle Mr. Zindalal Raina of Rainawari residing near Hari Singh High School was assassinated in 1931 when Sheikh Abdullah as a Muslim Communalist had aroused the Hindu-Muslim strife in the valley.

We reached Baramula in the evening and came across a young Kashmiri Pandit who was a lecturer of English in the Govt. College there. He offered us to stay overnight which we did. His house was also looted as mentioned earlier. He told us how his beautiful wife and other young KP ladies had been locked in a house and gang raped by the Muslim invaders. Next day he showed us the house from which these women had jumped to death from the fourth story. During the talk he told us that one respectable couple in the town was dragged through the streets. We saw every KP house was looted-clean sweep even the doors and windows were removed. Streets were deserted Batta houses were like skeletons and the inhabitants had either gone into hiding or were killed. Many had committed suicide by jumping into the Jhelum river. Crossing the bridge to the other side where market and Govt. offices were housed, we were shown a spot in the middle of the bridge from where young Hindu-Pandit, Sikh and Khatri ladies plunged to their death by drowning into the river. Those who did not have a chance to kill themselves were herded into Tehsil compound and gang raped. All Hindu shops were looted in totality. We finally went to the Christian School and found that even the Nuns were not spared. Many had been raped before being murdered.

Out of respect we went to the spot where Maqbool Sherwani was hanged for misdirecting the invaders. At that point the Army Commander advised us to retrun to Srinagar as Baramula was still not safe for Hindus and Sikhs. It was clear that 30,000 Hindus men and women ( Pandit, Sikh and Kahtri) had either lost their lives or were taken as sex slaves by the Pakistani invaders.

Returning to Srinagar was a traumatic experience as if living hell was waiting for us. All of us were arrested and imprisoned in the Halqa Committee, denied food and beaten mercilessly for several days. By the skin of our teeth we managed our freedom with the condition that we would be under surveillance and roll called twice a day. It was clear to us that one way or the other these National Conference Halqa Committee Goons were going to get rid of us. We tried our best to find a way to get out of Srinagar. My quest to find someone who could get us out led me to Mr. Kashi Nath Fotedar who was an important Officer in the Indian Army in Badami Bagh. He was of immense help to many older Kashmir’s Pandits and children who he sent out in Army trucks. Another great Batta was Flt. Luit J. N. Dhar from Vicharnagh who was the only Kashmiri speaking Pilot at that time whom Nehru had deputed him to Srinagar. He too rendered great service to the community by flying out beleaguered KP’s in Airforce planes. I need to introduce Pandit Kashi Nath Fotedar first as he is the industrious father of Hira Fotedar and is the father of my wife Dulari Bhan as well. Mr. J. N. Dhar is the maternal uncle of Hira and paternal uncle of Vijay Dhar of Union City California.

My escape from Srinagar was possible only on April 6, 1948. I along with Manohar Bagati, Lakshmi Narain Kaul and Amar Nath Ganjoo walked all the way to Ptahankot on foot for 22 days. I finally settled at Saharanpur UP where I lived for 54 years.

Now I would like to pay my homage to all the KP Martyrs in 1931, 1947 and 1990. My compliments to those who by didn’t of their courage, resilience and focus rebuilt their lives from scratch without Government aid under very difficult circumstances. I wish to thank many old Kashmiri Pandits who offered all four of us help in Kanpur and helped us settle down. My companions Bagati, Kaul and Ganjoo sahib eventually returned to Srinagar where Mr. Amar Nath Ganjoo became an important RSS functionary. My thanks to Mr. B. K. Kaul ICS Iron and Steel Controller, Mr. H. N. Sapru Dy Director of Industries UP and S.n. Shivpuri , GM Cement Corporation. I am sure these great men have left us but I did want to recognise their help to many KP refugees in 1947.

Dear friends I am a proud Swayamsewak, and will be a Swyamsewak till my death.

Reagrds

Triloki Nath Bhan

Memphis Tennesee USA

The Night-A story of a Kashmiri Hindu.(stories of exodus)

It was jan 1998. Veenaji was in the Kitchen. Her Husband Rosshanlal was reading the newspaper in the living/Drawing room of their cramped two-room Govt. Quarters at Tope Sherkhanian. She could hear the flipping sound, when her Husband turned the leaf of the Newspaper. She was thinking about her children, who were perusing ‘B.E’ in Pune. A knock at the Door was heard clearly in the backdrop of the silence of the Quarter. Roshanlal stood up and opened the Door.

