Funeral of Sabzar

On May 27 afternoon, few hours after encounter at Saimu in Tral, around 45 kms from Srinagar in south Kashmir, was over, I reached the encounter spot along with few photojournalists, who were here a second time in a day. They had already frozen the moments when encounter was going on. Till the time bullet ridden bodies of two Hizb-ul-Mujahideen members, Sabzar Ahmad Bhat, 31 and Faizan Ahmad Bhat, 15-- the youngest militant who was killed in Kashmir recently-- were dragged out of the debris and taken into custody by the government forces.

To reach Saimu, one of the quickest routes from Highway, passes through a semi- macadamized road, a stoney path paved in middle of a vast field, followed by a broken wooden bridge over a nallah and a steep alley bifurcating exactly at the encounter spot.

Nobody except a Hurriyat leader Mehraj ud din Kalwal and a few activists were present at this spot. They had somehow managed to reach here. Most of their colleagues were put under house arrest or detained in Srinagar or on way to Tral. They went inside one of the houses in neighborhood, probably, to express sympathy with those, whose houses were bombed to skeleton during the encounter. This village, dominated by the Sikh community, where few hours back hundreds of troopers brandishing war weapons creating deadening noise were stationed, was now deceptively peaceful. Since the right turn on Highway, to enter Tral area, not a single trooper or policeman was visible on the roads. I saw four laborers from Bihar or some other north or central Indian state buying essentials from a half shuttered shop, located barely 100 meters away from the blasted debris.
The spotlight was transported from here. Lots of people, mostly young boys and women were walking in both the directions of the alleys and small roads, leading to nearby Ratsun, the native village of Sabzar. Everybody, without even asking was directing us to Ratsun.

As we managed to make our way on the motorcycle, through contrarily festive crowd, the pro-freedom and pro-Pakistan slogans blaring through some public address systems grew louder and louder.

A group of youngsters, asked us to park our motorcycles and walk towards an open ground. This ground was carved out of the hills, transforming the space into a mini Valley, surrounded by the bushy hillocks on three sides.

The snaky entry to the ground opened into sea of people, raising slogans, wailing, crying and a few siting under the trees brooding silently. All eyes were on the body of Sabzar, laid on a wooden plank covered by Pakistani flag, on an elevated platform made of an old material tractor carrier. His face looked many years younger than his body. His father, with a lurching gait, was sitting on a chair alongside the body, caressing the beard and hair of his son. He was not crying. No tears were falling from his eyes. Locals said, during the encounter, Sabzar made a phone call to his parents, requesting not to cry if he was killed in the encounter. He sought forgiveness and urged them to pray for his ‘eternal peace and success.’
A narrow passage made with the ropes allowed people to walk in line and pass near or touch the body of Sabzar. Hundreds of people, who had arrived from as far as fifty kms from this spot, touched the face of Sabzar. “I am seeking blessings from a martyr,” one of the youngsters said. Another, youngster in his early twenties guiding people to move quickly after touching the body of Sabzar shouted at the photojournalists clicking pictures. “We don’t want any media. You never show the reality. You are a sellout.” However, few others calmed him down. Scores of people were freezing the moments in their mobile phone cameras. Nobody could upload any video or pictures online, as government had suspended Internet and jammed mobile phone networks to avoid any communication flow and escalation of simultaneous protests across Valley. In the background, ‘Fasl-e-Gul Hai… Aye Shaheedo Tum Kahan Ho’ manqabat sung by famous Pakistani Nawaah Khan, Mir Hasan Mir, was resonating from the loudspeaker.

Something indefinable stirred the air. Passionate declarations set ablaze the surroundings. Sky turned red westwards. Afternoon gave birth to evening. Number of birds fluttering around increased dramatically. These warped moments further collapsed the screen between life and desire.

“Lagya Bahudur Panas: Saebo, Saebo” a woman wailed. Another, who probably was remembering her own son joined, “Az Hai Aaey Saeba, Myanae Aashiqoo,”, “Lagya Yaeman Naraen, Saebo Saebo.”

