Javed Shaikh (name changed), 35, drives an autorickshaw in Srinagar
and lives with his wife and three school-going children. But there has
been no respite for him despite choosing a “normal life”. Being a
released ex-militant, Shaikh has to endure an immense amount of mental
pressure.

He lamented, “People like us are often picked up by the security forces and money is extorted from our families to free us. This will never end. We made the mistake of choosing the wrong path and we will continue to pay for it, alongwith our families.”

But the truth remains that Shaikh was a militant from Jihad Force for
three years. After his arrest by the Army in 1993, Shaikh got his
first taste of disillusionment. That became the turning point in his
life, “My wife delivered a baby girl the day I got arrested. She was
in a serious condition but no help came. My group allocates money for
imprisoned and released militants, but the money never reached us.
Later, I learnt that our own outfit commanders cheated us of our
share. By the time, I was released 15 months later, I felt let down to
see that our commanders had property worth crores.”

Shaikh’s case is the story of many others in the Valley. At the same
time, it’s also because of thousands like him, that militancy has
declined in comparison to the early nineties. Gone are the days when
militants roamed freely on the streets of Kashmir, thirsty for azaadi
(freedom), they thought, was only a few weeks away. The movement was
crushed by India, thanks to the Ikhawanis ? militants who offered
themselves to the government to eliminate Pakistan-backed outfits at a
price.

Hundreds of dreaded militants took up the Army’s offer and agreed to
decimate Pakistan-sponsored the Hizb-ul-Mujahideen (HM) between 1994
and 1996 for several reasons. Firstly, there were frequent militant
group clashes on issues like differences in core ideologies [freedom
versus pro-Pakistan], affiliations to various religious schools of
thought [fundamentalists like the Jamaat-e-Islami versus the more
liberal ones affiliating themselves to the Sufi cult which throng
dargahs, which was banned by the HM] and later, the killing of
prominent religious figures. The Army exploited these differences, and
several trigger-happy militants joined the Ikhwanis. Charges of
extortion, rape, forced marraiages at gun-point and extra-judicial
killings were leveled against this band of renegades ? the
Ikhwan-ul-Muslimeen. But these did not get in the way of the India’s
offensive. The organisation got its name from the first militant group
that joined hands with the Army to kill militants.

Said a senior police officer from Srinagar, “At the zenith of
militancy in 1990-91, the Jammu and Kashmir Police (JKP) did not fight
the militants, and so the Army was called. The Army didn’t have local
intelligence or support and struggled to cope. Through backdoor talks
with the military, top militants like the dreaded Kuka Parrey, Liyakat
and Gulam Nabi Azad surrendered. Since they had better knowledge of
the militants than the government, the Army used them. They ended up
eliminating thousands of militants at the behest of the government.”

Liyakat Ali, a militant from South Kashmir, masterminded the Ikhwani
(informer or a renegade) movement in South Kashmir, said a source. He
influenced North Kashmir’s Kuka Parrey and convinced him to help the
Army.

The police official explained the reason for these much-feared
militants switching sides, “They were not ideologically motivated.
They were more interested in the quest for power that flowed through
the barrel of the gun. They were given absolute power by the system.
Their main hubs were Sonawari, Anantnag (also known as Islamabad) and
Bandipora ? areas that even the Army preferred not to enter.”

From his home in Anantnag, Ali said, “I joined the movement in 1989.
When I turned 20, I visited Pakistan and Afghanistan for training. In
Afghanistan, I fought under Najibullah’s forces as part of the
Hizb-i-Islami. As a militant, I was active in Kashmir till 1995.”

Ali explained why he became a militant, “I was born in a place where
you inherit the feeling that this was an illegal occupation by India.
The atmosphere was charged.” After graduation, he joined the Students’
Liberation Front (SLF) before leaving for Pakistan and Afghanistan.
Finally, SLF joined Ikhwan-ul-Muslimeen upon his return. In Kashmir,
Ali’s job was to “recruit candidates and look into the group’s
problems.”

But Ali’s foundations and perceptions about the freedom struggle were
about to change. He recalled his interaction with an ISI officer in
Muzaffarabad, PoK, and “Kashmir had over 175 militant groups that were
created by Pakistan I asked this officer why the number of groups was
so high. His answer was, just in case a group changed loyalties, there
should be another group to counter it. I was shocked.”