A man was standing outside.

‘Namaskar Roshanlalji. I am Irfaan. Your neighbor from Banamohallah’. Veenaji too had heard the knock, she came out from the Kitchen out of curiosity. Her Husband, greeted Irfaan with a Handshake. ‘Come inside. Why are you standing there!’. Pointing towards Veenaji, Roshanlal asked Veenaji, ‘Did you recognize him’?

The face looked familiar, But She could not recognize him. Irfaan, it seemed understood the confusion of Veenaji. ‘I am the Son of Khatijah. Remember my Mother!’, he exclaimed with joy. Veenaji’s face lit with happiness.
’Oh Yes! I remember her. How is she?’ asked Veenaji.
‘She died last year because of Heart Failure.’ Said Irfaan with a visible regret.

She was saddened to hear what he said.

‘I am so sorry. Please have a seat. I will make tea for both of you.’
She went back to the Kitchen.

Irfaan had come to Roshanlal to persuade him to sell his share of ancestral house. Veenaji was listening to them, while she started making tea . The memories of her last visit to Kashmir were still vivid. She recalled how she along with her Husband Roshan Lal and their two Children , a Son-Sachin and Daughter- Meenakshi had moved to Jammu .
Her Husband was working in the Govt.Secretariat. They now lived in the Govt. Quarters Tope Sherkhanian. They had moved to jammu in Dec-1989.

J&K has two capitals, i.e, summer capital-Srinagar and winter capital-Jammu. Every year,In winters, the employees of the Govt. Secretariat move to Jammu for 6 months ; and move back to Srinagar in summers for rest of the 6 months. This custom was/is in vogue since the times of Dogra Rulers . This was/is termed as “Durbaar Move”.

veenaji lit the Gas Stove. She put some milk, sugar and water in an utensil and placed it on the stove. She looked through the Kitchen Window, her eyes fixed to the horizon.

The clouds of her past started floating in front of her mind.

Veenaji and her family loved the winters of Jammu. It would be sunny and warm in Jammu, compared to the cold and gloomy weather of the Srinagar winters. But that year, in 1989-90, It was different. In spite of the warm and sunny weather, she would occasionally feel the shivers. Not because of the weather, but because , on T.V and Radio; the gory news had announced an unusual wave of violence and lawlessness has dawned.

And then came the horrendous macabre night of 19 jan 1990.And everything changed after that.

In the last week of Jan 1990, Her elder Brother Makhan lal along with his family landed at their residence in Jammu, late at night. He had come by a taxi. His old mother –Amaji, wife-Lalitaji and two sons Rakesh and Sunil too had come.
As soon as they arrived at their residence, Lalitaji hugged tightly Veenaji and started crying.
‘It is only by God’s grace that we have reached here safely.’ She complained amidst sobs . Amaji tried to console her as she said,
‘Lalitaji, don’t be a weakling. Be bold. You have yet to face the hardships of life. Be always grateful to God.’

They stayed with Veenaji for some days with this hope that the violence unleashed by the terrorists will be abated soon. But the destiny of Kashmir had its own plans. After a month, They realized that it might take a long time before they would return back to Kashmir. It was decided by the two families that, they would enroll their children in Jammu for studies , as it was safe.

Veenaji and her Family didn’t knew that the situation would deteriorate so much in Kashmir. They were in Jammu because of the ‘Darbaad Move’. They had not taken any documents such as the Mark sheets and other educational documents related to the education of their children. Without these papers, it would have been very difficult to get the admissions in the Schools and Colleges. Also, She wanted to get the documents related to banks such as FD, Saving a/c etc.

Hence,Somewhere in March 1990, She decided to go back to her residence at “Bana Mohallah” , Habbakadal, Kashmir.It was decided that Her sister-in-law lalitaji too would accompany her. In fact Lalitaji had volunteered herself to accompany her. The Males of the House were barred to go to Kashmir as they were more prone to be Shot at by the Militants.