Suddenly, everybody was rushing towards the trees up on the mound. Another Hizb ul Mujahideen member, who claimed to have survived the encounter in which Sabzar was killed, waved at the crowd. And what followed was at least four minutes of continuous sloganeering...
“Nare Takbeer Allah-o-Akbar,” , “Hum Pakistani Hai, Pakistan Hamara Hai, Teri Jaan Meri Jaan Pakistan Pakistan” , “Hum Kya Chahete---Azadi
Hai Haq Hamara… Azadi” , “Asalam Asalam Aye Shaedo Asalam,
Ro Rahi Hai Yeh Zameen, Ro Raha Hai Asmaan” , “Hizbul Mujahideen, Hizbul Mujahideen” “Toiba Toiba: Lashkar Toiba”

In chaste Urdu, this HM member addressed the public. Everybody was silent or occasionally raising slogans.
“Please don’t touch me, I have grenade in my bag. Life cannot be trusted. We are all Burhans and Sabzars. We are all Mujahids. We will show India our strength…” He continued…
“I give open challenge now. There may be some informers in this gathering. Go and tell (Narendra) Modi. Why was my brother Farooq Dar tied to jeep? I will avenge that. There is some DSP Parvez. Go and tell him, Azaan has come. I was living a good life, I left all that.”

Everybody was jostling to touch Azaan. “I appeal everybody to show discipline and allow this Mujahid to go away safely,” a voice from the public address system urged people. He rushed down from the hillock, pierced the crowd and evaporated into the village. The rush sent a few rolling down the mound. Locals told me, earlier Zakir Musa and his associates had also come to see the body of Sabzar and pay tributes. JKLF chairman Yasin Malik had also reached Tral and expressed sympathies with the families.

In the crowd, I spotted two Sikhs, who seemed to be looking at the body of Sabzar with warmth and harmony. I enquired about their presence.“He was our brother. We have played together. He was always there in our village. No encounter has taken place there before this. They were safe there. They are all our brothers. We are not scared. Only media creates impression that they are against any of us (minority). We are hugely saddened. We would proudly say we are from the area of Saeba. He was very healthy and tall...”

At a little distance from the crowd, a blond green-eyed young man, in his twenties, sporting beard, was sitting under a tree. He was staring at Sabzar’s body as if he was constantly communicating. I nudged him into consciousness.

Do you know Sabzar?
Yes, he replied.

“We studied at the same school. We are from same village. I was with Sabzar for 26 days in a Tableeg-i-Jamaat trip before he took up arms,” he said.

And then he narrated the story of Sabzar….
“This is a storybook end to his checkered past. I envy this. He was running a Dhaba on Highway and was involved in all bad things. He was very healthy. Once, he stole a pulsar motorcycle from a compound by lifting it over the wall, alone. This is why he was nicknamed as Saeba Don…”

He continued…

“Then a group of Tableegi Jamaat from Rajpora Pulwama, visited our village and they came to know about this most infamous man of the village. I remember one of them vowed that they would help to transform him into the most pious and famous man of this village and here he is so…” Later, he said, Sabzar wanted to join Burhan Wani’s group. He even contacted him, but Burhan locals claim suggested him to continue offering regular prayers and get in touch after almost six months. Then in 2015, when Burhan’s brother was killed, Sabzar snatched rifle of a trooper, during the protests along with another young boy from the village, Shakir and joined Burhan’s group. And was then seen in fatigues a few months later, in the famous group photograph along with Burhan.

“I must tell you this is the perpendicular way without speed breakers to eternal success,” the green eyed man told me, while pointing at Sabzar’s body. “Everything else is a deception.”

