Jan. 19, 1990: Abhishankar (name changed) didn't know if he would live to see another day. All he knew was that he had to leave Kashmir. Stranded next to a highway with only some loose rice in a bag for sustenance, Abhishankar and many others like him pleaded with truck drivers for lifts to get to Jammu city, far from the homes they knew. He didn't know if he would make it but he knew that it was a matter of life and death.
That same night, in another part of Kashmir, 11th graders Pammi and Franky were in conversation. "We couldn't get blessings at the Tulmul shrine today," said Pammi. "It's a bad omen." Hours later, Franky awoke alone as her best friend had left Kashmir, taking away years of friendship and memories.
The Kashmir Valley faced some of the worst communal violence it had ever seen in 1990, with thousands of Kashmiri Pandits fleeing their homes. Kashmir's political environment was in decay. The purportedly rigged 1987 Assembly elections in Jammu and Kashmir led to the defeat of the Muslim United Front, a coalition of Islamic Kashmiri political parties. Some separatist groups demanded political independence while others wanted to ally with Pakistan. Corruption, terrorism and violence reached their peak in Kashmir.
Politicians seemingly lost their humanity and empathy. The sound of bullets became common in the suburbs. The brotherhood among communities that once existed in the Valley was destroyed and replaced with communal bloodshed.
Three decades later, violence continues to haunt the Kashmir Valley. The targeted killings of seven Kashmiri Pandits earlier this year shocked the nation and triggered protests. The Central Government's rehabilitation efforts aimed at Kashmiri Pandits seem to be failing as hundreds try to leave the valley again, fearing a repeat of what happened 30 years ago.
This has left the BJP on the back foot. The original plan was to strengthen goodwill among Hindu voters through the rehabilitation process. Other political parties are now also vying for a piece of Kashmir in the upcoming elections in the Union Territory. Seeking a probe into the killings of Kashmiri Pandits three decades ago, refugees approached the Supreme Court but the court refused to entertain two petitions on the matter.
Abhishankar looked back to that night of terror in 1990. Separatists hijacked loudspeakers at mosques so as to threaten Pandits. The mountains echoed with "Ralive, tsalive or galive" (convert to Islam, leave or die). Daily lists were released with names of Kashmiri Pandits who the Islamic extremists said would be murdered. A scared, unsure Abhishankar made it to Jammu before he saw his own name on one of those lists. People were dragged out of their homes and murdered or disappeared overnight.
What Abhishankar thought would be a few days of exile turned out to be the beginning of his life as a refugee. The makeshift refugee camp was a nightmare. "I didn't bathe for the first few days," Abhishankar recalled. "There was hardly any water, so we would save it for drinking. Women had to bathe and change right there. Snakes would come at night around our tents and a lot of refugees died from snake bites. When it would rain, our homes would fly away, leaving us homeless again."
In 2000, the Government of India started to allot cemented houses to Kashmiri refugees, a safe haven that postponed the possibility of a return to their homes. Abhishankar's new life put up roots; his son Akhilesh was born there.
In spite of the 1990 exodus, Abhishankar remembered the Valley’s Muslims as rather loving. "They were very innocent people, the Muslims in Kashmir," he said. "They didn't want to hurt us but they were manipulated by politicians. They were given arms and pitted against us. A lot of them didn't have an option."
One such innocent Muslim was Franky. "Pammi and I spent so much time together that the Hindus in Pammi's community thought that I was her sister and the Muslims in my community assumed she was my sister," she said. They'd go to school together, share clothes, eat from the same plate and celebrate festivals together. With no brothers of her own, Pammi would tie rakhis to Franky's brothers, while Franky would dance and make merry like one of their own at Hindu weddings. Once inseparable, Franky and Pammi were torn apart in the tragedy of 1990. Franky was unaware at the time of the seriousness of the situation. If she had known, she would have at least bid her best friend goodbye.
Today, both Franky and Abhishankar have sons - Anzar and Akhilesh - who are close in age. Anzar, a Kashmiri Muslim, and Akhilesh, a Kashmiri Pandit, both have a scarred past.
During the devastating riots of 1990, it was believed that some Muslims were in touch with Pakistan to bring in weapons and this caused many in India to see Muslims as "outsiders". These sentiments are still present; words like "anti-India", "anti-national" and "pro-Pakistani" are frequently used to refer to Muslims. Anzar said, "Every time there is an India-Pakistan cricket match, I have to prove my loyalty to Team India over and over again."
Anzar was born years after the exodus but he has never known peace in the Valley. Separatists have continued to stoke hate to keep their politics alive, which has impacted Anzar and other children in Kashmir. "The first time I heard a gunshot, I was seven," said Anzar. "There were always clashes in Kashmir during my childhood. There were curfews for months. In Grade 11, I did not go to school for six months. Internet outages in the Valley were common, our basic rights were taken away from us."
Anzar shrugged off the recent pandemic lockdowns, saying that Kashmiris had internalised the feelings of being trapped. "We were stuck at home even before," he said. "We were quarantined long before the pandemic even started."
Anzar moved to Bengaluru for college, which should have been a fresh start in his life. Instead, in his classes, he found himself relegated to the back of the room, feeling insecure and unengaged.
The abrogation of Article 370 in 2019 brought another wave of riots across the Valley. There were more curfews, months without internet and uncertainty about what lay ahead. Anzar was in Bengaluru but his parents were in Kashmir. "I didn't even know if they were okay or even alive," said Anzar. "There was no way I could go back to Kashmir, I felt stranded."
Assembly elections are set to be conducted in 2023 and offer a measure of hope for the future. Abhishankar said he still dreamt of returning to his homeland. Franky said she still hoped to see Pammi. Anzar could not imagine having his children grow up in the Kashmir that he experienced.
The Kashmir Valley in turmoil today was once known for its art, culture and poetry. Anzar remembered his favourite lines written on Kashmir: "Gar firdaus bar-rue zami ast hami asto hami asto hami asto." (If there is heaven on Earth, it is this, it is this, it is this.)