They flew to Srinagar and landed at the Airport by 3-4 P.m. It took them almost 4 hrs. to reach their house at Bana Mohallah. The lanes and by-lanes were slushy as it had rained the previous night. Some Muslim neighbors , who saw them entering their Mohallah, murmured something.
By their Gaze , it looked as if they didn’t wanted them to be there. As they were about to enter their House, Khatijah-the neighbor and friend of Veenaji , came from nowhere and greeted her with a Broad smile.
‘How are you veenaji. I missed you. Now since Durbaar move will be over shortly, will you be staying in Kashmir till November!’ she exclaimed! Veenaji warmly asserted ‘No, I will stay here for a few days and rejoin my family. We will come back in Mid-April.’ She half-lied.

Veenaji knew that she will leave Kashmir tomorrow for Jammu and may not come back next month.

‘Then stay put for the night at my house. The curfew will be imposed very soon and you will not get Rice and any other food-item after 15 mintes’ Pleaded Khatijah.

‘ I have brought some rice and Dried-vegetables with me. Thanks for your concern .’

Veenaji kindly declined. But her friend, the verbose-Khatijah kept her conversation going on and it took another 20-25 minutes before Veenaji and her Sister-in-law entered their house.

Veenaji’s Husband Roshanlal lived in their ancestral house along with his three Brothers and 3 cousins. Their house was Big and hoary with a courtyard. The house had 25 rooms and it housed 7 nuclear families. Though, Roshanlal, his 3 Brothers and 3 Cousins(Brothers) were living in one house, But they all had separate kitchens for their Families(consisting of Husband and Children).All the 7 Brothers had partitioned the 25 rooms in almost equal proportion. Apart from a Kitchen, Veenaji and her Husband had inherited 2 big rooms.
On a normal day, prior to 1990, their house was abuzz with activity. In the morning and in the evenings, many a times, one would hear the synchronous hissing sound from the steaming pressure-cooker, coming from 2 or more Kitchens of the House at the same time. The floating aroma of Knol Khol(Hak) or lamb-meat would titillate the Olfactory of the whole neighborhood. In the afternoon, the shrilled voices of the Children playing in the courtyard was common .In spite of 7 separate kitchens, Veenaji and her 6 co- sister-in-law would often share their delicacies with each other.

But the House was different this time.

As soon as Veenaji entered her House, she was welcomed by the eerie silence. It was frightening. All her 6 co-sister-in-law and their families too had moved to Jammu. The last family that had moved from this house to jammu was almost 15 days back.As she climbed-up the stairs of her house, a strange fear crept into her heart. It was almost 8.00 P.M by now and the darkness had covered almost everything.

She and Lalitajee were feeling the Hunger pangs. Veenaji took a handful of rice from the polythene bag and poured into the utensil, that she had brought with her from Jammu. Soon, she realized that she has forgotten to get a matchbox or lighter to light up the cooking gas stove.

‘I will go downstairs to Ashaji’s kitchen and get the lighter ‘. she informed Lalitaji.

‘Do you have the keys of that Kitchen?’ asked Lalitaji.
‘No, she never locks her Kitchen.’ Replied Veenaji.
‘It is so scary here, I too will accompany you.’ Said Lalitajee.

The Kitchen-door was indeed open. As soon as Veenajee, switched-on the light, her face became pale out of fear. Shockingly, she exclaimed ‘Oh! My God. Someone is already cooking here!’.
‘Hey Bhagwan ! what will we do now?’ asked Lalitajee nervously. She was Gaping and beating her chest. Veenaji knew that her sister-in-law is weak-hearted and might behave strangely or may even faint.

She assessed the situation quickly. There was a matchbox lying on the ground. Many burnt match sticks were scattered over the floor of the Kitchen. From The cooked rice in the utensils, it looked as if a few hours back, someone had cooked it.

She did not waste much time in investigating. She opened the cupboard that was at the right corner of the Kitchen. She swept her fingers over the things in the cupboard and soon took a lighter , a torch and a candle from the cupboard. And switched off the main light of the Kitchen and closed the door.

‘Follow me quickly’, she whispered . Lalitajee did not protest and followed the instructions.
‘Someone is using the Kitchen of Ashajee, It might be a militant or a group of Militants. We cannot afford to switch-on the lights and invite any unwanted trouble.’ she looked at her sister-in-law.

Lalitaji was very scared, She tried to be a Bravado, but the fear was palpable in her eyes. But, she still mustered courage and said , ‘Yes, I do. You are right. But can we make the dinner for us?’she asked.
‘No. We cannot, since, the aroma of the Rice might give them a clue, that someone is inside the house.’ she explained to Lalitaji.
‘Anyways, I don’t feel hungry now’, lied Lalitaji.
They ran up towards the room.

