 Few places live up to their name the way Dhadapura has, for pain it would seem has found a permanent address in Dhadapura. So real, all pervasive are pain and sorrow in this village that here in the village school where one would assume that songs and rhymes of childhood would fill the air, children matter of factly recite a collective ode to death because Dhadapura unfortunately has become a village of women who have suffered and survived the death of their menfolk of mothers who've lost young sons, wives who've lost husbands, little children who will never feel the warmth of her father's embrace, sisters who've lost brothers, young girls who live the life of widows having lost their betrothed. Perched atop the high ranges, almost surreal in its harsh beauty with its homes and mud tracks almost touching the clouds, Dhadapura is situated practically on the border between India and Pakistan. For the locals, par or a cross was just an everyday reality until As the spider wove its web, like helpless insects, locals were drawn inextricably into it. As a result, today, after 14 years, what remains in Dhadapura is a mass of seething women betrayed by all, their anger, resentment and frustration barely concealed. Men of course, are considered to be the most vulnerable women in the village. They are the most vulnerable women in the village. They are the most vulnerable women in the village. By all, their anger, resentment and frustration barely concealed. Men of course, are conspicuous by their absence. Dhadapura, by virtue of its location, inadvertently found itself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Caught in the crossfire between those who professed that their violence had an ideology and those whose call of duty insisted upon their elimination. While violence unfortunately always lays claim to an ideology to justify its excesses and depravity, for these women in Dhadapura, their pain and agony are the only reality which they know and understand. They live conducting the everyday business of life but framed in their sorrow, also for life. Invisible lines which divide and redefine boundaries are often drawn by people who've never walked along them or played in fields which lie alongside growing the same crops each time seasons change. But for those who do live along these invisible lines, they become a poignant reality, leaving them to wonder where in the forest at which tree should they stop so as not to cross these invisible lines. We didn't know what would happen if India was divided. Because the leaders didn't know what would happen if there were two countries, and then there would be a passport and a visa. We didn't even know what would happen. These lines are for real and unfortunately for Mustafa, it was a reality he learned the hard way after he was put in prison for crossing one such line. For seven years in Pakistani prisons, he dreamt of being back home to savor once more the sights, smells and sounds of childhood. Ironically, the harsh confines of a Pakistani prison redefined his Indian roots for him. We used to live in a room with 60 people. We used to have Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims, and Christians with us. But we never used to fight each other. But every day we used to fight each other. Like we used to torture goats and kill each other. So we were surprised to see that there were so many communities in India. Despite that, we had so much peace and peace. And there was only one community. So there are so many people. 21 is the age when most young men consider themselves truly free and independent. But for Mustafa, 21 was the age when he was put into prison. A prison which physically shackled him, tore at his spirit and compelled him to question his surroundings. This is the area of Islam in Pakistan. There is not a single person who has such a small role in it. Seeing all this, I lost my mind. And I left Islam. I said, I want to be a Christian. And I want to be a Christian there. I don't feel pressured. But whatever I have seen, I have hated those people so much. I felt so much that I saw myself as a Muslim. I was also a Muslim. This is something that I have seen in Pakistan. I have not seen it. I have never heard of this in Kashmir. This is called Badfeli. It is called Hamjinsprashti. When I went there, I was surprised. People with beard are saying that it is normal. It is normal to kill a person in such a large area. They say that they killed a person. But in Kashmir, it is said that if the sky is red, it is killed somewhere. I have never heard of this. His desperate memories cling to him as also the misery of those who got left behind and are still languishing in jail. There are two women in India. We have heard from them that there are two women. First of all, I will try to be a good person. This is what I have brought to Egypt. I have never met God. This is my second life. I hope and dream in you. If only all those others still languishing on the wrong side of these invisible lines could also be given another chance to hope and to dream. Elections in Jammu and Kashmir are, like in any other part of India, colourful, crowded