As the Azaan for Magrib prayers started I saw two boys curiously looking at all the photojournalists. I asked about their address. “We have come from Ashmuqam (45kms from Tral). We were protesting here for the whole day…” said one of them, a class 11th student. I asked them about their aim in life. They replied, “Take up arms and fight for justice.” I tried to argue about utility of few hundred young men fighting a huge army. They smirked. I tried to extract an answer. They moved away with a condescending exchange of looks.

Meanwhile, somebody on the loud speaker announced that the final funeral prayer would be held at 11am on May 28. He urged the villagers to accommodate at least couple of guests each, who are staying overnight. He also informed that each house would make arrangements for Sehri—on the first day of Ramzan-- for all the guests, who are staying over. The body of Sabzar would be shifted to his house for the night.

During this announcement, I talked to a 60 year-old man sporting neatly trimmed white beard, wearing a Khan dress. I asked about Zakir Musa’s statement suggesting that Kashmir was an Islamic and not a political issue. He replied, “Nobody can deny that Islam is our way of life. Countries like, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Iran and others are empowered to establish Shariah or a Caliphate. Not us. We are suffering from a different disease. We are slaves. We have to fight that first. Zakir is impressed with Al Qaeda type ideology and nobody can stop people from thinking or getting inspired.” I can just say one thing, “Dying like this is better than dying on the bed.”

Another youngster, with scarlet cheeks and trembling chin, listening to our conversation intervened, “Mujahids are all same. Let us not differentiate.”

And now the body of Sabzar was being transported to his house. Slogans again roared in the air…
“Go India: Go Back”, “There is only One solution: Gun Solution Gun Solution”
“Tera Bhai Mera Bhai: Sabzar Bhai, Sabzar Bhai”
“Bharat Se Kaho Tayaar Hai Hum: Sangbaaz Hai Hum Sangbaaz Hai Hum”

We then walked towards, where our motorcycles were parked. Lots of locals offered their house for night stay. However, we preferred traveling back to Srinagar and reached at around 9:30pm.

Next morning after Sehri and Fajr prayers were over, we started our journey back to Tral at around 5:00am. The government had announced curfew and restrictions to be imposed at all sensitive places, which was almost across the Valley. Fearing that government forces, on the Highway may not allow us to travel, we started early. On way we spotted army, paramilitary and police getting ready for the day. We passed Saimu village, where Gurbani from a Gurudwara was being recited on the loud speaker and then reached Ratsuna at around 6:15am.

Here, body of Sabzar was already placed, where it was last evening. His father was sitting exactly at the place, where he was yesterday. He was again caressing the beard and hair of Sabzar. Few young men were applying perfume on the body of Sabzar. His father applied perfume on his beard and eyelashes. Many women had already gathered in the ground. Mir Hasan Mir was being played on the loud speaker again.

The rejuvenating morning sunrays were making their way from branches of the trees on the mounds. The spotlight was again on the body of Sabzar. People were assembling.

All of us were trembling with the cold after early morning motorcycle ride. We huddled at a place in the ground, where sun rays made the bright spot. A villager, walked up to us, suggesting that we can take rest for sometime in a nearby house.
We went inside a house and they offered blankets made of mink fur to warm ourselves. They even offered tea, if any of us was not fasting or was a non-muslim. There was no non-mulsim among us. And all of us claimed of fasting.
One of the locals, who guided us towards the house, informed that this was the house of the first ‘martyr’ of Tral Master Ghulam Qadir, who was killed in 1990.
Qadir, a government teacher had resigned from the services and joined Hizb ul Mujahideen.
Later, a schoolteacher, who was probably one of the owners of the house, claimed to know Sabzar very closely. “Sabzar was a changed man now. He once stole safe from Gurudwara. After he joined militancy, he went to Gurudwara and gave back all the money to Sikhs. They refused, but he insisted. And even offered penalty for the act if they wished so. He assured them that he would ask his father to sell a piece of land to pay whatever they would demand.”

As the teacher left the room, all of us sank into sleep. He cam back after a while informing that funeral prayers would be offered immediately at 9am not at scheduled 11am. Hundreds of people had already gathered in this mini-Valley. Some of the photojournalists even missed the top angle view of the prayers. Hurriyat leader Mehraj ud Din Kalwal, who stayed in the village overnight, addressed the gathering.

