by Anam Zakaria
As a result of Pakistan’s alleged involvement with the ‘tribal’ raid, the country also came to be seen as an aggressor, an instigator of conflict, thereby losing its moral superiority and giving India an upper hand in negotiations on Kashmir on international platforms from there onwards. Pakistan’s alleged tactics in Kashmir, however well or poorly intentioned, have meant that India can justify its policies as mere defence against an aggressive ‘enemy’ state bent upon infiltration and provocation. This has not only weakened Pakistan’s stance on Kashmir but also the Kashmiris’ fight for self-determination, which often gets labelled as Pakistan-sponsored, even when it is a legitimate indigenous struggle.
It was during these interviews about the ‘tribal’ raids that I learnt for the first time that alongside the prolonged violence that Partition—and later, the raids—brought, they also significantly altered the very fabric of the Valley. It is said that Kashmiris from the Valley were traditionally secular. ‘Kashmiris were more tolerant, their practice of Islam and Hinduism more liberal, and their intercommunal relationships more involved and harmonious than those in other parts of the princely state.’29 In fact, the degree of homogeneity was such that many Kashmiri Muslims could not make a swift decision about whether to join India or Pakistan at the time of Partition, based only on religious lines.
Not only did the common ethnic, linguistic and geographic backgrounds create a bond among Kashmiris of different faiths but their shared history under the different regimes, including the Durranis (Muslim Afghans), Ranjit Singh’s forces and the Dogras, ensured that a certain kinship existed among the religious communities. The other’s culture and religion were respected and celebrated. Muslims and Hindus would take part in each other’s festivals. Many Hindus and Muslims even went to the extent of only consuming halal mutton instead of beef or pork to respect each other’s traditions and did not let concepts of untouchability come in the way of communal bonds.30
Such inter-communal harmony is also documented in the book Wounded Memories, written by Muhammad Saeed Asad, a Kashmiri author currently residing in Mirpur, and based on interviews of people who witnessed the ‘tribal’ raids. The interviews reveal:
The Sikhs were familiar with and able to recite the verses of the Holy Quran just as much as we could read their Holy Granth. Many Hindus knew certain verses of the Quran by heart, including their meaning… the occasion of Eid Milad-un-Nabi (celebration of the birthday of the Prophet of Islam) was always a great spectacle. Hindus would vigorously engage in these celebrations. They would also decorate their shops with flags on this day and join the procession, just as Muslims did. They would also recite ‘naats’ (poems and couplets in praise of the Prophet) and as the procession would pass through the bazaar, other Hindus and Sikhs would stand up in obeisance.31
Another passage from the book reads:
In times of difficulty and distress, Muslims and Hindus would support each other. When a Muslim would die, everybody in the neighbourhood would gather there. The men would collectively make all funeral arrangements whilst the women would embrace each other in mourning and express their sadness. Non-Muslims would also attend, cry and express their grief at the loss. They would accompany us (Muslims) in the various funeral rites. When a non-Muslim died, Muslims would reciprocate and share their sorrow. People would take their own share of wood to contribute to the funeral pyre.32
However, the emotional cord between the religious communities could not withstand the inter-religious violence as it spiralled out of control in other parts of India—and what was to become Pakistan—in 1947. Tensions between the religious communities in J&K began to rise between August and October 1947. As distraught, wounded and traumatized Hindus and Sikhs started to pour into Jammu (often as a transit point before travelling to other parts of India) following the bloodshed in Punjab, local Hindus and Sikhs in Jammu were appalled to see their battered conditions. Turning their anger towards fellow local Muslims—whom they saw as pro-Pakistan due to their religious affiliation—, they took their revenge by butchering them where they could, particularly in Hindu-majority areas of Jammu. Meanwhile, in other parts of Jammu province and Muzaffarabad district, Muslims had also started to kill Hindus and Sikhs.33 The ‘tribal’ raids of 1947 added fuel to this fire, exacerbating tensions and instigating further violence, particularly against non-Muslims. Rahul Pandita writes about the ‘tribal’ raids in his book, Our Moon Has Blood Clots:
Aided by Pakistani army regulars, tribesmen from Pakistan’s North-West Frontier Province attack Kashmir in a bid to occupy it. Hundreds of Pandits and Sikhs are killed, and their women raped and taken as slaves to Pakistan. Thousands are forcibly converted to Islam. Pandit families living in border towns are forced to flee…34
The same Pandits were later driven out of Srinagar by Muslim extremists. The Indian Army had essentially been perceived as ‘Hindu’ by these extremists and thus inherently linked with the Pandits in the Valley. The Pandits were attacked, in an attempt to seek revenge against the Indian armed forces for the crackdowns against Muslims in the aftermath of the unrest that escalated in the late 1980s. Horror stories marred many Pandit homes in the Valley in the early 1990s, compelling numerous families to flee. These stories often read as mirror images of the experiences of many Kashmiri Muslim families that poured into Pakistan-administered Kashmir during the 1990s to flee the crackdowns by the Indian state (the stories of these refugees will be shared in Chapter 4). This shows that perhaps one of the greatest tragedies of the post-Partition violence and the ‘tribal’ raids was the blow to the notion of Kashmiriyat, defined in terms of the region’s tolerance of multiple cultures and religions.