Back in Kashmir, Ali found himself in a tight situation, “In town, the
security forces were thirsty for our blood.  Outside, the HM would
chase us. I was abducted by the HM twice. I tried to sell the idea of
joining hands with the Army to some people from my outfit. It took me
three months to convince them. Brigadier M P Singh invited us and I
headed the group of Ikhwanis. By 1995, we contained militancy. Soon
the elections were to be held, ministers met us, asking us to
contest.”

In 2002, Ali contested elections but lost. He cites the reason, “There
were excesses on our part while fighting militancy. To get to one
militant, 20 people were inconvenienced. People hated Ikhwanis and I
was their leader.” After 1996, Ali stopped working with the Army, “I
started growing into politics and away from counter-insurgency. As
Chairman of the Ikhwanis, I used to interact with top commanders and
physically participating in operations was not possible.” But politics
is on Ali’s mind. He plans to float a political party soon.

By 1994, the Ikhwani culture had seeped to the ranks of JK police.
These days, a Special Police Officer (SPO) earns Rs 3,000 per month.
His family accompanies him whenever he moves, and the security forces
always protect them. The next milestone arrived when the Ikhwanis were
inducted in the Indian Army. They were called the Territorial Army
(TA). Said a police officer, “By this time, absolute power had
corrupted them and they were acting akin to local goondas. But the
government ignored their nuisance value as they were successfully
eliminating militants.”

But this not an easy way for life. Especially for Updrasheed Dar (code
names Khursheed, Alam). This 35-year-old was among the first batch of
militants to surrender. Most of his militant friends and Ikhwanis are
dead. He said, “In 1989, we had decided jihad karna hai. Everyone
wanted that. I participated in the Jammu Kashmir Liberation Front
(JKLF), and in 1989, 56 of us went to Doodnihar, Azad Kashmir for
training. We trained in a camp for six months.”

In 1990, Dar reported to Kashmir and was assigned his “area” by the
militant commanders. This Commander from Qazigund said, “We fought
with the HM for territorial control. One day, an HM militant killed a
maulvi and we [JKLF] revolted. Fearing retaliation, we joined the
Muslameen Mujahideen (MM), a group with a strong clout in Shilipora,
Anantnag. At the time, we suspected they were working with the Army.
They offered us facilities if we co-operated with them. And we did,
because at that time, the militants were killing our people.”

“The first year, the government paid each worker Rs 3,000 per month, a
company commander Rs 4,000 and a battalion commander Rs 6,000. After
militancy declined, a worker was paid Rs 1,500, a company commander Rs
2,000 and a battalion commander Rs 2,500.”

Dar goes on to say that the government offered them a choice of
joining politics. When they agreed, the Army confiscated their weapons
and the rigged the elections. “We felt let-down and vulnerable as we
were open to militant strikes. We are still living on a prayer.”

With no one to turn to Dar’s last hope was the local police, “We
rushed to the police for protection. They immediately issues licenses
for weapons and offered us jobs. In 2002, when I was with the Army, I
was offered a role in the TA. The government had also promised us
loans if we joined the TA. But by then I was too old to adapt to the
Army’s way of life. Plus I had my family to think of.”

Dar recalled, “The Ikhwani movement started with 450 surrendered
militants. At the time the TA offer came, only 231 of our boys had
survived. The rest had been killed or had given up this way of life.
Out of these, 100 boys joined the TA. By 2004, militancy had raised
its ugly head again, so the police brought us back. But this time
around, workers, company commanders and battalion commanders were all
appointed as SPOs and there was no distinction in their pay structure.
This left many senior Ikhwanis’ egos sore. He complained, “Ordinary
SPOs get promoted, we don’t. How can I run a household with this
meager salary?” Dar asks, showing a scar on his neck where the
militants shot him. His three-year-old son was shot and killed when
militants attacked his house. The disillusionment persistently glares
during the conversation.

Said a local sub-inspector, “When these guys roamed with the Army,
they committed many atrocities that they weren’t held responsible for.
The locals and the militants hate them. When they joined the police,
we ensured protection to the people and made it a point to punish them
when they exercised their power against common folk.”

