Harassing to change statement

Ghulam Muhammad Bhat, son of Khazir Muhammad of Shanipora Khansahib in Budgam district, was picked up by SOG personnel of JK Police on the intervening night of July 29-30, 2003, and killed in custody, according to his family.
“It was 9 in the evening, when suddenly SOG men entered our house and dragged out my husband. He was taking dinner that time and when we intervened, the SOG personnel ruthlessly beat us,” Bhat’s wife Lateefa Begum told Greater Kashmir.
“At 2:30 am same night our house was again raided by the SOG. They searched the whole house and threatened us of dire consequences if we won’t give information about militants. One of the SOG personnel who was speaking Kashmiri told me, if you would not have provided food to militants, it wouldn’t have happened,” she added.
Lateefa said that next morning when they approached SOG camp and police station Khansahib, “They denied having arrested my husband.”
Bhat, a carpet weaver, had been killed during the night of his arrest. He was brutally tortured due to which he died. On the evening of July 30, his body was handed over to his family.
The SOG had also arrested Abdur Rehman Mir son of Muhammad Ramzan of the same village that evening.
“After SOG arrested me, I was taken to Fujpora, a neighboring village where I saw Bhat. Then both of us were taken to Khansahib SOG camp where we were kept in two separate cells. After a few minutes, I heard cries of Bhat who was being tortured. I was mum as I knew that now it would be my turn,” Rehman told GK.
“After some time, the SOG personnel came to me and said if I won’t give information about militants I would also be given same treatment. When I said that I don’t have any information about militants, they kicked me. Later I was asked to move to the room where Bhat was kept,” he said, and added, “When I saw Bhat, he was naked and blood was oozing out of his mouth and nostrils.”
Recalling that horrifying night, Rehman said that a doctor was called to see Bhat. “But the doctor declared him dead. He (Bhat) was given third degree torture.”
“It was a horrifying scene. I was shocked. Next day when Bhat’s body was handed over to his family members, I was also released with a warning that I won’t open my mouth, otherwise I would also meet the same fate,” he added.
On July 30, 2003, police station Khansahib lodged an FIR of the incident. However, surprisingly, the FIR has been lodged against 29 and 35 Rashtriya Rifles battalions. The FIR No 208 of July 30, 2003 reads that Bhat was arrested by the RR and he died in their custody.
After Bhat’s custodial killing, massive protests rocked Budgam after which a probe was ordered into the killing. Bhat’s family and Rehman have recorded their statements before the authorities stating that SOG was responsible for the killing.
Lateefa Begum says that she doesn’t know why the FIR has been lodged against the Army. “My husband was arrested by SOG officer Shabir Ahmad. But if police says my husband was killed by the Army, let an independent probe be ordered and killers be brought to book.”
“I’ve four kids and no source of income. After my husband’s death, I sent my two elder kids to an orphanage as I can’t feed them. Life has become an ordeal for us. I’ve developed psychiatric problems and I’m on treatment. But at times, I’m not able to purchase medicines. What was the sin of my husband?” she asked.
Advocate Mir Hafizullah, who has filed a petition before Chief Judicial Magistrate Budgam on behalf of the victims, said, “The FIR has been deliberately lodged against the Army to shield SOG personnel as Army enjoys impunity under Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA).”
The CJM has ordered police station Khansahib to submit the report of the case by June 10, 2008.
However, Bhat’s family said they are being harassed by the SOG personnel not to give any statement against them. “SOG officer Shabir Ahmad, who killed my husband, sends me threats that if give any statement against him, he will kill all my family members. I’m being asked to change my statement against the SOG,” Lateefa said.
She appealed the higher ups in the police and army to investigate the matter and punish the guilty.

@ By ZULFIKAR MAJID (GK)