and noisy, while campaigning is serious business for nearly everybody. For some, it is an amusing diversion, which ensures them a captive audience and a place under the sun, however fleeting it may be. As campaigning gathers momentum, corner meetings become an arena to settle old scores. Crowds vociferously take sides, loudly supporting their own candidates while booing the opponents. Some, however, just listen quietly. Women, children, men, young and old, elections to the largest democracy in the world are quite literally for everybody. Any space which allows a ringside view of the candidates and their supporters' antics of this great Indian Tamasha is readily occupied. Comfort and security, for the moment, seem of little importance. But unfortunately, during these elections and also during those in the recent past, candidates were not the only ones trying to attract attention. This joyous celebration of democracy is seen perhaps as the ultimate threat. Depraved minds act ruthlessly to strike at its very roots by attempting to destroy people's participation and terrorise them into silence, where just moments earlier, sounds of slogans and cheerful bantering had filled the air. Sirens, whales and moans rent it now. Mamed bodies and numb minds, vacant eyes of innocence, wonder why they are being terrorised on their own soil and that too by outsiders who know nothing of their democratic traditions and respect them even less. Their silent tears of anguish, however, remain inadequate to wash away the colour of blood. Still, they refuse to be calmed down or to be silenced by fear. They come, defying all threats in large numbers, standing in long queues for hours waiting patiently to cast their votes for their belief in democracy. It was such a great propaganda that even if the votes were less or more, the votes would still be there. That is the most beautiful memory. They went to eat bullets to die, and the value of the votes, when the government said, that if the votes were not there, the votes would still be there. Like in any other part of the country, each one has their own reasons to vote. How many votes would be left? Anything? How many would be left? How many? How many? How many? How many would be left? But common to all is the belief that their votes can decide their future. No vote, nothing left. For thearians. The reason I came to vote is that our life is a dream. For ultimately, terror can achieve only so much. Innocence can be brutalized for only so long, till fear steps into fearlessness. For when the silent majority decides, with dignity, to right wrongs, weapons of terror can achieve only so much. What is the relation between the lion and the Kashmir? Hindu-Muslim, Sikhism. Long live! Long live! October 1947, every man, every woman, every child in Jammu and Kashmir became a soldier. It was spontaneous. It was a time for people to know that they can't tell. They had no choice. They had to fight for they had been attacked. Jyotsh was the only thing we had to live for. We had to live. That was the Jyotsh. In 1947, when Pakistan attacked Kashmir. This unity, which transcends religious differences, was the vital detail which had been overlooked by the raiders and the powers which sent them. In fact, they seemed unaware of the fact that for centuries in Kashmir, Muslim children had been taught the Quran by Hindu-Pandic teachers. How then could they ever possibly accept religion as a basis for redefining boundaries? It is the case of Tahrir that Pakistan has become a part of it. We are not sad that they have violated our Tahrir. We will think and decide the fate of the region. Before that, they sent Sadik to go there. They said, we are not there. We have Kashmir. We have it in our pockets. As a final desperate measure to force a decision, Kabirly raiders were sent. In Pakistan, instead of Sadik, it started, they came raiders and we, they called so-called raiders. And afterwards, they said, the army battalions have run away. The raiders came and with them came Lute, Plunder and Arsene. Rape, death and destruction were their visiting cards. Because they were the new generation of Sikhs, Muslims and Hindus. So they adopted it in a wrong way. And they did not respect their mother and sister. So this was the reason why the people here were hated. We have seen a lot. We have seen people who were killed, who had never seen before. They were a big threat. Such brutality, however, only made the people's reserves stronger to protect their identity and to live with dignity. It was the heart of the freedom movement. I was called on this stage and told, I get your volunteers, etc. Everybody knew there was no question of payment. They were volunteers. At that time we had no weapons and we borrowed some. We had that guerrilla sort of a thing. Because the people were with us. They used to inform us, which he is there. So we used to go and guide them. The women were more than equal partners in this struggle. They used to go there to fight. They had never taken a gun. They would never give a gun to the soldiers. And the children would never come back. But they would let them