Today, Hindu and Sikh heritage in ‘Azad’ Kashmir stands abandoned. It has become a victim of the loss of religious pluralism in the area. The Kashmir conflict, which began as a battle over land, has become a war of civilizations over the decades. It is a fight between Muslims and Hindus, between the believers and the infidels, between the barbarians and the righteous. It seems the two communities can no longer coexist, let alone peacefully. In India, the discourse centres around the savagery of Muslim invaders and the fundamentalist nature of Islam that secular India must protect itself—and its atoot ang Kashmir—against. In Pakistan, the struggle for Kashmir has been strongly interlinked with Islam and its rightful place within the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. As religion has become synonymous with nationality in Pakistan (to be Pakistani is often taken for granted as being Muslim given the small proportion of non-Muslims in the country), Pakistanis also see India as synonymous with Hindus, regardless of the religious diversity of the nation. The ‘Muslim’ Pakistan defines itself in opposition to this ‘Hindu’ India from which it broke away in 1947. As a result, the Kashmir dispute is not just imagined as a war between two armies, two countries or two states but rather a battle between two religions. To talk about, let alone celebrate, the Hindu heritage of Pakistan-administered Kashmir would then taint the clean and linear narrative of how Kashmir has always ‘belonged’ with a Muslim Pakistan.
Consequently, the Hindu lineage of the region has been rejected and distorted in popular imagination. As Muslims fought against both the Hindu and Sikh communities at the time of Partition, the Sikhs are also lumped together with the Hindus. As a result, Sikh history and heritage are overlooked in the area as well. When I ask Kashmiris about where the major Hindu or Sikh neighbourhoods were, or what happened to the non-Muslim communities at the time of the raids, no one seems to have any answers. One or two people point me towards a temple or a gurdwara but overall there is an eerie silence. The book Wounded Memories, which was one effort to document the atrocities committed on Hindu and Sikh women during the ‘tribal’ raids in 1947, is banned. I manage to speak to one of the translators of the book, Qayoom Raja, and eventually secure a PDF version of the book. He tells me that in ‘Azad’ Kashmir, objective history is not taught. Rather, distorted facts and biased ideology— in which the role of the ‘tribals’ is always pristine
and pious—are indoctrinated in people’s minds. Therefore, it is very difficult to get statistics on what happened to Hindu and Sikh women and to how many of them. However, he tells me that there is enough evidence to show that Hindu and Sikh women were indeed kidnapped in large numbers by the ‘tribals’ and later sold in Peshawar or to Muslim families in ‘Azad’ Kashmir. Most of them were forced to convert to Islam. Qayoom has himself met ten such women in Kotli in ‘Azad’ Kashmir, but says that the men in their families, their husbands and sons, do not allow them to speak of that time. They are worried they will lose respect in society if they are ‘found out’, if people learn that their mother or wife is not a ‘pure’ Muslim, that her identity is tainted by a non-Muslim past. Under the garb of their Muslim names, these women then remain hidden in the folds of Pakistani and ‘Azad’ Kashmiri cities and villages.
