T
ucked into the hills of southern Kashmir’s Anantnag district, Lisser-Czawalgam is no different from any of the other villages that dot the landscape of this picturesque region. A shrine, a graveyard and modestly built houses populate the silent hamlet.
It was a cool summer afternoon when we drove into the village and reluctantly knocked at the house of Mubina Gani. A frail, middle-aged lady emerged from a dimly lit corridor and welcomed us in. “You are no different than my own children. Let us talk inside,” she said, showing us to the living room.
Twenty-eight years ago, on May 18, 1990, Mubina, then 25, of nearby Mohripura village, was set to get married. Her hands hennaed, hair scented and wearing an orange-pink dress, she was ready to begin her new life with Abdul Rashid Malik, a farmer by profession.
But, as has happened with infinite others in Indian-controlled Kashmir, Mubina’s dream was snuffed out by personnel of the Border Security Force (BSF).
As armed insurgency raged across the valley, Indian armed forces operated under a carte blanche. Undeclared curfews and checkpoints were a norm. “We had received curfew passes beforehand from the local administration,” said Malik, now in his 50s. He, along with many of his friends and relatives, left by bus at 8:00 in the evening for the wedding in Mohripura.
After dining and celebrating for a few hours, the procession, along with the bride and few of her relatives, boarded the same bus and left Mohripura and headed back towards Lizzer-Czawalgam. Barely three kilometres into their journey, the vehicle was intercepted by a BSF patrol and ordered to halt. “They first scolded the driver and told him to dim the lights,” recalled Malik. “While my brother tried to show them the curfew pass, they shot the driver.”
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