On the borderline

One second is all it takes to destroy a life shaped and nurtured over years. One second to finish the dreams, to scotch ambitions, to alt...

One second is all it takes to destroy a life shaped and nurtured over years. One second to finish the dreams, to scotch ambitions, to alter destinies, to cause unending misery. In our modern, scientific world everything happens so very quickly. And apparently without reason.

The civilian victims of border firing are not anybody8217;s enemies. They live along the border because fate has ordained it this way and also because they have no other choice. But the uneasy neighbour just wouldn8217;t let them be on their own. In the past two months since hostilities broke out in Kargil, about 30 persons including women and children have been either killed or seriously injured in the shelling along the international border and Line of Control in the Jammu region.

It won8217;t be wrong to call the border residents the worst victims of the tension between India and Pakistan. Displaced from their homes, they have been forced to take shelter in the dingy rooms of small schools only to face government apathy. The condition has beensuch that sometimes they have had to block roads to force the authorities to arrange a meal.

Clustered in schools, the villagers are passing through hard times. Children are not getting sleep in the summer heat as the floors are hot and fans few. Camps are nowhere in sight. Family members are living separated from each other. Cattle, the lifeline of these villagers, has had to be left to roam free as much out of compulsion as out of religious sentiment. Villagers believe that penance for a cow or buffalo which dies in tethers has to be done in Haridwar and till this is done the person responsible for tying the animal has to lead a secluded life. Losing cattle is tolerable but committing sin is not.

Reduced to a state of penury and dependence, the men are still trying to earn a little by going to villages during the day to tend to cattle and run shops. Working on the fields 8212; known for their rice 8212; is not possible as these are not being allowed to be watered by the security forces. But this desire toearn a living and avoid a state of helplessness is also proving to be the villagers8217; nemesis. Shells come, unexpected, and in dozens. It8217;s not only houses they fall on, raising smoke and dust. Markets, too, turn into battle-zones as happened in Pallanwalla, 4 km from the LoC, recently where two persons were killed and two seriously injured.

Hit by a shell, hurt, lying and crying a person may be, but help will come only if he is lucky enough to be spotted by passers-by. And then there8217;s the journey to the Government Medical College, Jammu, and the need for bottles of blood there. Many a time, the distance proves too long. The bodies are then quietly sent to the mortuary.

The families of the victims, living in faraway schools, learn of the tragedy long after it has occurred. Feeling helpless at their inability to have done something for the life of their beloved, they are left wondering at the cruelty of their fate. The compensation is measly and does not come easily. Repeated rounds have to be made of theconcerned offices.

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The family of a soldier who dies on the border is looked after by the state. His body is laid to rest with full military honours. But life for a border resident does not seem as valuable. He seems a mere statistic who has to be provided food and medicines during days of his migration. And for the unprincipled enemy, he is a guinea pig, an instrument of conveying a message. Pound his house, kill him, because you want to send his government a message. Target a civilian because you can8217;t spot a soldier. And if and when they retaliate, you know it8217;s again a civilian who is going to pay a price.