Here’s an excerpt from the book, documenting the author’s conversation with a Muslim survivor of the raid:
The tribal leaders had separated about 300 teenage girls from the rest of the Hindu and Sikh women in the various refugee camps. These were all young and beautiful girls. They were told that they would be taken to Pakistan with the utmost respect and relocated to the refugee camps set up there. All kinds of facilities would be provided to them for their ease and comfort. As soon as conditions would settle down and improve they would be brought back or transported to ‘Occupied’ Kashmir. As this procession of young Hindu and Sikh women closely led by the tribal militia approached Neelum Bridge, they all almost in synchronous form leaped into the river. With great difficulty, the tribesmen prevented some girls from doing so. These surviving girls were taken to Pakistan. Who knows what became of them. One just shudders at the mere thought.35
Even archaeological sites, meant to serve as historical evidence of past civilizations, have been manipulated to fit the narrative. When I visited one of the oldest Hindu universities in 2014—which also served as a temple—in the heart of Sharda, a town in Neelum district, the signboard next to it told me only of its Buddhist past— considered a more ‘neutral’ religion compared to Hinduism by the state. The monument, a popular tourist site in Neelum Valley, had shunned its ‘infidel’ and ‘impure’ heritage to become more palatable to Pakistani tourists. It was only in January 2018, when the Supreme Court of Pakistan started taking an active interest in the protection, renovation and functioning of Hindu temples in the country, that the Supreme Court of AJK also took notice of the Sharda Peeth.36 The court directed the government to protect the site and also start conversations to open it up for pilgrimage. It is still too early, however, to say if the site will be able to don its Hindu identity seventy years after it had been stripped of it.
***
That evening of 15 August, before we head back to our guesthouse, Sharjeel offers to show us around Muzaffarabad. We visit the Red Fort or the Rutta Qila, which was built under the reign of the Chak Dynasty to defend the city against expansionist Mughal forces.37 The fort, built in a way so that the Neelum river surrounded it from three sides, received a severe blow during the 2005 earthquake. Yet, the broken façade continues to give a glimpse of the glory and magnificence of the original structure. Many young students have gathered here after school and college; they are busy chattering away. A few families are enjoying a picnic, sitting under the trees that provide respite on a hot summer afternoon. The fort seems to be a popular spot for residents and tourists alike.
After we see the fort, Sharjeel takes us to a Hindu temple. I have been asking him questions about the Hindu and Sikh communities and he feels the visit will quench my curiosity. We drive towards a market and he asks us to park our car on the side. We get out and I look around but I cannot see any temple. All I see are little shops and restaurants. It is only when Sharjeel guides us through the narrow lanes that I see a barren greyish structure emerge. There is no deity inside. Once fully functional, today the temple has become invisible in the midst of the Muslim-dominated market. If it were not for Sharjeel, I would probably have never found it.
After visiting the ‘temple’, we head out from the market and drive towards the Dumel Bridge, also known as the Ranbir Singh Bridge, named after the Dogra King. The riverbank below the bridge had once served as a ghat for the Hindus of Muzaffarabad. Near the bridge, one can see a gurdwara situated on top of a mountain. It is said that the sixth Guru had come here and thus a gurdwara, known as Gurdwara Chatti (sixth) Pathshahi, was constructed to commemorate that visit.38
The location of this bridge is significant because of the holiness of the water beneath. It is at this point that Jhelum and Neelum rivers converge, before taking on their own routes and destinies. The Rig Veda mentions Jhelum as one of the seven major rivers of ancient Punjab. It’s name, however, is recorded as Vitasta in the scriptures.39
Similarly, the Neelum river, translated as the blue gem, was called Kishanganga before Partition. But today, just as most people do not know of Jhelum’s ancient name, not many are aware nor use the name Kishanganga in Pakistan-administered Kashmir. It is seen as a ‘Hindu’ name, one that must be replaced. Following the same trajectory, while the Neelum Valley was called Drawah earlier, it is now referred to only as Neelum Valley. According to reports, in 1956, the ‘Azad’ Kashmir government held a cabinet meeting to ‘rechristen the River Kishanganga as the River Neelum, and the Drawah region as Neelum Valley’.40
Today, these forgotten names, the unused ghat and the gurdwara, are ghost-like reminders of what had once existed. These remnants of the past are censored from popular history and from popular imagination. They point towards a multi-religious civilization that was consumed by the violence of Partition and its aftermath.
