Where to, Sirs?

Thursday, 11.30 pm, Srinagar: The sky is resounding with the ominous throb of choppers circling the city. Round. And round. Like big birds hunting for prey. If you strain your ears, in the distance you can hear the sharp staccato of gun-fire. Rat-a-tat...rat-a-tat. Accompanied by a brief, brilliant flare of light that snuffs out lives. A rash jihadi’s or a young soldier’s? Who knows?

And it’s only been twenty-four hours since the government called off the unilateral ceasefire.

If such a thing is possible, war and peace-that odd couple-now cohabit in Kashmir. Locked in a minuet of hope and hate that seems to be heading nowhere. In the last few years, every step towards peace has been balanced by an obstruction. With one move, hope raises its head tentatively and with another move, it ducks for cover.

First it was the pro-Pakistan Hizbul Mujahideen which initiated a peace move last year when they declared a unilateral ceasefire but the momentum soon fizzled out when, under pressure from Islamabad, they sought Pakistan’s involvement in the dialogue process and the Indian government refused to talk.

Then came the government’s unilateral ceasefire six months ago. The all-party Hurriyat Conference too seemed to welcome it and hope floated, cautiously, in the Valley. But it took a battering each time the fidayeen (suicide squads) of the Lashkar-e-Toiba attacked or a Shabir Shah vacillated.

‘‘As it is, is baazari baat-cheet se kuch faayda nahi tha, says 65-year-old Sonaullah Shah, dismissing the dialogue between Shabir Shah and KC Pant, the government’s interlocutor, to open talks with the Kashmiris. The ambit of Pant’s brief was so undefined that he could have exhausted all his life, talking. The list of invitees for talks spanned from almost everybody in Kashmir: a Muslim shikarawalla in Dal lake, a Buddhist taxi driver in Leh, a Dogra sweet vendor of Jammu and all political, social, cultural and religious parties across the State. Pant wanted to talk to those who were pro-India, to those who were anti-India, to those who were ideologically somewhere in between and also to those who did not even know or understand what the issue was all about. Within days of his appointment the ‘dialogue’ had been whittled down to ‘small talk.’

So when the ceasefire ended, Sonaullah Shah was not surprised. The contractor from Anantnag wants to know how it will improve his life or that of his neighbours or relatives or townsmen. In Srinagar to get pending bills cleared, Shah between his battles with red tape, comments caustically: ‘‘As it is what ceasefire are we talking about? The security forces were killing militants anyway and militants who had made no promises whatsoever continued doing their work. So I don’t think anything will change on the ground.’’

Earlier the business was getting better but now when they learn that war has started again, why would they (tourists) come? —Fayaz Sheikh, Shikarawallah

And the fact is that even the facade of peace had ended abruptly after the intensification of the militants’ campaign and retaliation by Farooq Abdullah’s administration and the police. At a press briefing recently, the police chief made his course of action amply clear when he said that his men would not stop going after militants.‘‘How can we allow these criminals to create law and order problems? We will certainly go after them and the ceasefire will not stop us from that.’’ The Chief Minister had seconded that, adding that his police had orders to kill because there is no space in his jails.

But there are others, poorer people, who understand better the nuances of a ceasefire as they were affected most by it. For instance, there is Farooq Ahmad Wani, 26, a vegetable vendor in Srinagar’s Lalchowk. Very simply he explains: ‘‘For people like me the only meaning of ceasefire was that the security forces refrained from beating up shopkeepers and vendors after militants threw grenades.’’ His only hope now lies in the ‘‘Government’s talk with Musharraf.’’

Fayaz Ahmad Sheikh’s concern are more commercial. From a family of shikarawallahs who lost heavily after militancy, Sheikh says life was beginning to get better with the return of tourists. ‘‘‘But now when they learn that war has started again why would they (tourists) want to come here?’’ he asks forlornly as he ferries, instead of tourists, a posse of BSF personnel across the Dal.

One of them is P B Dayani, an officer. Authoritative in his crisp uniform, Dayani echoes many of the security forces when he says that the withdrawal of the ceasefire is a good measure. ‘‘During the ceasefire the militants had the initiative and we were constantly on the defensive. Now the initiative will come back to us. We can now really go after them and feel a little more secure about organising searches and crackdowns.’’

Now that they have ended the ceasefire who knows what it will mean? Delay. Fear. Loss of business? —Hafeezulla, bus driver

In the office of the Hurriyat there’s little activity. At least on the surface. But the wait for developments to unfold seems like an activity. Weeks ago, the Hurriyat Conference had rejected the government’s offer to talk saying they don’t want to talk ‘‘in a crowd.’’ Now, with the government’s decision to invite General Pervez Musharraf for direct talks to New Delhi it is time for a change of strategy for them.

But as talk in the rarefied circles of diplomacy and politics swirls around strategy and stance, on the roads of Kashmir too there are worried whispers about strategy: how to deal with the changed circumstances. Just as the bus drivers in the Valley were getting used to no roadside checks, frequent stoppages, nakabandi and frisking, the situation altered. ‘‘I used to take my bus to Kupwara and race ahead as all army checkpoints had been withdrawn,’’ says Hafeezullah at the western bus stand. ‘‘Now they have ended the ceasefire, who knows what it means? Delay. Fear. Loss of business?’’

While another transporter, Ghulam Mohamamd Ganai, 45, maintained that ceasefire or not, the security forces would take their buses anyway. ‘‘Using a civilian passenger bus, they had a free run in the villages,’’ he said. And this game of hide and seek, he proclaimed cynically, ‘‘is played by politicians too.’
‘‘These leaders have always been talking to each other. Sometimes openly, sometimes secretly. But nobody actually understands and feels how tragic the situation is for us here.’’