With mourning protests erupting in Valley after the prized rebel Burhan’s killing in Kokernag, many angry men stormed police camps. Over 20 attacks on police installations in a single day hint at the emergence of an unprecedented fury, reports Bilal Handoo
When lakhs were jostling for space to have one last glimpse of Burhan Wani in massive Tral funeral on July 9, one “fringe” village was already mounting attacks on police. Flames were yet to erupt from Damhal Hanji Pora police station when a 20-year-old girl Yasmeena was shot dead. Before her body would be retrieved from a drain, the town tagged as “voter bastion” was massively revolting.
“She wasn’t part of protest,” says a boy sitting adjacent to the gutted DH Pora police station. Sporting crew cut and stubble, the boy part of pro-Burhan demonstrations continues: “She was out to take her brother back home from cop custody. But, they killed her in a target firing.” The “cold-blooded murder” that unleashed fury in the town saw the police station rising up in flames along with vehicles, ammo and documents. “In the face of village rage — first triggered by Burhan’s and then Yasmeena’s killing,” the boy says, “cops fled from scene along with weapons.”
But before the young rebel’s killing could trigger a ‘radical shift’, Damhal Hanji Pora had a fair share in Kashmir’s insurgent and counterinsurgent history.
One ex-rebel from the town, Mushtaq, says this ‘fringe village with limited access’ used to serve as hideout for Hizb Supremo Syed Salahudin and other militants during early nineties. Later with Sakina Itoo’s emergence on scene, DH Pora earned “pro-state” village label.
“For oldies, the label was never a problem,” says the former rebel, “but today’s youth identifying with Burhan’s cause were/are bound to undo that. When their icon was killed, they tried undoing that by torching the police station.”
But coming from DH Pora dubbed as “isolated, fringe pocket” by police caught the state off guard. “We envisaged the epicentre would be Tral,” S M Sahai, APDG CID was quick to detail DH Pora incident by evening of the ‘bloody Saturday’—July 9. While “epicentre” was managed “properly”, isolated pockets like DH Pora went berserk akin to Achabal.
Amid lockdown, ‘peace of the graveyard’ has gripped Achabal. But on July 9, a day after Burhan’s killing, the town wasn’t silent. It simmered and demonstrated extraordinarily. A hipster teen, Shabir recalls it an emotionally enraged gathering having only one target in mind: Achabal police station. Besides this eleventh grader, many of his friends “moved” by Burhan’s killing attacked the station amid mass departure of townspeople to mourn in Tral. Many feel the attack on cops and their station was based on Burhan’s last video wherein he warned cops of consequences for being part in “anti-militancy” operations.
During the attack on Achabal police station, a cop from neighbouring Gopalpora village was seen “resisting, video-graphing” the protesters. “We told him: ‘Look, we know, who you are. So, better back off!’ But the cop stood adamant and fired at us,” says Shabir. After torching the station, the protesters marched to Gopalpora and set the cop’s house on fire. The chocolate-faced boy says that what happened at Gopalpora might trigger a trend—“as Burhan has set our hearts and minds free from fear.”
This audacity rose in the town that was once caught in renegade dragnet headed by Ikhwan chieftain, Nabi Azad. Azad who stands accused in killing of several functionaries was killed by Hizb hit-men in broad daylight outside his well guarded house at Shuhlipora Achabal in summer 2001. “And since then,” says Abdul Razzaq, a villager, “the town was desperately seeking change.”
Perhaps the same change was seen in Ashmuqam where protesters lately set ablaze SDPO’s residence. Even, Bijbehara’s Hassanpora was no different where angry villagers tried storming SOG camp to set it afire — but the desperate fire-fighting by forces prevented its complete gutting.
Today as boys remain vigilant behind roadblocks in Hassanpora, the villagers talk about the sudden outburst that saw young men behaving like fearless force. “Hassanpora being Jama’at Islami influenced village suffered from state-sponsored hounding since nineties,” says Nazir Ahmad, a villager. “First there was army, then Ikhwan and subsequently SOG — each one of them tormented us.” Over the years, the village was unable to vent its frustration until Burhan’s killing became their tripping point to unleash fury on the SOG camp.
“That wasn’t just a SOG camp,” the elder says, “it was a place of persistent persecution where the government gunmen would intercept drivers to show their barrel authority and pass lewd remarks at womenfolk.” Lately when a police officer was killed in Hassanpora, the villagers say, they were harassed by SOG for the next four days.
Silently, the village was simmering — and perhaps awaiting their moment to vent their rage. When the charismatic commander ceased to be on July 8, the village finally erupted in fury.
“Despite repeatedly reporting the camp’s outrageous conduct to politicians, we could never get a relief,” says Nazir, the elder. “Be it PDP or NC — both used us as their vote-bank mascots. But, not anymore!” (The same fury lately forced father of the SHO Kulgam to tender a public apology on Friday congregational prayers over his son’s “misconduct”.)
Similar ire and images flashed from Pulwama. Despite the ruling party’s twin principle operational in the province—”engaging youth” and “providing them space”—the pro-Burhan dissent rose. In Litter village, the SOG camp now stands ravaged after hit by peoples’ wrath. The villagers still recall how they ran it over with bulldozers.
But what happened at Litter was total undoing of its past when ‘village welfare’ seekers would sit for days on hunger strike in protest. This time around, unprecedented anger rose and smoked up the camp — just like it blazed police vehicle and post at Lassipora Pulwama.
“Over 20 attacks” on police camps on July 9 alone made Kashmir’s intelligence chief S M Sahai to assert: “We had a very tough day today.” In other words, Sahai meant that police hadn’t faced such a public fury before while dealing with Kashmir’s street strife.
But what Sahai won’t tell is the fact how equations altered in valley after ex-Lashkar commander Abu Qasim’s killing. With police denying bodies of “guest” mujahideens, more and more people participated in local militants’ funerals, especially in south. And despite army and allied force advising locals to stay away from encounter sites, they would still try storming encounter sites to give safe passage to rebels. “Latest spurt of attacks on police stations and camps is an extension of that mindset, which is compelling people to sacrifice their lives for militants,” says a senior cop under fire for his role in handling edgy south Kashmir. “The recent reaction was no different. But we never knew that Burhan’s passage would hit us so bad.”
Amid flurry of tempers unleashed by Burhan’s killings in Kashmir, many have started contradicting the notion upheld by state and “national” media that Burhan was just a “virtual militant”. Behind their belief is the fact how ‘stormy’ south behaved right from the mourning daybreak of July 9.
Miles away from Tral, Kulgam had already shown signs of revolt over killing of “larger than life” rebel. As mourners were inconsolably breaking down, the mood was turning militant. Police would later brief how ire—much to their own surprise—first came from traditionally calm pockets of south, the ruling PDP’s “stronghold”. DH Pora being one such “calm pocket” behaved quite uncanny to state’s own understanding.
Today, in an apparent ‘war-torn’ DH Pora, the boy who participated in pro-Burhan demos says: “The kind of reaction triggered by Burhan’s killing is enough to suggest that he was beyond Facebook sensation.” Saying this, he walks away — not before taking one good look at the gutted DH Pora police station.