go. So many dead people went to Nojwant. When there was an accession, the army landed here. I was in Lal Chowk when the first armed forces of India came here. People had planted flowers. The army could succeed against all odds. Because of the unconditional and overwhelming support it received from the people everywhere. Especially from the people's militia. Our rights went with them everywhere. Otherwise, how could the Indian army succeed here? No wonder then that Jammu and Kashmir Light Infantry Regiment of the Indian Army emerged from this force of citizen volunteers. Proud inheritors of a legacy of not just valor, but above all of India's secular ideals. Kashmir is Parvati. So said Lord Krishna in the Neelmath Puran. And perhaps that is why collective memory, cultural history, folklore, tells us of the Kool Devi's, the Matrikas, the Shaktis. In fact, all the myriad manifestations of the mother goddess which reside in the gurgling brooks, sparkling rivers and lofty peaks of this land to nurture and to protect. Myth or legend. But the truth also is that always and even in its darkest hours women in Kashmir have been its guiding light, nurturing and protecting. That is why I say that my head is at the bottom of Kashmiri women. They travel so much, but women still go on like this. Still they are very good people, they are not communal, they are not fundamentalist. Traditionally for centuries, socially and culturally women in Kashmir have been nurtured in freedom and equality. There was no education in our house and the poor women were not educated. There was no education in Kashmir. As a child, I never remember seeing a woman covered face. Which, once militancy suddenly erupted, made it even more difficult for them to accept the dictates of foreigners who demanded invisibility and subservience from women. There is nothing in our Islam that we have to live in poverty. We have to live with the demand of the new times. We have to take care of our culture as well. We have to take care of ourselves. They defied these dictates as best as they could, working to sustain their children, families, themselves and society. I am not ashamed of this. I am ashamed of the things that spread in front of others. I don't think it is a shame to stand on your feet and work for yourself. I don't think it is a shame to stand on your feet and work for yourself. The things that people are saying, they are saying that they are coming and they are saying that they are coming. It is necessary for women to come to business, to trade and to convince themselves as they have done in other fields. Bravely taking a stand against all odds, even if they belong to a miniscule minority. This is what we want to achieve. Iron butterflies is how one Westerner described Indian women. Soft, gentle and beautiful on the outside, but with steel running inside as they nurture, protect and sustain themselves and their own. Right now, we are demanding that we work more and more so that we can also reach a level with the country in the next week. We are not going back. We are going forward like other nations. Whether I am allowed to do it or not, I am satisfied that I am helping someone to a certain extent. I think God has given me the advice that if you have a job, I can find another job for myself. Across India, women live up to this reputation every day of their lives. Women in Kashmir are no exception. That's it, I think in every sense of the word, it was it, that's it. There's no doubt about that. Time is set to heal all wounds, fade away memories till they become mere wisps of forgotten murmurs. But for all of those who witnessed and experienced the horrors of the Kabayali raids in Baramula in 1947, even after 57 years, the bestiality and brutality of their marauders is strongly etched in their minds. I didn't know until I was shot. And they didn't keep any sense of security. I was walking through the streets. I saw green flags, you see, hanging, and everybody, you see, stunned, dumb. They didn't see this respect, that this is Hindu, this is Sikh, this is Muslim. They did it all together. I remember when I was in the second or third day of my life, I was walking in the mission hospital. I saw the dead bodies there. Ironically, it was at this very mission hospital that people had gone to seek refuge in the belief that a European missionary hospital would be spared. Soon, they were proved drawn. Extremely wrong. There was one nurse who was taking some medicines to the next ward. So as she was going in the veranda, they shot her. And when they shot her, the mother superior came out, you know, to find out what it was about. They shot her also. And another nun also. And then there was a colonel. His wife was admitted in the hospital, Colonel Dykes. His wife was there and so even he heard the firing because the army officer, he came out rushing. He came out, they shot him also. And they went in and shot his wife, she was in the private room. They shot her also. Sydney Smith, correspondent of the Sunday Express London, amongst other foreign correspondents, ensured that horrific details of this gruesome incident reached