Let’s Begin Here, Mufti sahib

Located just 15 miles away from Srinagar, Lelhar and its 250 families have no official existence, if one is to go by the approach road. It’s actually a bumpy pathway, which becomes soggy with the first drop of rain. The few taps in the village, on the other hand, are dry throughout the year; the women of the village have to queue up at the Jhelum bank to collect enough water to last them the day.

The village’s sole mean of subsistence is agriculture, but for the past three years, the paddy has been hit by successive droughts. There are barely 20 government employees in the village — and the highest ranking is an electrician.

The first house in the village belongs to Shakeel Ahmad. The 23-year-old stays at home because he is the only man left in the family. His father Ghulam Rasool was among the first villagers to be killed by militants, who accused him of being a security force mole. ‘‘One night, they knocked on the door. They left only after making a sieve of my father’s chest,’’ Shakeel says. ‘‘We could do nothing. We cried and cried but there was nobody to listen to us’’.

In reaction, Shakeel’s elder brother Riyaz Ahmed became a counter-insurgent with the Task Force (the Special Operations Group of the police). ‘‘We were scared and thought they (the militants) would come again. But he was seething with anger and took the decision in haste,’’ says Shakeel. ‘‘He thought he would land a secure job with the police. But that didn’t happen either — eventually, we collected Rs 40,000 and he got a police constable’s job last year, though nothing to do with the Task Force.’’

For a year, the family thought the worst was behind them. ‘‘Then, on October 25, he came home on a routine visit. He was sunning himself around 11.30 am, when two jean-clad men walked up to him. One took a pistol and fired into his chest. Just like that, he was dead,’’ says Shakeel. ‘‘Now I have to look after my siblings, my brother’s widow and their three children, the youngest of whom is just a year old. And I don’t know how to do that.’’

Just 100 meters away lies a single-storey stone-and-brick house. A cow chews cud in the front yard, while two kids play with pieces of pottery. Jana Begum, 70, lives here. She lost two sons and her husband to violence; now she heads a family of seven, including three orphans. Her eldest son Mohammad Ramzan was a militant commander, and died in an encounter in the early ’90s. His wife died of the shock soon afterwards, leaving behind two sons and a daughter, all minors.

‘‘A few years later, in 1997, men working with the Task Force came and showered bullets on the family while we were having lunch. This time, I lost another son, Bashir Ahmad, who had been married for just seven months. My husband Ali Mohammad Bhat, too, was hit by the bullets. He survived the attack, but soon fell victim to the sorrow of losing his young sons. He simply lost the will to live,’’ says Jana in a dry, emotionless voice.

‘‘After a month, they came again, to pick up Manzoor Ahmad, another of my sons. It was simple vendetta, though the police records say Manzoor is a militant from whom an AK-47 was recovered. After two years behind bars, Manzoor was released last month. But he’s so scared now he refuses to talk. As soon as it’s dusk, he locks the doors and forces us to put off the lights,’’ says Jana.

This village has lost 30 young men to violence and rare is the house that has not ben raided by the security forces. ‘‘We have gone through hell all these years. The Task Force is the only face of the government we’ve seen all these years. We didn’t exist for the Hurriyat either — we suffered on our own,’’ says Ali Mohammad Lone, 70, who has lost his militant son Ghulam Mohammad Lone.

But will the change in government make a difference? ‘‘Yes, certainly. We have heard that Mufti sahib has promised to apply balm to our wounds. Let’s see what happens,’’ says Lone. ‘‘It’s hard to dream in these circumstances.’’

Jana Begum, on her part, is counting on the Mufti’s promise of a job for all victims of police brutality. ‘‘We have no source of income. All these years, I spun yarn to feed these orphans. Now it looks like we’ll get some help,’’ she says. Her daughter Shakeela, however, is sceptical: ‘‘All the rulers are alike. They make promises but forget when they come to power.’’

Everywhere in this village, Mufti’s promises seem to be on test, but impatience is not one of their faults. ‘‘Come back after six months. If the approach road is still the same, you’ll know our fate hasn’t changed either. But let’s hope for the best,’’ says a village elder.