by Anam Zakaria
These speculations aside, what was certain at that time was the importance of Kashmir to the first prime minister of India. Kashmir was significant not only due to its strategic importance but also because of more personal, familial reasons; it was home for Nehru. Belonging to a Kashmiri Pandit family, Kashmir was an integral part of Nehru’s heritage. He ‘was a great lover of Kashmir’,14 and did not want to lose his ancestral home at any cost. In his book, Nehru, Stanley Wolpert writes, ‘What Nehru feared most… was the imminent, permanent loss of India’s largest, most strategically important state, which his ancestors all called home.’15 This quest and longing for his heritage did not set him apart from millions of other Partition survivors, many of whom still long to go back and reclaim what was once theirs. Being the prime minister of India certainly gave Nehru enough privileges and authority to try and steer policy towards ensuring that his home continued to belong to his country.
To Pakistan, the value of Kashmir was no less, though it was less personal and more existential in nature. General Akbar Khan writes in his book:
Not only could we not ignore the wishes and safety of our brethren in Kashmir, but our own safety and welfare also demanded that the state should not go over to India. One glance at the map was enough to show that Pakistan’s military security would be seriously jeopardized if Indian troops came to be stationed along Kashmir’s western border. Once India got the chance, she could establish such stations anywhere within a few miles of the 180-miles-long vital road and rail route between Lahore and Pindi. In the event of war, these stations would be a dangerous threat to our most important civil and military lines of communication. If we were to protect this route properly, it would take a major portion of our army to do so and we would thereby dangerously weaken our front at Lahore. If we were to concentrate our strength at the front, we would give India the chance to cut off Lahore, Sialkot, Gujrat and even Jhelum from our military base at Pindi. The possession of Kashmir would also enable India, if she wished, to take the war directly to Hazara and Murree—more than 200 miles behind the front. This of course could happen only in the event of war but in peacetime too, the situation could be just as unacceptable, because we would remain permanently exposed to a threat of such magnitude that our independence would never be a reality. Surely that was not the type of Pakistan we had wanted. From an economic point of view the position was equally clear. Our agricultural economy was dependent particularly upon the rivers coming out of Kashmir.16
And so, with multiple players and such high stakes, it was perhaps naive to assume that a peaceful transition could ever take place in Kashmir. The Azad Kashmir movement17—an anti-Maharaja movement opposed to the Maharaja’s autocratic rule, supported by pro-Pakistan Muslim Conference politicians—was gaining momentum, and the anti-Maharaja uprising in Poonch was posing a serious threat to the Dogra rule by August 1947.18 The locals were challenging decades of oppression and autocratic rule. According to Christopher Snedden, it was these acts—namely, the Poonch uprising, communal violence in Jammu in which many Muslims were massacred, and the creation of the provisional Azad government in areas liberated by the Poonch uprising, which instigated the Kashmir dispute.19 He asserts that all of these actions were undertaken by the locals of J&K. Further, he explains that the dispute over whether the state of J&K should join India or Pakistan was already well under way by September 1947.20 It was in October of that year that the movement came to be supported by those commonly referred to as the ‘Pukhtoon invaders’, ‘tribesmen’, ‘tribals’, or ‘raiders’ from Pakistan’s North-West Frontier Province and Tribal Areas. (The ‘tribesmen’ have traditionally been treated like a monolithic and ‘uncivilized’ group, geographically belonging to the ‘unsettled tribal areas’. However, even Pukhtoons and other communities living in the ‘settled areas’ also belong to, or associate with, certain tribes. I have chosen to put the term ‘tribesmen’ and ‘tribals’ within inverted commas—unless it is a direct quote—to denote that this term comes with many connotations, most of them imposed by outsiders). The ‘tribesmen’ joined the Azad Forces to overthrow the Dogra rule. This support added fuel to the fire that was already burning parts of J&K and further threatened the Maharaja. On 26 October 1947, Hari Singh acceded to India21 in exchange for Indian military assistance to crush the movement against him, and the right to self-determination was taken from the Kashmiris, making them subject to decades of India-Pakistan rule, with no end in sight as yet.
