This happened a few years ago, before I resigned from the service. Maybe in 2000 or 2001. I was at the time DySP, Deputy Superintendent of Police, posted in Mattan.
One night at about 11:30 p.m. we got a call from a neighboring village. The caller was a villager, but he wouldn’t reveal his name. He said there had been a murder. So we went. I, along with my boss, the SP. It was in January. Very cold. Snow everywhere.
We arrived in the village. The people were all inside their houses. Doors were locked. Lights were off. It had stopped snowing. The night was clear. Full moon. The moonlight was reflecting off the snow. You could see everything very clearly.
We saw the body of a person, a big strong man. He was lying in the snow. He had been freshly killed. His blood had flooded on to the snow. It was still warm. It had melted the snow. The snow was still steaming. He lay there as though he was being cooked…
You could tell that after his throat had been slit he had dragged himself about thirty meters to knock on the door of a house. But out of fear nobody had opened the door, so he had bled to death. As I said, he was a big strong man, so there was a lot of blood. He was dressed in Pathan clothes—salwar kameez—he wore a camouflage bulletproof vest, and an ammunition belt full of ammunition. An AK-47 was lying near him. We had no doubt he was a militant—but who had killed him? If it had been the army of course they would have removed the body and claimed the Kill immediately. If it had been a rival militant group they would have taken his weapon. This was a big puzzle for us.
We rounded up the villagers and questioned them. Nobody admitted to seeing or hearing or knowing anything. We took the body back with us to the Mattan police station. There my SP called the Commanding Officer of the Rashtriya Rifle (RR) camp—the army camp—nearby to ask if he knew anything about it. Nothing.
It wasn’t hard to identify the body. He was a well-known, very senior militant commander. He belonged to the Hizb. Hizb-ul-Mujahideen. But nobody claimed the Kill. So eventually the army CO and my SP decided to claim it. They announced that he had been killed in an encounter following a Search-and-Cordon operation conducted jointly by the RR and JKP (Jammu and Kashmir Police).
The story appeared in the national press as follows: In a fierce gun battle that lasted several hours a dreaded militant was killed in a joint operation by the Rashtriya Rifles and the Jammu and Kashmir Police led by Major XX and Superintendent of Police YY.
Both of us, the RR and JKP, were given citations and we shared the cash reward. We handed the militant’s body over to his family and made discreet inquiries about whether they had any idea who killed him. We made no headway.
Seven days later, in another village, another Hizb militant was found beheaded. He was the second-in-command of the first man whose body we had found. The Hizb owned up to the killing. Privately they let it be known that he was killed for having murdered his commander and stolen twenty-five lakhs in cash that was meant for distribution among the cadre.
The story in the national press appeared as follows:
Gruesome Beheading of Innocent Civilian by Militants
Q 1: Who is the hero of this story?
THE INFORMER—I
In the notified area of Tral. A village called Nav Dal. It’s 1993. The village is bristling with militants. It’s a “liberated” village. The army is camped on the outskirts, but soldiers daren’t enter the village. It’s a complete stand-off. No villagers approach the army camp. There is no exchange of any sort between soldiers and villagers.
And yet, the officer commanding the camp knows every move the militants make. Which villagers support the Movement, which ones don’t, who offers militants food and lodging willingly, who doesn’t.
For days a close watch is mounted. Not a single person goes to the camp. Not a single soldier enters the village. And yet, the information gets to the army.
Finally the militants notice a sleek black bull from the village who regularly visits the camp. They intercept the bull. Tied to his horns, along with an assortment of taveez (to keep him from illness, from the evil eye, from impotence), are little notes with information.
The next day the militants attach an IED to the bull’s horns. They detonate it as he approaches the camp. No one dies. The bull is severely injured. The village butcher offers to do “halal” so the villagers can at least feast on the meat.
The militants pass a fatwa. It’s an Informer Bull. Nobody is allowed to eat the meat.
Amen.
Q 1: Who is the hero of the story?
THE INFORMER—II
He liked selling out on people, for this dehumanized him. Dehumanizing myself is my own most fundamental tendency.
Jean Genet
I’m not yet cured of happiness.
Anna Akhmatova
Q 1: Who is the hero of the story?
THE VIRGIN
The fidayeen attack that had been planned on the army camp was aborted at the last minute by none other than the fidayeen themselves. They took this decision because Abid Ahmed alias Abid Suzuki, the driver of the Maruti Suzuki they were in, was driving really badly. The little car veered sharply to the left, then sharply to the right, as though it was dodging something. But the road was empty and there was nothing to dodge. When Abid Suzuki’s companions (none of whom knew how to drive) asked him what the matter was, he said it was the houris who had come to take them all to heaven. They were naked and dancing on the bonnet, distracting him.
There’s no way to ascertain whether the naked houris were virgins or not.
But Abid Suzuki certainly was one.
Q 1: Why was Abid Suzuki driving badly?
Q 2: How do you establish a man’s virginity?
THE BRAVEHEART
Mehmood was a tailor in Budgam. His greatest desire was to have himself photographed posing with guns. Finally a school friend of his who had joined a militant group took him to their hideout and made his dream come true. Mehmood returned to Srinagar with the negatives and took them to Taj Photo Studio to have prints made. He negotiated a 25-paisa discount for each print. When he went to pick up his prints the Border Security Force laid a cordon around Taj Photo Studio and caught him red-handed with the prints. He was taken to a camp and tortured for many days. He did not give away any information. He was sentenced to ten years in jail.
The militant commander who facilitated the photography session was arrested a few months later. Two AK-47s and several rounds of ammunition were recovered from him. He was released after two months.
Q 1: Was it worth it?
THE CAREERIST
The boy had always wanted to make something of himself. He invited four militants for dinner and slipped sleeping pills into their food. Once they had fallen asleep he called the army. They killed the militants and burned down the house. The army had promised the boy two canals of land and one hundred and fifty thousand rupees. They gave him only fifty thousand and accommodated him in quarters just outside an army camp. They told him that if he wanted a permanent job with them instead of being just a daily wage worker he would have to get them two foreign militants. He managed to get them one “live” Pakistani but was having trouble finding another. “Unfortunately these days business is bad,” he told PI. “Things have become such that you cannot any longer just kill someone and pretend he’s a foreign militant. So my job cannot be made permanent.”
PI asked him, if there was a referendum whom he would vote for, India or Pakistan?
“Pakistan of course.”
“Why?”
“Because it is our Mulk (country). But Pakistan militants can’t help us in this way. If I can kill them and get a good job it helps me.”
He told PI that when Kashmir became a part of Pakistan, he (PI) would not be able to survive in it. But he (the boy) would. But that, he said, was just a theoretical matter. Because he would be killed shortly.
Q 1: Who did the boy expect to be killed by?
(a) The army
(b) Militants
(c) Pakistanis
(d) Owners of the house that was burned
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