JK Polls: People on the edge

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This picture (below) on its own, would perhaps confuse you. But the blur and the speed have a story. This is nine-year-old Samira Begum running for cover

It was shot in Drahall area of Rajouri district - a hilly region, on the Indo Pak border, which has seen militancy at its peak.

Elections in Jammu and Kashmir had brought us here. The moment I took off my camera to click Samira, standing on the edge of the road, she sprinted without notice. Clutching to her purple cloth bag, she ran for her life. Little Samira mistook my camera for a revolver. Rounds of laughter later, Samira was convinced that we were not out to literally shoot her. She screened her photographs and finally smiled.

The psyche of fear runs deep here, I remembered. Last year, in Kulali village in the neighbouring district of Poonch, we spotted a deserted road and a young boy playing with a lifeless bicycle wheel. It was good TV, more so since we were shooting a documentary on the children of conflict. When the car stopped and crew got down the boy broke into tears. He pleaded in Gojri (local dialect) that he was returning home and would never fight with his mother. The kid had mistaken our camerman and the bearded stringer for miltants, out to kidnap him. Yes, the psyche of terror does run deep.

The border people tell me they have lived this fear. Militancy in these districts of Rajouri and Poonch is lesser unknown, but has been equally damaging. The regions fall in Jammu province and go unnoticed in comparison to the Valley's turmoil. In the 1990s, violence and militancy were stories they would hear from Kashmir. In 1995, militancy became their reality too. The militants crossed the Pir Panjal range, and set up camps here. People here had already seen much violence earlier. They had lived the divide between India and Pakistan in 1947. District Poonch has maximum number of divided families in the entire state-some even separated during the 1965 war. Families and ties have a river and line of control running in between them.

The border people tell stories how some of them have walked across to the other country - willingly or at times, by accident. Many here walk around with wooden limbs - crippled by landmines and the cross-border firing. Sixty two per cent of the total landmine victims in Jammu and Kashmir are from here.

The border people say the have lived another divide - within themselves. Between Gujjars, who were granted the scheduled tribe status in 1991 and non-gujjars, who are equally remote, but without any reservation. Political parties have build blocks on this divide. Over 40 per cent Gujjars vote against the divided Pahari vote.

The border people question the lack of development here. Why was the Mughal road (the traditional route used by Mughal rulers), which connected them to Kashmir, blocked for years? Why has not electricity reached their houses, while just a few meters away, villages in Pakistan-occupied-Kashmir light up every evening? Why 35 villages put together have no higher secondary school? The border people vote every time, hoping their questions are answered.

We drive around, probing and questioning. Our vehicle gets stuck in a deceptive puddle, which is as deep as their doubts.

The border people come from the villages around. Fifteen of them, knee-deep in muddy water, push the heavy vehicles out after almost two hours of effort. The night sets in and we thank them. The border people refuse any money. They say, 'just mention our village so that people know about us too'.

So I remember the 15 selfless men of Kotdhara village. Also, little Samira and her purple cloth bag. The boy with a wheel whose name I forgot to ask - all the border people who showed me the different side of living on the edge.

(On November 17,and 23, Poonch and Rajouri voted for the state Assembly elections)