And the body was now moved towards graveyard in the lawns of the nearby Jama Masjid of the village. The slogans were repeated with precision. Scores of women were wailing from the windows and rooftops of their houses. Many threw petals, toffees and dry fruits at the body of Sabzar. “Sanae Maharazoo” the women wailed.
As the grave was being prepared and Sabzar’s body kept on one side, a sudden roar pierced the air. The militant, who addressed the gathering last evening was running again in the alleys to see the face of Sabzar last time. He was running towards the graveyard and people were running after him. He reached near the periphery of the graveyard and led a round of passionate sloganeering. The violence of emotions triggered a roar of synchronous bawl. Shrieks dispatched to an imaginary address. He could not reach the grave as people were running over each other to touch him. He rushed back into the alleys and evaporated temporarily.

After sometime, when the grave was ready and body of Sabzar was being lowered, Azaan rushed in again. This time, brandishing, what he called a grenade and cut his way through hundreds of people towards the grave. The slogans reverberated again. He touched face of Sabzar. He hurried back only to be pursued by scores of youngsters. “There may be some informer among them, who will get him killed,” a woman on slab of a house, overlooking graveyard, rued.
Outside graveyard at the main chowk of Ratsuna, I saw father of Burhan Wani talking to a few people. “I had come to offer funeral prayers of Sabzar,” he said. I asked about Zakir Musa’s statement, he replied. “They are all Mujahids for us.” From the loud speaker of Jama Masjid, a song paying tributes to Burhan was playing in the background. “Kashmir Laho Ka Darya, Tu Gairat Ki Tugyani…Burhan Muzaffar Wani”

Here among a group of youngsters, I spotted the man who I saw near the body of Sabzar in ground, lashing out at photojournalists and accusing journalists of being a sellout. A photographer, who also noticed this man, sat with him and enquired about the reason for his hatred against media.
“You don’t show the truth. Aap Sab Bike Hue Hain. Look at the channels. They spread lies,” he said. He studies in University and referred to lot of TV programs beamed on the news channels late evening. The photographer, who works for a foreign organization suggested him to look beyond New Delhi or Noida based TV channels and follow international media outlets. As the group grew bigger another young man chipped in. “I watch BBC International. Even they don’t report on Kashmir regularly.” I tried to suggest reading or watching stories online. The group laughed. “Internet is banned all the time. Today even phones are not working. Are you joking?” they said. I stopped talking and the discussion continued there.

I engaged another small group at a little distance, asking about the nature of discourse regarding Kashmir. “Let us be clear that martyrdom is an Islamic concept. Kashmir may be a political issue but Islam provides us the inspiration to fight against injustice and oppression,” said a student, who studies in a college in south Kashmir.
Another journalist friend, who was witnessing the funeral of a militant first time, tried to argue about the uneven figures of militants fighting huge government machinery.
“Yesterday there were only four boys in the house and hundreds of these troopers came to kill them. And still two managed to escape. They are timid. This shows we will win one day. I don’t think you have faith and belief in truth,” this group of three youngsters said.

Another young man added, that they were aware that ‘with couple of magazines one cannot fight an army.’ “But then you cannot sit silently and show abominable cowardice,” he said. I asked the youngest among them, a class 11th student, what was his aim in life? “I also want to take up arms.”

While we were moving towards our motorcycles, to travel back to Srinagar, one of the youngsters from the group--which had now grown to almost 25 people pointed at one of the young photojournalists who sports beard and has long hair.
“Why are you wasting time clicking pictures. You should be carrying a 7-kg machine by now.” This photojournalist couldn’t understand. He asked for further elaboration. “I mean to say you should be carrying an AK-47 not a camera,” he explained.

Nobody responded to this suggestion.

We quickly started our motorcycles and sped off to Srinagar.