Since 1947, India has argued that these ‘tribesmen’ were backed by the Pakistani state and that India had no choice but to militarily respond after the Maharaja acceded to India and asked it to step in. It has argued that all of J&K belongs to India, and that Pakistan has illegally occupied parts of the state, which it must give up. India also decided to refer the issue to the United Nations, hoping that ‘the UN would bring the weight of world public opinion to bear upon Pakistan and prevail upon it to discontinue its aggression in Kashmir’.22 Meanwhile, the Pakistani state claims that the ‘tribesmen’ went to Kashmir on their own and the government had no role to play in this. It also contests the accession, claiming it took place under duress. Further, it insists that as per the ceasefire agreement that ended the 1948 war, a plebiscite must be held so that the Kashmiris can decide whether they would like to join India or Pakistan. Seven decades later, the plebiscite remains even more unlikely than it was in 1949, and the Kashmiris seem disappointed with the foreseeable political solutions—or lack thereof—posed by India and Pakistan. One of them said to me, ‘Even if a plebiscite takes place, we only have the option of choosing between India and Pakistan. What about an independent Kashmir? What freedom is there when your choices are so limited, so caged, so politically driven by the two giants that surround us from both sides and want to eat us alive? How is this even a solution?’
The India-Pakistan rhetoric and the ensuing blame game have remained more or less constant since 1947. During the 1965 war, India would accuse Pakistan of infiltrating into Indian territory while the Pakistani state would maintain that it did nothing more than extend support to an already brewing Kashmiri sentiment for separation from India. An excerpt from a textbook endorsed by the Punjab government states: ‘As a punishment of supporting Kashmiri people morally and raising Kashmir issue all over the world, India imposed war on Pakistan in 1965.’23 When the Kashmir conflict would reach new heights in the late 1980s (to be discussed in detail in the following chapters), a similar debate would result. India would charge Pakistan with fuelling militancy and Pakistan would refute the claims, insisting that the insurgency was homegrown, its seeds deeply rooted in Kashmir rather than Pakistan. Over the next few decades, whenever tensions between the two neighbouring states would escalate, India would hold Pakistan responsible for aggression while Pakistan would counter the charges and point fingers at oppression and violence in Indian-administered Kashmir, claiming that the tyrannical nature of Indian control was the sole reason for the unrest in the region.
As I write this chapter, not much has changed. While Kashmiris live and die amidst violence in Indian-administered Kashmir and shelling continues to affect people on both sides of the LoC, India and Pakistan continue to engage in a tit-for-tat battle to secure a superior position over the other. Indian media channels claim that ‘Pakistani troops resorted to unprovoked firing on Indian posts,’24 while Pakistani media houses assert that ‘India (has) resorted again to unprovoked firing at LoC.’25 Each side claims to have given the other a ‘befitting response’. Ordinary Kashmiris, meanwhile, become the collateral damage of the hardline reactions from the two nation-states they are sandwiched between. In 1947-48, the situation was no different. Depending on which side of the India-Pakistan border one resides in, the ‘tribal raid’ can be viewed as aggression by Pakistan or as a legitimate movement supported by fellow Muslims—with the Pakistani state doing nothing more than providing moral support.
Though Pakistan continues to deny its direct involvement in the ‘tribal’
infiltration of Kashmir in 1947, and experts like Christopher Snedden argue that it was the locals who initiated the uprisings (much before these ‘tribesmen’ entered) which instigated the Kashmir dispute, many people inside and outside of ‘Azad’ Kashmir continue to believe that the ‘tribesmen’ started the conflict. This is because neither Pakistan nor India has fully explored or mainstreamed the narratives of the indigenous struggle prior to the entry of the ‘tribesmen’. According to Snedden, ignoring the internal resistance to the Maharaja and instead focusing only on the ‘raiders’, that is the foreign invaders, gave legitimacy to India’s intervention in Kashmir. Meanwhile, Pakistan was never able to refute this claim because these men had entered from Pakistan, with or without official support. Once India accused Pakistan of sending them, the government found it impossible to prove its innocence. Instead, it tried to defend itself by distancing from not only the ‘raiders’, as India called them, but also all activities by Muslims in J&K,26—treating them synonymously—in the hope of maintaining legitimacy in the eyes of the world. This was particularly important once news poured in of the pillage, lootings and killings carried out by the ‘tribesmen’. In the process, the argument goes, the indigenous struggle which triggered the dispute went ignored.
