7| Pulwama district. “They took my phone and ordered me to unlock it. When I did, one of them slapped me on my right cheek,” he said, adding that he was beaten without provocation. “But I was not in a position to argue.” As the troopers kept slapping Mr. Tariq on his face, another trooper went through the picture gallery on his phone. “He pointed at my sisters pictures and asked who she was?” said Mr. Tariq. “When I told him that she is my sister, he slapped me again. He said that I am lying.” Then the trooper then went through his WhatsApp and began checking his recent chats. “I wanted to tell him that he cannot check my personal stuff like this but I couldn’t. I just wanted to go home,” said Mr. Tariq. Mr. Tariq’s painful ordeal continued for nearly an hour during which he was dragged behind the troopers’ armoured vehicle. “They made me lie down, kept my legs against the vehicle, and beat me with a stick,” he recalled. When it finally ended, Mr. Tariq was asked to collect his phone two days later from the nearby Haal camp. “I took my father and brother along. I was barely able to walk [two days later].” The phone was returned to Mr. Tariq but the incident left a lasting impression on him. Since then, like many others in south Kashmir, has stopped going out after sunset. “I feel vulnerable all the time,” he said. “I feel as if they will come to my home and take me away.” During his ordeal at the bridge, a number of vehicles passed by but none dared to stop and help, said Mr. Tariq. “This makes me even more afraid that no one is in a position to help you here,” he said. Speaking about Mr. Tariq’s alleged ordeal, army spokesperson Colonel Kalia said: “The individual had not been thrashed and the allegation is baseless. He was signalled to stop but he didn’t. So his mobile was checked and then returned.” B ack-to-back cordon and search operations (CASO) by the government forces and the subsequent gunfights with militants have left a trail of destruction across south Kashmir.The highhandedness that comes with it, has been etched on the people’s minds. On a last June morning, at around 5am, 21-year-old Shefali Rafiq was sleeping when her mother came rushing into her room to wake her up. “Army is everywhere outside. Get up quickly. It might be a CASO,” she recalled her mother as having said. A resident of Qaimoh village in Kulgam, she jumped out of the bed and rushed outside with her mother. “I was still half asleep when I came face-to-face with lots of soldiers in our lawn,” said Ms. Rafiq, a journalist by profession. “I was very scared.” After Ms. Rafiq’s family was ordered out of the house, the troopers went inside the house and checked it thoroughly for half-an-hour. “Then we were allowed to go inside and ordered to remain there till instructed otherwise,” she said. By 6 AM, men, women and children from the entire neighbourhood were brought to Ms. Rafiq’s house as the troopers searched the houses one-by-one. “It was finally over at 1:30 PM,” said Ms. Rafiq.“Till then we were in a state of fear and anxiety. We were sure a gunfight would erupt at any moment.” The seven hours Ms. Rafiq confined to her house with her family and neighbours played in her mind often since then. “The helplessness I felt at that time cannot be explained in words,” she said. “We were locked inside our own house, [the] uncertainty of our fate.” The helplessness is palpable on the faces of the locals passing through another garrison in Chowdary Gund on the outskirts of Shopian, on a daily basis. Near the garrison, everyone except the vehicle’s driver are ordered to de-board and walk around 250 meters of the road along the military camp. “It is a standard practice that we are now used to,” said a resident of Shopian, Sartaj. “In absence of civil government, we are entirely at the army’s mercy. They (local representatives) at least worked as a buffer between the army and people. Now there is none.” According to Shopian based social activist and lawyer, Mr. Habeel Iqbal, since August 2019, army troopers are more aggressive as compared to the last few years. “This aggression coupled with their massive presence has impacted the lifestyle of locals and their day-to-day life,” said Mr. Iqbal. “The impact can be seen in all spheres of life including social, political, economical and religious.” T he aggression is visible on the 66 kilometre long highway from Pantha Chowk on the outskirts of Srinagar city to the far end of south Kashmir, in Anantnag district’s Qazigund. “There must be around a hundred small and big bunkers on this highway now,” said a south Kashmir based journalist who frequently travels to his office in Srinagar. “And every bunker means extra halt in the journey.” The new highway, once hailed as a model of development by both local and New Delhi based governments, has now become a source of trauma for Kashmiris. “They (soldiers) don’t care if it’s an ambulance, school bus, or a private vehicle rushing towards the hospital in Srinagar, they treat everyone the same way,” said the journalist. In February 2019, a Jaish-e-Muhammad militant, Adil Dar, rammed his explosive laden vehicle into an army convoy on the highway in Lethpora, killing over 40 paramilitary troopers. Since then, traffic is halted on both sides of the highway—across Kashmir but more aggressively here—to clear the way for convoys of government forces. “At times entire traffic is stopped just to pass a few army vehicles,” said the journalist. But the practice of controlling a civilian road is not new. Mr. Sartaj, a social activist, recalls how he had to lift barriers himself and make way for his car at Bihibagh garrison while on the way back to Shopian from Anantnag. “At 5:30 PM they close the gates erected in the middle of the road. No one is allowed to pass through after that,” said Mr. Sartaj. “They let my vehicle cross when I convinced them that I had gone for my mother’s check-up. It is humiliating.” As Mr. Sartaj moved barriers, and put them back after crossing through, his ill mother could only watch helplessly. The remaining journey home was unusually silent, which has become common for residents from South Kashmir, who have to commute daily. Life for these residents has changed, largely impacted by the militarization, which frequently leads to escalated violence leaving a grave impact on civilian life. *Some names of the characters have been changed on request to protect their identity. This aggression coupled with their massive presence has impacted the lifestyle of locals and their dayto-day life. The impact can be seen in all spheres of life including social, political, economical and religious.”
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