Veenaji pulled an iron-Chest, that was placed at the corner of the room . She opened the lid and switched-on the Torch. suddenly, Lalitaji could see A bundle of papers, some folders containing some documents, a photo album, and some books. Veenaji took only a couple of Folders from the Box, closed the lid and placed it to the original position. Lifting the two folders in her hands, she said to Lalitaji, ‘This is for what we have came here’. She kept the two folders in the bag, that she had brought with her from Jammu.

They were sitting besides a window, so that they could have a direct and unobstructed view of the main Door, leading towards the courtyard. As it was still quite cold, they had draped themselves in the blankets.
The main wooden Door of their House was Huge. A big rectangular latch, may be one feet long and 5 inches wide was connected to a wooden Knob .The latch moved up or down angularly on the rotation of the Knob. The latch faced towards the courtyard and the Knob towards the by-lane. It would make a lot of noise, if someone would open or close the Latch of the Door.

Lalitaji was constantly praying to Mother Goddess for their protection. They had even made a plan, in case a militant or a group of Militants enter their house.
‘In case any intruder comes here, we will slip beneath the Bed. Understand!’ explained Veenaji to her Sister-In-Law. Lalitaji had nodded her head in approval.

Just past the midnight, It began to pour heavily. The staccato of the rain hitting the tin-roofs of the Houses was rather unwanted and irritating. The odd street lamp positioned on the pole went off too. It was pitch dark outside. Because of the darkness and noise, they thought, they have lost the chance of detecting any intruder. Lalitaji was chanting the Hymns of Goddess Indrakshi rather loudly to invoke the blessings. But the sound of heavy rains subsided the frequency of her voice modulation .It stopped raining after a couple of Hours.

Both of them were feeling very sleepy. Pretending to be vigilant at this odd hour of the night, they were looking at the main Wooden Door. They were drowsing. Their heads would inadvertently hit the wooden window pane and then they would concentrate briefly their attention on the wooden door again. And, they would drowse yet again. They did not talk to each other for couple of Hours.

And then Dogs began to Bark. They woke up.

A pack of Dogs were barking on a Shadowy figure. The figure, it seemed was waving something to keep away the Dogs. Soon, another figure appeared, it was smaller in the size than the one who was waving something. The smaller figure grabbed the Loose clothing, most probably the ’ pheran’ of the larger figure . It looked as if, the smaller figure was trying to stop the larger figure. And then, their conversation became louder.

‘Leave me Aapa, I have to follow the orders’, fulminated the belligerent larger figure . The other voice, that of a female in a protesting tone said, ‘No. I will not let you do it. I will talk to them tomorrow. I will tell them to leave’.

Veenaji’s heart sank. She recognized the voice of the female. It was unmistakably that of Khatijah. Her neighbor. An array of thoughts crossed her mind.

‘Is somebody coming here to kill me? Am I going to live for another day or not? Will I be able to see my Children and Husband again!’ She was weighed down by the weltschmerz. Tears began to roll down from the corner of her eyes.

Fortunately for her, Lalitaji’s attention was focused towards the two shadowy figures and was unaware of the upheaval of emotions going on in her sister-in-laws’s mind.

The lone street light began to glow suddenly. They could clearly see the two figures. It was indeed Khatijah. Veenaji recognized the other figure too. It was Ajaz-The youngest Son of Khatijah. And, he was carrying a Gun. Khatijah had held the collar of her Son’s Pheran. Ajaz was approaching towards the main wooden door of Veenaji’s House. Khatijah was getting literally dragged, but she didn’t let loose her Grip on the collar.

Khatijah’s tone was changing constantly. From dominant to Pleading, she was trying her best to stop her son from opening the Door. But Ajaz was equally adamant. He dragged her to the Gate and rotated the Knob of the wooden Door. There was a creepy , unpleasant loud sound of opening of the wooden latch.
Ajaz Kicked the door open.

‘Oh my God! He is coming to Kill us.’Screamed lalitaji.
She threw the Blanket and ran Hysterically from one end of the room to other end.
‘ Control yourself lalitaji. Instead of getting nervous, think of a plan.’. she admonished lalitaji . She too came out from the warmth of the Blanket and held lalitaji’s Shoulders with both of her Hands to calm her down.
‘Let us see and listen to what they are arguing about’. Said Veenaji.
Lalitaji followed her without protest.
Ajaz opened the wooden door. Khatijah’s Grip loosened from the collar. But she grabbed the left leg of her Son. Ajaz kept her dragging. Her pheran was smeared in Mud.
‘ I will kill myself, if you do not listen to me’ moaned Khatijah. Ajaz stopped. He lifted up his Mother and began to clean the dirt from the pheran of his mother. She was still crying Helplessly.