2
A SIKH’S LOST HERITAGE
‘To save everyone, my bua… threw her baby into the river’
It was after several months of searching for someone who could shed light on the non-Muslim past of ‘Azad’ Kashmir that I came across a Sikh author. Amardeep Singh had just released his book, Lost Heritage: The Sikh Legacy in Pakistan, when I spoke to him in February 2016. His family had belonged to Muzaffarabad, the capital of ‘Azad’ Kashmir, prior to the ‘tribal’ raids, which killed and displaced several of his family members. Born in 1966, almost two decades after his family was uprooted from their home, Amardeep decided to go back to ‘Azad’ Kashmir in 2014 to explore his roots.
Since he is based in Singapore, Amardeep and I connect over a phone conversation. He tells me that Muzaffarabad had been beckoning him for many years. ‘I didn’t go to Pakistan to write a book, I just went there to touch the soil, to see my father’s heritage. He had always said that Muzaffarabad was so beautiful, he would tell me about his Hindu and Muslim friends, about how lovely his childhood was. I had heard and read so much about Muzaffarabad that I really wanted to go and see what the place looked like seven decades after Partition. But there were so many barriers to enter Pakistan as an Indian, let alone Kashmir. The visa process is so difficult. It was only when I became a Singaporean that I was able to travel to Pakistan, to Kashmir. I wanted to gather the soil of Muzaffarabad and bring it home.’
I tell him that I’m very pleased to speak to him because I’ve been trying to identify Hindus or Sikhs, like his father, who had lived in what later became Pakistan-administered Kashmir. I tell him it’s been difficult to locate non-Muslims both from the generation of people who witnessed Partition, as well as from younger ones like him. Many people of the post-Partition generation feel detached and removed from their roots. Others consciously want to forget that part of their heritage for it comes wrapped in stories of violence and loss. Not everyone wants to turn back and revisit that bloody past.
Amardeep’s response is honest and abrupt. ‘You won’t find the stories you are looking for on that side because all the non-Muslims have left.’ He is correct. Despite desperately trying to find any Hindus or Sikhs who had belonged to that part of the Kashmir Valley which later fell in ‘Azad’ Kashmir (such as in the districts of
Neelum, Hattian and Muzaffarabad), I had largely been unsuccessful. Did most of them die? Had all those who survived the raids left? Had they converted and changed their names? It was difficult to tell.
‘The Muslims stayed where they were but Sikhs and Hindus were thrown out. I’m sorry to use that generic term—thrown out—because many Muslims helped Sikhs and Hindus as well. Local people weren’t in favour of ethnic and religious divisions but when the massacres and attacks happened, they happened in the name of Islam, and most Muslims shied away from helping. In a majority of cases, Hindus and Sikhs were driven out, they were pushed out till Uri (which is near the LoC). But you won’t find these stories on that (‘Azad’ Kashmir) side. There is no one left to tell those stories. I can recommend a few books if you like, though. My bua’s (father’s sister) son wrote a comprehensive account of that time. He experienced Partition before the age of ten but he couldn’t ever come out of that trauma.’
The mention of his bua’s son leads us to a conversation about Amardeep’s family. ‘My entire family was from Muzaffarabad,’ he tells me. ‘My father was a goldsmith; in fact, our entire community was involved in the gold business. We belonged to the Soniyar community of Muzaffarabad. However, since there was a lot of competition in Muzaffarabad at that time, my father decided to build his own niche and moved to Gorakhpur in UP to specialize in Gorkha jewellery. Gorkhas would convert their salary into gold when they had to take it back to their village and this conversion would happen at the goldsmith’s. Gorakhpur was a godforsaken area at the time but it was where the Gorkha recruitment depot was and where the Gorkhas would come and go from. I think my father was one of the first few Sikhs to have moved there and he ran a brisk business. He shifted his immediate family along with him but his sisters and brothers remained in Muzaffarabad.