A fine example of this is Papa Kishtwari from Pampore. A militant
commander with the Harkat-ul-Mujahideen for several years, he joined
the Army and went on to eliminated 96 militants [single-handedly],
while his group’s henchmen killed hundreds for over 15 years.
Currently, he languishes in jail faced with several serious charges.

The policeman added, “Back then, they used to spend lakhs of rupees in
a day, now we have curbed their extortion and the government does not
pay them that much since militancy has gone down. Hence the level of
frustration among them is high.”

And this frustration manifests itself is many ways. “He’s an alcoholic
and brutally beats up his wife regularly,” warned a police constable,
pointing to Mohammad Jala Sofi (code name Jameel). This resident of
Guri works as a renegade with the local police.

Said Sofi, “I was the National Conference block president when the HM
abducted me. There were eight boys from our village who left for
training with the Ikhwan-u-Muslameen. At the time, Jamaat-e-Islami
guys used to fund the HM. I was in hiding to protect myself from the
HM. When these boys approached me, I decided to join them.”

In Guri, Sofi and his band of 18 boys used to transport weapons,
wireless sets and money for the group Ikhwan-ul-Muslimeen. The Army
caught me. To save my life, I revealed details and that saved my life.
When they brought me to Bijbehara in Anantnag, I understood that those
boys had given me up and they already been working for the Army.”

Sofi was sharp to recognised the army man who had confiscated his set,
“Earlier, when I had interacted with him he had pretended to be a
militant. Later, he gave me a wireless set and told me work as an
informer. Initially, we started off with 4 weapons. Two months after
we became Ikhwanis, we had 71 weapons. We also made a lot of money
during those days, when we killed hundreds of militants.”

Recalling the glory days of victories they had had in “operations”, an
inebriated Sofi slurred, “In Guri, 30 army men and 40 Ikhwanis had
been surrounded by 110 militants. There was firing all night. The next
morning, we cordoned off the village, killed the militant commander
and soon, the rest surrendered. Only after that, the politicians who
fled the Valley, returned home. We restored law and order and then the
elections were held. We did the work and the medals went to the Army.
We had no idea the government was paying the Army as much as Rs 12
lakh to eliminate militants. We never saw that money.”

A bitter Sofi raised his voice, which brought a policeman to the room
to check if all was well, “For 13 years, I have fought Pakistan with
India. My house was burnt several times by the militants. I can’t
leave home without protection. We have lost so many boys. We were
cheated out of our rewards. Most of the times, the Army did not even
accompany us on operations; we’ve done it on our own. And this is the
petty amount we get per month.”

Bitterness and anger is all that’s left with the Ikhwanis in Kashmir
who once reigned but now have been swept aside in the power games.
Sadly, the bitterness permeates all the way to the people who have
endured 17 long years of a bloody conflict. The irony is lies in the
fact that the reasons Ikhwanis gave for joining the army became their
trademark ? that they were tortured, cheated and slain by militants,
soon became their own routine. Not only that, they also perpetrated
crimes against civilians who had never been their tormentors.

A recent visit to a city hospital left a mark. Luckily, dad has no serious health issues but the surgeon who was standing beside me did not have good news for someone’s mom. I was waiting my turn and could not help but overhear the news the doctor was breaking to an old man and his daughter who could well have been my age.

The doctor went on to explain how they got to the ovaries but the cancer had spread and there was not much they could do for the patient. The father and daughter duo, both stared with their mouths open. As the doctor got into technicalities of what they found and what they did during the operation, the man’s daughter put her hand on his back to steady him. The other hand went to cover her mouth.

The body language didn’t move me but the look in their eyes tore me apart. I have only seen that look twice in my life - once in the eyes of a dying man - the fear and pain; and once in an animal’s, who was also in excruciating pain. A look of helplessness, despair, resignation. A look I never want to see on the face of someone I love ever again. A look that should never appear on any body’s face ever again.

I know, after that talk with the doctor, their lives will never be the same again. I know, I’ve changed.

I left the hospital, knowing my father was going to be fine. But I’m not taking this for granted… not after today.