Europe and the rest of the world. But this well remained a mute witness, even as bodies of young women raped one after the other, including those of the nuns who were violated, were thrown into its depths. As news of the extent of the enemy's brutality continued to spread, families with young girls preferred to kill them rather than letting them into enemy hands. Once accession was formalized and the Indian army had arrived, people returned to rummage through the debris of life. Once accession was formalized and the Indian army had arrived, people returned to rummage through the debris of life. Baramula, a bustling town of 14,000, was reduced to rubble, with just 1,000 very scared and scarred people left behind. Legend has it that Baramula of Varmul was created by Lord Vishnu's tail in his Varahavtar. While that truth is now lost somewhere in the ruins of time, it is a fact that Baramula is the valley's oldest urban settlement and until the raiders came, it's most cosmopolitan and prosperous. This was the first town of the valley, so everything that came in, visitors, everybody who came, they came to Baramula. Unfortunately, it had to pay a heavy price for their prosperity. In just four days of terror, the first town of the valley had become its last town. The year was 1988. Every hotel, tourist bungalow and houseboat was packed to capacity. The Dhal was a buzz. Nearly a million tourists were holidaying in Jammu and Kashmir. Unfortunately, in 1989, suddenly a different variety of tourists arrived in the area, uninvited and unwanted. Militancy erupted and as things worsened with time, the actual tourists fled. A pall of gloom settled on the Dhal. The Shikara stood in silent queues. The Hanjis, or boat people, desperately sat in wait for someone to arrive. Similarly, when normalcy returned, with it came peace and the tourists began to return, first in trickles, then in droves. So lovely. I don't know. It's like a dream. Militaries are present everywhere, yeah? You see them, but very calm, very... very gentle, actually always smiling towards women anyway. And I must say I feel very safe. A definite indicator was the return of Hindi film industry crews, which arrived for shooting in the valley. A boost both for tourism and the economy, proving yet again peace and development go hand in hand. Since last month, things are getting better and people feel very optimistic about the betterment of this place now. We have seen private sector investment coming in. I would say after 12 years, 13 years, after militancy you can say, private sector, yeah, they have started coming in. We have like LG, we have Pepsi, we have so many people coming in. There are some textile units coming up. Then KK Birla, they are expanding their unit. While agriculture and horticulture has traditionally been the mainstay of the region's economy, tourism has been a close third and number one in urban areas, providing employment directly and indirectly to thousands. The other important sector contributing to the economy of the state is the handicraft sector, which is also directly related with tourism. As long as Kashmir is concerned, Kashmir's identity is by itself. It is by itself a identity. Then you know handicrafts, definitely because you know there are handicrafts made in other parts of the country also, but those are entirely different. Like Pepe Mashe, for example, I'll tell you, they are not made, that is not made anywhere else in India. Carpets are made now in Delhi, Jaipur, Badoi, Agra and other places. But again, those and our carpets are entirely different. As tourism declined and markets shrunk, the exploitation of the artisans by middlemen increased. The work that they have done has also decreased. That is why the need for this is that artisans unite, organize and start their own work, take initiative and see their own market. Because the market is very large. The demand for Kashmiri handicrafts is all over the world. The craftsmen then began to travel to sell their products. These actual manufacturers, they are producing and selling directly to the consumers. They go out during winter and sell their products. So their renumeration has improved. But perhaps, one of the most important reasons for the economic turnaround is... They have not broken their minds and we have not. But we have not stopped our work. Peace for development, and development for peace is the only way to ensure a smile on every face. 1946-47 For any Indian across the subcontinent, there was only one overwhelming concern. Independence. And people in Kashmir were no exception. We used to say, the hope of the revolution is now in our hearts. See how strong and strong it is now. Even here, we used to put the knives. National leaders were household names and their visits eagerly awaited. Pandit Javad Ali Nahru came from this road. Moulana Abdul Kalam came from this road. Mahatma Gandhi came from this road. We have resubstantied him. Shared ideals and dreams, a common vision for a just and equal society bound not just the leaders, but also the people. We want equality. We are secular. This is for all of us. This is democracy. Secularism