When militants in Army fatigues killed 23 Kashmiri Pandits

For Gani, this reunion with a face from his own childhood was a throwback to a different time — a time before the dreadful events of January 25, 1998, etched themselves into the collective memory of Wandhama. On August 25, Jammu & Kashmir Police’s State Investigation Agency opened an investigation into that incident, when militants in Army fatigues entered the village and killed 23 Kashmiri Pandits in one of the deadliest attacks of that time.

Time and weather have torn away most of the structures, and dense green vegetation grows out of the windows and archways. (Express Photo by Shuaib Masoodi)

The case is the latest in a series of probes that the SIA has opened into the killings of Kashmiri Pandits during the militancy. And although Brij had left the village for Jammu eight years before the Wandhama massacre, when many like him were having to leave the Valley as part of the larger Kashmiri Pandit exodus, the reunion with him brought back memories for Gani.

Nestled among tall Chinar and walnut trees, Wandhama is a village in central Kashmir’s Ganderbal.

On the night of January 25-26, 1998, a group of militants descended on the village, assembled the Kashmiri Pandits in one place and opened indiscriminate fire. It led to the killing of 23 Kashmiri Pandits, including four children and nine women.

Today, much has changed. A new highway corridor that connects Srinagar and Ladakh has come up a few hundred metres from the village, and old brick-and-stone houses are giving way to larger concrete ones.

As militancy peaked, several Kashmiri Pandits began leaving the Valley for Jammu. But the residents of the four households stayed put. Then came the night of January 25, 1998. (Express Photo by Shuaib Masoodi)

And yet, in the heart of the village, four rundown brick-and-stone houses belonging to the Pandits remain standing, frozen in time. Time and weather have torn away most of the structures, and dense green vegetation grows out of the windows and archways.

“We had seven Pandit houses here, but now you can only see four. Locals bought three of the houses, and new houses came up in their place,” says Mohammad Haneef Baba, a 65-year-old resident. “Nobody from the village has touched the other four, but how long will they stand the weather and time?”

As militancy peaked in 1990, several Kashmiri Pandits began leaving the Valley for Jammu. But the residents of the four households stayed put.

Then came the night of January 25, 1998.

Baba recalls that night and its horror. It was Ramazan, and most of the village’s male residents were at the local mosque, he says. “We heard a few shots but thought it was somewhere far away. It was January 26 (Republic Day), and we thought it was a celebratory fire,” he says.

Then came the wails of some women.

“When we went outside (the mosque where people were praying), we heard the women pleading with us to leave for some safe place. They said there had been firing in the village,” Baba says. “Some of the young men from the gathering mustered courage and ran towards the Pandit houses. They saw bodies scattered outside.”

The massacre wiped out all four families that remained.

Five of those killed that night were guests of the Pandit families.

The massacre had only one survivor – a teenager. “He was a smart boy,” says Baba. “He was wearing a black pheran and hid himself in charcoal. When it all fell silent, he ran towards a house on the other side of the village. An hour later, he returned home, took some documents and left.”

Decades later, Pandits who left the village years ago still return, their ties sustained by old friendships and the land they left behind. (Express Photo by Shuaib Masoodi)

The villagers went to the closest Army camp in Kurhama and told them about the killings.

“The next morning, we went to the police station in Ganderbal and told them what happened in the village the previous night,” one resident says.

The killings of that night set off another series of migrations — this time of some Muslim families, who headed to Srinagar and even to faraway Sopore in north Kashmir.

Twenty-eight years later, the killings still inspire fear. They are spoken about in no more than a hushed whisper.

A villager in his fifties refuses to talk about that night. “Why are you reopening the old wounds?” he says irritably.

But the killings have failed to sever the bond between the Muslims and Pandits of the village. Decades later, Pandits who left the village years ago still return, their ties sustained by old friendships and the land they left behind.

“They come to the village to meet their old Muslim friends, but they don’t stay the night. They have land here and sell their walnut produce every year,” says Baba. “They are connected to this village through their land and their friends.”