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| A BATTLE FOR PEACE | | While The Army Is Building Bridges (Real And Social) In Ladakh; It’s Destroying Them In J&K | | Miriam Chandy Menacherry
Jagged snow-tipped peaks seem to jab the aircraft as it skims past some of the highest mountain passes in the world. From this sweeping birds eye view I imagine humans, the size of ants, picking their way across endless icy masses of mountain and sleet tracing the course of the ancient silk route…
The plane is crammed with tourists, snug in their armchairs, noses pressed to the pane drinking in the same timeless journey in a matter of minutes. Hungry to soak up the last summer glow they arrive amidst clouds of thundering aviation fuel that cause glaciers to melt and frozen soil to yield. “I had to take a photo of the sunflowers and send it to an army Colonel posted here before us. He still cannot believe that flowers are blooming in Ladakh,” confesses the wife of a Colonel, just posted in Leh.
Yes! Strange things are happening in this remote region of India. Global warming is sapping the rivers, the lifeline of the population. Tourists are contributing to a bustling economy and plastic trails that threaten the fragile ecosystem. But the most visible change are the barbed wire fences that line the roads from the airport unleashing swells of soldiers stomping down the barren landscape. Ever since the Kargil war, the number of army personnel posted in Ladakh has grown to 60,000, that is 1 soldier for every third Ladhaki!
The landing strip is abuzz with army aircraft delivering supplies that must reach troops headed for some of the most remote outposts in the world along the borders skirting India, Pakistan and China. For eight months of the year between November to June, Ladakh will be sealed in from the rest of the world, completely landlocked. Water will freeze in Leh and food will fall short. Soldiers posted in Kargil, Siachen and Dras need all the food and medical supplies to weather a battle waged by the strongest forces of nature. In Siachen, more victims are claimed by the winter than any armed conflict.
The first three victims have been claimed this year, even before winter could spread its tentacles. An army officer has just recovered the black box from a crashed helicopter returning from Siachen glacier and a jawan had to be airlifted because of a burst appendix. “They were singing and joking and then abruptly it all stopped…it’s most likely they got caught in a blizzard. It was rough weather that day even in Leh.” His stoicism only wavers when he recounts the grief of the pilot’s 27 year old wife and son (the same age as his own) at the State burial.
Summer’s dying rays are tinged with a winter nip. The tourism board heralds the `Ladakh Festival’ to prolong the tourist season which would have ended by the beginning of September. Processions of double-humped bactrian camels from the Nubra Valley, women in flowing robes and turquoise headgear, sun-singed skins and crinkled smiles, dance to the flash of tourist cameras in Leh market. “They look so much more like Tibetans than Kashmiris. How did Ladakh ever become part of Kashmir? ”, whispers a girl from Srinagar. The population in Leh, the high altitude topography dotted with Buddhist gompas shares a striking resonance with neighbouring Tibet.. .
Later that evening we huddle around a crackling fire at a local café. The place is brimming with young Israeli tourists snorting and sniffing all they can to blur the edge of their 5-year army conscription. The girl from Srinagar is unwinding after 62 days of curfew and unrest. Land allotment to the Amarnath Shrine culminated in violence and protests that, she notes, were “different from anything I have ever seen in the sheer number of Kashmiris who came out to protest against the army’s violent reaction.” Army trucks rumble in twos under a star-studded sky, reinforcements for the troops posted in the eye of the storm. “It is criminal how much they spend on the army to keep them posted here” rails the girl from Srinagar.
She is from a new generation of Kashmiris who has grown used to the use of batons and bullets to quell every sign of dissent. Families have been wounded and killed in the crossfire between the army and militants, women have been raped sometimes at the hands of the security forces. This time she discovered that it takes more than the barrel of the gun to quell the fires of Kashmir as 1.5 lakh peaceful protestors marched all the way to Muzaffarabad.
Even as security forces used smoke shells and even opened fire to disperse protestors and claim the first civilian casualties, all routes to the valley were blocked by rightwing activists. The economic lifeline lay choked and fruits worth Rs 6 crores lay festering in trucks lining the highway. The security forces should have been restoring law and order along the highways. Instead, they went ahead and desecrated a mosque.
Peace flags and prayer wheels light up the Zen-like landscapes of Ladakh. The taxi is streaking past army regiments from across India, en route to Tso Moriri. “What do you think of the army in Ladakh?” I ask our Ladakhi taxi driver. “Without the army we would not have these roads. Only last season there were no roads here”. Marmots bound across mountain streams lined with scraps of plastic thrown by careless tourists. “I wish the army would help to keep these rivers clean,” he sighs.
“Sons of the Soil” regiment, the taxi driver points out proudly, “That is only Ladhaki boys”. The much decorated wing of the Army has engineered bridges and roads in some of the trickiest terrain.
I am still grappling with the two completely opposing perceptions of the Indian army posted in two different regions of the same State. Is it merely the difference between a peaceful society and one torn by conflict that transforms a benign peace-keeping mission into a brutal occupying force? The state of Jammu and Kashmir is one of the most militarised in the world. In Ladakh, one can witness the constructive powers of a disciplined force that has garnered good will. But in other parts of the Kashmir valley the army has wrought wounds to complete the process of political alienation.
It may be time to redefine the strengths of the army. It is time to recognise it takes power to build bridges. It is time to hand out gallantry medals for soldiers who spend a lifetime improving the lives of people through development projects. A few more medals of bravery for officers who respect and safeguard human rights during times of conflict may help to create a new hierarchy, one not based on a trail of bloodshed.
The sulphur springs of Chumathang beckon the weary trekker for a warm dip. An army camp deployed here is being trained to begin the arduous trek up to the highest battlefield in the world – Siachen glacier. The area lies some 22,000 feet above the sea level. While it offers no military advantage to either side, as it is neither a viable line of defence nor a launch pad, both India and Pakistan send their soldiers on suicide missions here, the weather being their only enemy.
The cost to man in this frigid wasteland is unbelievable. A chapatti delivered to a soldier in Siachen costs Rs 500. Even the excreta of soldiers manning these posts have to be airlifted and brought to the base for disposal!
During a ceasefire, bored Indian and Pakistani soldiers have little to do but stare at one another, sometimes wave hands and shout expletives or pleasantries to acknowledge the other’s presence. One officer narrates how a lonely Pakistani soldier at a post 400 metres away often shouts at Indian troops only to hear a human voice.
Another soldier from Pakistan’s Punjab regiment shouted out that he was feeling great that day because his leave had been sanctioned and he was going home for a week. An Indian soldier responded: “My good wishes to your wife and children”.
Yes it is easier to broker peace looking into the eye of the human enemy. But the plush corridors of power are far removed from this reality. Here, war-mongering and belligerent rhetoric is the language of power, translated into action by the armed forces. Soldiers are merely ammunition in the hands of the powers that be, pawns caught in the political crossfire.
After visiting the barracks that lead up to the highest battleground in the world, I think the truth cannot be disguised by camouflage fatigues. The yearning glint in every soldier’s eye, whispers of a family and children and the simple hope of reclaiming this spot speak for themselves. Dying for the country is a thought only glorified by those who never have to face the prospect. |
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