was the deciding factor. For in this land of Nundrishi and Lal Dev, respect for each other's religious beliefs and a shared ethos was, after all, all pervasive. Because we believe that whether it's a temple or whether it's a mosque or whether it's a place of zealot, God is everywhere. There is one God. You will call Him anything you like. I may call Him anything I like. Because in our culture, Hinduism is our way of life. Kashmir has always been secular. Obviously then, the idea that religion could ever be a basis for division was unacceptable and alien for the majority. Moreover, those who supported such a division were also made unwelcome. History, however, was in the making. And independence came. But with it came partition. And the map of India changed forever. A reality which impacted millions of lives, but which ironically remained incomprehensible to most of them. When the partition was there, we never expected that there would be such a turmoil. It's very difficult, However, people soon began to feel the repercussions. The first casualty was the standstill agreement Maharaja Hari Singh had signed with Pakistan, which the latter reneged upon and imposed an economic blockade. See, the Pakistan made blockade. Nothing was available here. And it was the great sacrifice of the Kashmiri people. Because before that, Maharaja had signed the standstill agreement with Pakistan. There were no cars, there was no salt. There was no food. But people were patient. The blockade had stopped and we could see more salt. You cannot imagine such a problem. People, however, bravely stood their ground. Desperate, but defiant. So, pressure was increased. This news came. This news reached Kabaili. And it reached Barangulat. That day, it was the 10th day. But you see, the Pakistan, instead of standing, it started, they came raider than. And behind them were the soldiers of Pakistan. They were standing in front of the Kabaili. They were standing in front of the Kabaili. They were standing in front of the Kabaili. They were standing in front of the Kabaili. The wanton display of terror only managed to strengthen the people's resolve to sever themselves from a value system, which believed in using violence and brutality to impose decisions. Against Pakistan, there was a Kumbh Nadal Kashmiri. There were a few of them, for example, in the city of Mordor. Those who understood this, the interests they had before, the rest were Aam and Kashmiri. They were with India. The accession was signed. He signed and he sent the paper before these two arrived. Kashmir will stay with India, with no other country. By giving the situation of Pakistan, it was the right decision of the Sheikh. All the people are one. One country, one country, one country. All the people of Pakistan are one. A plurality in thought indeed. A space for everyone and an abiding belief that all of humanity is one. Ultimately, is the idea that is India. There was a time, not long ago, when rivers flowed pristine white. As fish playfully jumped out from their waters, probably to take a look at the world outside. Thick forests allowed the sun and clouds to peep through their foliage. Animals roamed around freely in search of food and mates. And then, these forests became home to a different species. Their thick cover became a perfect hideout for men who had come with guns to kill, to hurt, to destroy. Forests which had taken centuries to grow were destroyed in moments by human folly and greed. A lack of normalcy also meant a decrease in tourism, further shrinking the already few employment opportunities available, increasing pressure on forests for survival. This was not all. Destruction came in myriad ways. When the 700-year-old shrine of Charare Sharif was destroyed on the 11th of May 1995 by foreign militants, the fire also destroyed the entire town, built almost completely from wood. 1,400 homes burnt along with the shrine. 1,400 homes had to be rebuilt, for which more than 250,000 cubic feet of timber had to be made available on a war footing. Thousands of trees were cut because of an irresponsible whim of a depraved mind. Ironically, Charare Sharif is the final resting place of Sheikh Nuruddin on Nundrishi, patron saint of Kashmir, and a great conservationist who taught his followers. Wanton destruction of their precious resources, however, made the locals more aware of their depleting forest wealth. There will be nothing in the land. But for them, forests are important not only because they've fulfilled their every need, timber, fuel, fodder, water. But also because they fulfill an emotional need. For them, a world without forests would be a travesty. Perhaps that is why they are working very hard to regenerate their forests. In Kudlu village near Yusmug, 1.3 million trees have been planted by the villagers as a voluntary effort with guidance and help from the forest department. Today, as they watch their trees grow, they are justifiably proud. These villagers have shown the world that there is only one earth which we do not own but have a share in along with all other life forms. And hurting or healing is entirely in our hands.