The plane suddenly dipped low. It was an air pocket. The small BSF plane could not take it easily. I was bit shaken. So were my wandering thoughts. I was, perhaps, reminded that I was proceeding to a State full of terror and turbulence. It was early afternoon of January 19, 1990. I was once again airborne to J&K.
A large crowd of well-wishers had come to airport to give me a warm send-off. I had been woken up at midnight by a telephone call from I.K. Gujral, Forein Minister. He asked me to attend an emergency meeting at Home Minister Mufti Mohammad Sayeeds’s house. There I was apprised of grave crisis, and told to take, at earliest, the special plane which was being kept ready for me. The break- neck speed of the departure and the near loneliness of the journey oppressed me somewhat. From the narrow window of the BSF plane, my tired eyes could hardly see anything except the grim haze that stretched from one end of the sky to other.
A few days later, three Central Ministers had met the President and complained that that secessionist forces were enjoying official patronage under the Chief Ministership of Dr.Farooq Abdullah, and these anti-national elements were dominating the Valley. One the other hand, Dr.Farooq Abdullah was threatening that if the Congressmen did not behave, there would be blood bath.
Processions were also being taken out with telling frequency. People shouted such slogans as ‘Pakistan Zindabad’, ‘Khalistan Zindabad’, ‘Noor-e-Chashm, Noor-e-Haq, Zia-ul-Huq, Zia-ul-Huq’. A new slogan, ‘Muslim-Sikh Bhai Bhai, Hindu Quam Kahan Se Ayee’( Muslims and Sikhs are brother; from where have these Hindus come?), had particularly sinister implications. Flames of terrorism were leaping and threatening to reach Jammu and Kashmir. The Valley was littered with dry, combustible strands which could catch fire even by stray spark. The entire border from Siachen downwards was in danger of getting destabilised.
A cup of tea was placed upon the small protruding table. “It would enliven you, Sir”, said the smart attendant with a smile. And it did.
From my briefcase I took out a file which an official of the J&K Resident Commissioner’s office had handed over to me at the airport. It contained press clippings from July 12,1989, onwards that is the date on which I demitted office of my first governorship of the State. I started glancing through it. “Pakistan Independence Day, August 14, celebrated with gaiety, and blackout and hartal observed on the Indian Independence Day, August 15; the National Flag burnt with crowd standing around and applauding”, said one news story . “Kashmir nearly lost to nation”, Indicated the 6 ,1989 report of The statement. “Srinagar daily rocked by explosions”, bemoaned patriot. “There seems to be strange conspiracy of silence about the reign of terror in the hapless Valley of Kashmir” was the comment of The Times of India of November 23. “Tikkalal Taploo, Vice president of BJP , Gunned down in front of his house in Srinagar” ; Justice Ganjoo brutally murdered in Hari Singh Street”; “ P.N. Bhatt, a well known journalist, killed in Anantnag”; “Station House Officer of Maisuma Bazaar Police station shot dead in the main Bazaar”; “Total collapse of administration”; “Terrorists rule the State”; and “ Union Home Minister’s daughter kidnapped”, were the other horrible headlines. In sheer disgust, I stopped reading. I had read these reports in daily press earlier. But on that day, seeing them in one heap was truly depressing. I closed my eyes. My wandering thoughts once again seized me.
A poem which, I like the ‘memory of music fled’, had become a part of my intellectual sub-consciousness, came to my silent lips:
It has happened and it goes on happing
and will happen again if nothing happens to stop it.
The innocent know nothing because they are too innocent.
The poor do not notice because they are too poor.
And the rich do not notice because they are too rich.
The stupid shrug their shoulders because they are too stupid.
And clever shrug their shoulders because they are too clever.
The young do not care because they are too young.
And the old do not care because they are too old.
That is why nothing happens to stop it.
And that is why it has happened and goes on happing and will happen again.In regard to Kashmir, we inwardly recognised the infirmities of immature democracy. We feared that in a plebiscite, ignorance, parochialism, and communal prejudice would be exploited. Yet we did nothing to eliminate those forces which fed this ignorance, this parochialism, and this communal prejudice. On the other hand, the politics of Kashmir was run in such a manner that these infirmities were multiplied. Over the years, the leadership betrayed its monumental superficiality, its monumental confusion, and an inexcusable lack of vision and sense of history.
Had we not created soft and permissive State? Had we not connived at the politics of deception and duplicity? Had we not allowed new Sheikhs, new Sultans to emerge? Had we not underplayed the common identity of deprived –his illiteracy, his hunger, his disease—and overplayed religious and regional identities? Had we not forgotten that India’s destiny lay in unity amidst diversity, not in bowing before the bullies but standing erect with the sense of purpose, not in creating vote banks for exploiting democracy, but in providing real democracy, real justice, and real freedom? Had we not permitted that forces of medievalism and monkism to prevail? And what precautionary steps did we take to minimise that damage that the storm of Islamic fundamentalism was bound to cause?
We relied upon fake coins and false ‘gods’. We placed all our offerings in their bottomless baskets. We ignored the roots and the tendrils that were germinating beneath the surface. We did not look into cracks and crevices. Even when the structure was about to be reduced to rubble, New Delhi did not act. In my mind’s eye I saw my letter of April 8,1989, to Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi in which I had said :”Today may be timely, tomorrow may be too late.” But tomorrow had been allowed to turn into day after and the day after into yet another day after. Now that the structure had totally collapsed.
I was airborne, once again, to a troubled and tormented State, nested in my little seat and bent with the heavy weight of dead albatrosses of past around my neck, with a shaking cup and saucer before me and nothing but a grey, depressing haze outside. As if this was not enough, lethal political missiles began to be hurled at my little plane, as soon as it commenced it hazardous journey.
As plane sailed over Pathankot and titled to turn towards Jammu, bright rays of sunshine pierced through its windows. A new resolve dawned upon me. I would have to plough a lonely furrow , I realized . But the storm must be weathered. And with all the millstones around my neck, I should stand erect. I quietly worked out my approach and jotted down a few points for my policy & action . From ‘FROZEN TURBULENCE IN KASHMIR, BY JAGMOHAN