Then Something happened.

Ajaz hugged her mother and said, ‘OK, As you wish. Let us go back’, in a comforting tone. Khatijah kissed the forehead of his Son. They both went back and closed the big wooden door.

The dogs started barking again.

Veenaji and Lalitaji had a sigh of relief. They kept on looking at the wooden door until the Dawn. With the first azaan of the mosque, they left the house. Veenaji opened the wooden latch of the Door. She looked back at her House. Little did she realized that she was looking at her hose for the last time.
Within no time, they were at Habba Kadal. The security guards stopped them and asked, ‘Where are you going?’. Lalitaji’s face lit up at the sight of Indian Armed forced. ‘We are Kashmiri Pandits. We are going to RTC. From there, we will board a Bus for Jammu’. The security Guards let them go. They were intersected and stopped by the Security guards at many places. Upon hearing that they are KP’s, they were let off immediately. It took them more than an Hour and a half to reach RTC by foot.

There were Buses and Taxis waiting for the passengers to take them to Jammu. A sardarji approached them. ‘Where will you go sister? Jammu! Come sister, in my taxi. Let me take you’. Both Veenaji and Lalitaji were exhausted both physically and mentally. They decided to go by Sardarji’s taxi.

They reached Tope Sherkhanian, Jammu by 4.00 p.m. Lalitaji narrated the whole incident to everyone present there melodramatically. Veenaji had not interfered lalitaji. She wanted her to vent off her feelings.
Veenaji’s Brother’s family had stayed with them for more than four months, before they moved to a rented accommodation at Subash Nagar.

The tea was boiling in the utensil. Some portion of the boiling tea fell on the Flame of the cooking gas stove. The burning smell of the tea, drew back Veenaji from her Past. She closed the knob of the gas and cleaned the Stove with a cloth and washed her hands with a soap. After pouring the tea in the cups, she put the cups in the tray and came out of the small kitchen to the living room.She placed the Tray on the top of the Central table.Irfaan and Roshanlal took one cup each from the tray.

Irfaan and Roshanlal were engrossed in a conversation and were oblivious to veenaji’s presence. She was wringing her hands impatiently.

‘How is your Brother Ajaz?’, She interrupted Irfaan, with a tone of anger.
Irfaan looked at her, Put the cup down, and with a deep sigh, he said with regret,
‘He died in an encounter with the security Guards 4 years back .He had become a militant. My mother pleaded with him to give up arms .But he did not listen’.

And then he looked the other side.

‘I am so sorry.’ Said Roshanlal apologetically. Veenaji did not tried to comfort him.

‘You carry on. I have some work in the Kitchen. Excuse me.’ She said casually as she did not wanted to be a part of the conversation. She stood up and went again to the Kitchen.

She pretended to dish-wash. But for some reasons, once again, the Flashes of the Horrendous night kept coming to her mind…

Propaganda against Re-settlement of KP’s

Since last 25 years, it has been projected by almost all political parties, whether J&k-based or National level, like INC and BJP, that they want to re-settle KP’s back in the land of their ancestors .But never ever, has any political party acted as audaciously, as did the Modi-led NDA govt .The Home Minister of India Sh. Rajnath singh had asked Omar Abdullah in the first week of Sep 2014 to identify the land for the re-settlement of Kashmiri Pandits in Kashmir. But the unfortunate floods procrastinated the Plans of GOI.

Now again, just a couple of days back, The home minister of India-Mr. Rajnath singh asked the Chief Minister-Mufti mohammed syed to identify the land for the “composite re-settlement of Kashmiri Pandits”. And it looked as if the C.M nodded his head in agreement. But as expected, he U-turned on the issue of giving land for the settlement of KP’s thus showing his true colour of being a true Islamic-sikluar.

And thus started the Grand- Drama of the Pak-backed-separatists.

Yasin Malik-the leader of the JKLF faction objected to the GOI’s plan of re-settling the KP’s into the valley. He and his coterie are of this view that KP’s should be settled in their original homes with their original Muslim Neighbors. They want KP’s to live as they lived prior to 1989-90.