On a 2018 trip to a new army museum set up in Lahore, I found one plaque referring to unrest in Kashmir after Partition. Titled the Freedom Fighters’ Outpost, it seemed to be Pakistan’s way of once again trying to clear its own name. Though it mentioned the role of the Azad Forces, their participation and that of the ‘raiders’ seemed blurred, as if they had all acted together. It failed to distinguish between the actions of the local people—which had been going on for a while—and the ‘outsiders’ that came to support them much later. This is what the plaque said:
The ruler of the princely state of Jammu & Kashmir, Maharaja Hari Singh, had planned to reduce the majority Muslim population of the state to a minority… This forced the Muslims to rise up against perpetration of state-sponsored terrorism and ethnic cleansing… by the end of August 1947, they (Muslims) had organized themselves in small armed groups and established outposts throughout the state with a view to defend their areas and liberate themselves from the tyrannical rule of Maharaja Hari Singh. These valiant freedom fighters, also known as the Azad Forces, comprised soldiers from Jammu & Kashmir State Forces, individuals on leave from the British Indian Army, volunteers, i.e., students, lawyers, peasants and Muslims from all walks of life, tribesmen from NWFP and Afghanistan and officers who were on leave from the Pakistan Army. Soon, this rebellion turned into a mass freedom movement for the creation of Azad Kashmir.
Though the ‘tribesmen’ only stayed for a short while in what became ‘Azad’ Jammu & Kashmir, they had left a lasting impact. On my trips there I asked elderly Kashmiris of what they remembered from this time. Based on my conversations with several Pakistanis, I had sensed a pride in these ‘tribesmen’ and their efforts in 1947. As Snedden argues in his book, since both India and Pakistan have never explored the indigenous struggle in Kashmir prior to the raid in any depth, some Pakistanis continue to believe that it was mainly because of these men that a part of Kashmir gained its ‘azadi’. I had not come across any major criticism of the invasion by the ‘tribesmen’ or displeasure over their role. I wondered, though, how the Kashmiris felt about the same men—whether they praised them like some Pakistanis did or there was another perspective, which had been drowned amidst the meta-narratives promoted by the state. One woman, now in her eighties, who had lived in Neelum Valley in 1947, told me, ‘When the Pukhtaras (referring to the Pukhtoons) came, my entire family ran away to the jungles. We hid there without food or water for three days. There were no proper communication channels at that time, so we had no idea why these strange men were here. We had heard that they would cut off women’s ears, slice their necks, taking away all their jewellery. There was a lot of terror everywhere. From then till now, there has been no peace in Kashmir. Our children have become adults but we continue to live under constant stress. We can’t breathe in peace. The tribals did nothing for us, khaak ni kiya. They lit fire, threw us into the fire and left. They burnt Kashmir forever.’
Later, when Sharjeel took me to his house in his village in Neelum Valley, I met his mother. She had striking blue eyes, which would crinkle at the sides each time she passed me one of her contagious toothless smiles. Her face was a myriad of wrinkles, her hair held back by a bright-pink sequined cap, a black chiffon dupatta loosely draped over it. She only spoke Hindko, one of the regional languages of the area, so I asked Sharjeel to translate for me.
‘Can you please ask her if she remembers the 1948 war?’ She waited patiently for her son to translate and then looked towards me and said in the local language, ‘This is a mountainous area and the Indian Army didn’t come here during 1948, so we didn’t see any violence. But we had heard all kinds of rumours about the tribals; that they would steal jewellery, harass women, loot homes. We were very scared of them and ran away to the jungles for two to three months when we heard about them coming. There is a very old shrine in one of the villages. The pir (saint) there at that time, Mian Mirza Abdul Rashid, was a very kind man. Though this was a Muslim area, the Dogra forces had deployed some of their Hindu officers here, as forest guards, etc. They had brought their families to live with them too. The pir helped the Hindu families escape from the area when he heard about the tribesmen entering Kashmir. However, someone told on him and the tribals punished the pir severely. He was asked to bring a hundred followers with him to serve as servants to the tribals to pay for his crime, that of helping infidels.’
