M A I N   N E W S

Brush with terror in Handwara
Ashwini Bhatnagar
Tribune News Service

Handwara, September 16
The evening descended suddenly and the mood chilled as we went past Sopore and neared the township of Handwara. A few kilometres later, a detachment of security personnel flagged down the car. “Light band karo,” barked someone from the darkness. “Light jalao,” shouted another voice from somewhere. The driver looked askance, first switching off the headlights and then switching them on. A figure in full combat gear quickly darted across the road and urgently whispered into his ear. He was gone before the driver could reply. It dawned on us that we had to drive without the headlights but with the lights switched on inside the car. We were to put ourselves on display for all the shadows lurking in the darkness around us.

The darkness abruptly parted to reveal two neat rows of naked light bulbs strung along the road leading to the main square of the town. Amidst the inky blackness of the night, they looked surreal- weak yellow heads cowering before menacing shapes around them. The ghost from this area of darkness flew from heart to heart causing a flutter that was difficult to ignore.

The large and lavish house of the state Agriculture Minister, Chaudhary Mohammad Ramzan, who is seeking re- election from this constituency that lies in the militant -infested part of north Kashmir, had been “properly sealed” by security forces from all sides. He is considered to be a prime target for militants and as such, on the eve of the poll, security agencies were extra cautious about his safety. The Tribune team was allowed into the house after about 10 minutes of questioning and screening. He was to be our host for the night as all other accommodation had been taken by officials and election observers.

Dinner over, we retired to the adjoining house of the minister’s brother-in-law Mohammad Shafi. As we were chatting, a shot rang out. A sentence was killed before it was out of Shafi’s mouth. All ears strained to verify the sound. Another burst confirmed our fears. Terror had arrived at our doorstep.

Shafi switched off the lights and asked us to move from the drawing room into a bedroom. Silence hung like a loose rope all around us. It was cut by another burst of gunfire. A child began to cry. Women began to speak in urgent tones. The child had to be hushed; others had to be directed to places that provided cover against indiscriminate firing.

We sat or half lay against the walls of the room. Heads down, below the window level. The curtains were fully drawn and it was terrifyingly dark inside. The first shot had rung out barely a couple of minutes back, but it seemed as if we had been locked in this complete blindness for ages.

Another round of firing started from somewhere very near. Retaliatory gunfire was from a closer spot. The minister’s house was under attack it seemed and we were not even 50 metres away from it. The phone rang. The minister had called to ask whether we were fine. He said that he was worried about our safety.

One burst was followed by another and the action seemed to be happening very close.

It was more than 20 minutes, but the gunfire persisted like a bad cold. The area echoed with urgent voices and the noise of a rain of bullets. With our heads down and our hearts full of our just discovered love for God who would ultimately get us out of this situation, we waited patiently, hopefully. Ten minutes later, quiet descended once again. We pulled ourselves out of the woodwork and tried to shrug off the incident. “Hota hai,” said one, “This is Kashmir.”