A different parade

FEBRUARY 6: The night was bitter and cold. I had left my Srinagar office early, worried as the next day was Republic Day and the security ...

FEBRUARY 6: The night was bitter and cold. I had left my Srinagar office early, worried as the next day was Republic Day and the security forces had stepped up their patrol. I had already passed through a dozen checkposts when out of the dark, I saw a rifle pointing at me. quot;Thumb!quot; a man in camouflage shouted. I stopped and raised my arms, even before he ordered me to do so. I could see he was extremely nervous, and I could understand why. A Fidayeen suicide squad had struck nearby that morning, killing two soldiers inside their highly guarded camp.

quot;Keep your bag down! Open your jacket! Hurry!quot; he commanded, not realising I could not follow all three instructions at once. The barrel of his gun stayed trained straight at my chest, his finger on the trigger. There were two more policemen on either side of him, both with rifles at the ready. They told me to sit on the ground, and not to touch my satchel. Then one of them ordered me to lie on my stomach and crawl towards him on my elbows.

This was my secondsuch experience in the last month. A few weeks earlier, a squad of Fidayeens militants willing to commit suicide had barged into the headquarters of the state police8217;s counter-insurgency wing, the Special Operations Group. Late that night, a group of security men stopped me as I was returning home after filing the routine quot;situation reportquot;. They blindfolded me, ordering me to keep my hands locked to my neck for at least 15 minutes. Finally, after verifying my ID, they let me go.

On this night, I was not surprised by the behaviour of these jawans. It was normal for the Valley. I followed their instructions, as I had no doubt that any hesitation could end my life. I had no choice. quot;Don8217;t you know tomorrow is Republic Day? You should not be outdoors,quot; one of the men said. Republic Day. It had the sound of a noble cause, of ceremonial splendour and national pride. In New Delhi, there would be parades and speeches and displays of military might. It was an occasion for the nation to stand up and cheer.

Butnot in Srinagar. Here, the day had a very different meaning. For the security forces, it was a giant headache. Tension was high, and they were warned to be on alert for any sort of attack. For weeks they had been conducting extra quot;sanitisationquot; operations in the winter cold, trying to make sure there would be no militant strikes during the celebrations. For the militants, it was an opportunity to demonstrate their strength. On such an important day, with the entire security establishment on the defensive, even a minor attack would make major headlines.

While both of these adversaries viewed Republic Day as a point of prestige, the civil population was caught in the middle. As usual. For them, the occasion meant several days of added fear and disruption, with streets barricaded, cordon-and-search operations stepped up, and an undeclared curfew round-the-clock. Everyone prayed they would not fall ill, because it would be so risky to seek treatment at a clinic or doctor8217;s office. Even the local newspaperssuspended publication for the day, because there were no hawkers to sell them and no customers to buy them. Earlier in the day, I had asked a child what Republic Day meant to her. quot;Curfew and hartal and lights out,quot; she said. As they had for years, the militants had demanded that Srinagar residents put out their lights after dark as a sign of protest.Finally, after half an hour, the security men let me go on my way. I reached home shortly after that. Just as I opened the door, I heard a voice on the radio. It was President K.R. Narayanan, speaking about the meaning of Republic Day. It was a reminder, he told the nation, that quot;supreme power is exercised not by some remote monarch, but by the people.quot; In Srinagar, I thought, it was a reminder that the power of the people was far away indeed.