When Sharjeel finished translating, he was sombre. After a moment, he said, ‘Sending tribals into Kashmir was a big mistake. Pakistan’s flags were already starting to be put up in Kashmir but when the tribals entered, it changed everything. It gave India a reason to call in their army and we lost the majority of the state. Pakistan made a huge mistake. If the Indian Army had come in first, we would’ve understood that Pakistan sent in tribals to fight them, but by sending them in first, they instigated a conflict, which is out of even their hands now. It ruined everything for us Kashmiris. Isn’t this the truth, mother?’ He turned towards her and translated. She quietly nodded, pressing her hands together tightly. For Sharjeel, the role of the ‘tribesmen’ remains central to how he imagines the beginnings of the Kashmir conflict and he remains convinced that Pakistan had backed them. Even if the narratives of the indigenous revolt against the Maharaja had been highlighted, it is likely that Sharjeel would continue to blame the ‘tribesmen’, for it was their invasion that gave legitimacy to India’s actions in his eyes. ‘Had that not happened, Kashmir would have been able to gain its freedom.’ For him, then, it is the ‘tribesmen’ who are responsible for his sufferings as a Kashmiri, they are the reason that Kashmiris have been subjected to decades of Indian and Pakistani rule. And he is not the only one.
Everyone else I spoke to in ‘Azad’ Kashmir about the role of the ‘tribesmen’, voiced similar emotions mutedly or assertively. (In fact, I would learn that every year in October, a few protestors collect, condemning the raids. In 2017, to mark the seventieth anniversary of the raids, dozens came out across different cities of ‘Azad’ Kashmir, denouncing the raids and stating that had these not happened, the Indian Army would also have not entered Kashmir. Though a few Kashmiri friends shared some pictures on social media, the mainstream press, quite expectedly, did not cover the protests.) One person explained, ‘Kashmiris were already fed up of the Dogra regime. They would have laws against slaughtering cows, which went directly against Muslim traditions. They would impose huge taxes on the locals. There were several other grievances, and the mood had already turned against the rulers when the tribals came in. We could have won our independence without this meddling. Had the tribals not entered on 22 October 1947, maybe the Indian Army would have also not entered on 27 October 1947. They ended up ruining things for us. What did we get in return bu
t decades of war and violence?’
Coming from Punjab, a province that is at the forefront of reinforcing national identity and was instrumental in ensuring that Pakistan secured parts of Kashmir, this criticism of the ‘tribal’ raids came as a surprise to me. I began to understand that while many people celebrated the raids as a victory in Pakistan, for many others—both in ‘Azad’ Kashmir and internationally—Pakistan’s perceived involvement, albeit unofficial, in the ‘tribal’ aggression in 1947 was seen as a mistake, a mistake which took away the political agency of Kashmiris and rendered their desire for self-determination increasingly complicated and violent.
According to the Pakistani academic Ishtiaq Ahmed, ‘The tribal warriors quickly forgot the mission they were supposed to achieve, and succumbed… (to) looting, pillaging and raping. Among their victims were some European nuns, presumably engaged in meditation and helping the poor. Why some of our senior officers could not keep such characters under control is of course another matter, but Kashmiri opinion quickly turned against the infiltrators. The rape of the nuns brought along international disapprobation and condemnation.’27
In the years since the raids and the first Indo-Pak war that followed in 1947-48, Kashmir has become one of the most heavily militarized regions in the world. According to the Guinness Book of World Records, ‘One million troops stare at each other across the Line of Control in Jammu and Kashmir.’28 While one often hears of heavy military presence in Indian-administered Kashmir, the militarization of Pakistan-administered Kashmir is frequently ignored in popular accounts of the region. In fact, it is incredibly difficult to get statistics on the number of officials and soldiers deployed in the area. But from my visits, the ratio of armed personnel to civilian population seems alarmingly high. Army posts and camps can be seen frequently throughout ‘Azad’ Kashmir. Locals tell me that the army ensures that no activity goes unnoticed or undocumented; a list of the number of people who enter ‘Azad’ Kashmir every day is maintained while hotels pass on their guest lists to army officials every night. Even young boys and girls have to pass through these checkpoints and army camps to reach their schools. Many ‘Azad’ Kashmiris I spoke to expressed their concern about this military presence. This heavy militarization on both sides of the LoC is just one of the legacies left behind by the ‘tribals’ in the eyes of some.