But, Is it possible for pundits to settle at those places,that they left out of fear in 1990!

An real life anecdote when I visited Kashmir after 24 shows totally different picture of the locality and the people that lived with us pre-1990.

I went to Rainawari, in Srinagar, Kashmir last year .I landed in Kashmir valley on 31st Aug 2014. Immediately, I opted to go to my abandoned-Home in Rainawari. The place looked so different. “Kraylar” looked so different. The lanes and sub-lanes looked Chocked because of illegal encroachment.

When, I reached Bagh jogilankar, I was surprised to find out that even the police-station, that was once situated at the entrance of the Bridge has been shifted to “Silai-center”, opposite Hari singh school.

I tried very hard to identify my old acquaintances. Though I could identify the shops, but the shopkeepers were different. I tried to look into the eyes of the shopkeepers hoping to revive something of the past. But I got blank looks from them. The strange looks made me uncomfortable and unwanted. The appalling condition of the by-lanes was beyond words. The people of the locality have illegally captured the already-narrow-bylanes.

At last, I could identify someone. It was “Magga”. He was the barber. He had trimmed my hair N times , right from the time when I was a Kid, till I grew up to an adolescent. I accosted him and introduced myself. He too looked blankly at me. He could not identify me, as he had seen me when I was a Kid. I told him about my family, my father, Grandfather, My Uncles. With each name, his eyes sparkled in joy. And then he gave me a tight Hug. A few men gathered around us. They started asking me questions about the welfare of my family, my relatives and my Hindu-neighbors. I tried to answer them to the best of my information.

I chatted with them for about 10 minutes. Then I told them that for strange reasons, all the people in Rainawari look different to me. I told them that they looked strangers to me. They listened to me patiently. An acquaintance of “Magga-Barber”, informed me that only 40 indigenous Households/ families are living in that area and rest of the families have shifted to other places in Kashmir. As, I was departing, I could hear his shout, “Even we-the leftover families sometimes feels living among aliens. KP’s did the right thing by migrating to other places.”

The same story has been repeated in many of the localities that were once dominated by the pundits. The original Muslim residents have shifted to other places. Most of the Muslims from the downtown have shifted to posh localities like Rajbagh, Barzullah, etc.

The trite rant of the separatists like Yasin Malik and Syed ali shah Geelani, on the return of Kashmiri Pandits does not hold any water. They too are aware of the fact that during last 25 years, many KM’s have shifted to the posh localities and many amongst them have bought the houses of KP’s- who had to sell their properties in distress.

If they want to re-settle KP’s into their original localities, they will have to re-settle back all the Muslims too- who were the neighbors of KP’s. But that is not possible and that will not be of any help to KP’s .As a matter of fact, The Muslim neighbors of KP’s were totally helpless in protecting their Hindu neighbors in 1990’s. Instead of protecting them, many KM neighbors corroborated with the terrorists and gave vital information about those KP’s, who were on the hit list of Terrorists, thus resulting in Death of many KP’s.

Over the years the mainstream political parties have practiced soft-secessionism. They have over the years poisoned the minds of the majority-Muslims. Separatists as well as the valley-based mainstream political parties have tacitly projected the forced-exodus of KP’s as their victory. Victory of Islam and Hegemony of Muslims. They might be saying hundreds of lies to the Government of India, but the reality is that they are constantly conveying to their vote-bank that KP’s will never be allowed to come back.

The resistance shown by Yasin Malik against the proposed “composite-resettlement” has been portrayed as “inclusive-townships” for KP’s. It has been alleged that GOI is planning to make colonies like Israel did in Palestine. The resistance towards the return of KP’s have been portrayed akin to the resistance of Palestine’s towards the Israel-settlements.

And top of that, the mainstream political parties too have shown the same resistance as did Yasin Malik and company. It is an astutely-planned-propaganda against the return of Kashmiri Pandits. All the valley based-political-parties have excluded deliberately the word “Composite” and are instead using the word “Inclusive”.

The deliberate blatant trampling of the fundamental right of KP’s will once again go unnoticed. Once again the possible return of KP’s will be thwarted. Once again the false propaganda of the Anti-Nationals will echo in the valley. Once again justice will be denied to the KP’s.

And once again,
the goddess of Justice will remain Blindfolded…