Cry Of Mother

A woman with sad eyes and the bearing of a Roman general leads her bereaved followers up the stone steps of the sacred Makhdoom Sahib shrine to seek blessings for Kashmir's missing men. Near the relics of the saint, they weep and wail for the return of husbands and sons who have vanished during the 18-year insurgency against Indian rule. A male worshiper objects as a photographer takes pictures – after all, this is a place of devotion. But Parveena Ahangar barks at the worshiper with the moral authority that only a large middle-aged mother can command. "We have lost our relatives. We are not here for tourism, sir." She stares him down and barks again. "The world must know how we grieve."
The man slinks away.Mrs. Ahangar is the champion of families left vulnerable in this conflict. She's also a ferocious oddity in a traditional Muslim culture where a veiled woman's place is in the kitchen. This barely literate housewife has become the globe-trotting face of a campaign to account for what human rights groups claim are 10,000 disappeared men. Indian security forces, an estimated half a million are in the region, have often responded harshly to the attacks here. Missing men have been snatched from their homes or picked up for just walking near the sites of grenade attacks. Human rights defenders say many have died in Indian jails and have been buried under false names. Indian authorities dispute the disappearance figure and assert that most of those alleged to be missing slipped into Pakistan for guerrilla training, which has coveted this Muslim-dominated area since partition in 1947. Whatever the number, the 600 members of the group Ahangar formed in 1994 – the Association of Parents of Disappeared Persons (www.disappearancesinkashmir.org) – have been forced to the margins of this paternalistic society while the fate of their men remains unknown. Most are unskilled women who were jolted into a breadwinning role for which they were not prepared. Many have been forced to beg or give up children to orphanages – and they lack the emotional closure that a burial can bring.
"The disappearances are like a cancer," Ahangar says. "We have been struggling for 18 years without a cure."
To fight back, she organizes regular protests across the valley and provides families with legal advice. On a given day, one can find villagers from remote areas sitting on the floor of her unheated house, sipping salty Kashmiri tea as they go through documents. Ahangar advises them on how to lodge claims and which Islamic charities can school the children. By keeping the issue alive and building solidarity, members feel relieved of the sense of powerlessness that keeps them up at night.
"She gives me strength," says Rahet Kowoosa, a widow who cries easily. Every day for the past 16 years she has replayed the evening that her son, Mohammad, was seized by soldiers riding in a truck. They smashed her hands with rifle butts when she tried to block the vehicle. Since then, she has scoured Indian Army camps and jails, and filed court petitions to demand his whereabouts. "If I could bury him, I would have some satisfaction visiting his grave," she says. Ahangar mops Ms. Kowoosa's tears with a cloth and sobs along.
Among the most frustrated are the so-called Half Widows. Until their husbands are proved dead, these women cannot inherit their property or claim state compensation. Often in-laws throw them out, leaving them to fend for themselves. Islamic law only allows these women to remarry after seven years, but most choose not to in case their husbands return. Ahangar feels their pain. In August 1990, Indian security forces stormed a relative's house and dragged out her 16-year-old son, Javeed Ahmad. She says they thought he was a militant who had the same name. Thus began her own hunt, so far fruitless. "I couldn't just sit and do nothing," she says. "My heart had shredded."By her own admission, Ahangar is an unlikely candidate to challenge Indian authorities. She had a sheltered upbringing as the daughter of a building contractor, married a mechanic at age 12, and immediately set about producing five children. Until her son disappeared, Ahangar largely did housework.
She still remains unworldly. Ahangar cannot read her nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize written by "someone in New Delhi." She is unsure how many countries she has flown to for international human rights meetings. ("Four? Five? Ask my niece.") But she's savvy in attracting media attention and donations. Ahangar says that public pressure has worked, pointing to a gradual decline in disappearances from 81 in 2003 to none so far this year. Some government officials have put the total number of unaccounted-for people at around 3,000, but insist that many of those were militants who went into hiding and are not victims of "enforced disappearances." Authorities consider her group sufficiently embarrassing to periodically break up events and detain her. In recent weeks, Indian security forces have visited the homes of various association members and asked them for photographs and details of the missing so that they can search for them. Rights activists believe the gestures are a direct response to her campaign.
Ahangar's boldness has also raised hackles at the Coalition of Civil Society, an umbrella group that she split from recently over "differences." Representatives there describe a large ego that cannot share the public limelight. At the same time, they praise her organizing skills. "Of course we respect her," says Khurram Parvez, the coalition's program coordinator. "Her presence has motivated other families." That mobilizing spirit was in force back at the shrine. A young woman shyly approached Ahangar after witnessing the commotion with the irritated man. Her husband was missing. Could Ahangar help? Ahangar nodded briskly and motioned to a minion to note down details. The other half widows circled the newcomer with hugs. "We'll take care of you," Ahangar said, making an appointment to discuss the case.

Reporting for this story was funded in part by a fellowship from the South Asian Journalists Association.

Letter From Tihar Jail

“Ussi Ka Shahr, Wohi Mud’daie Wohi Munsif – Mujhe Maloom Tha Mera Qasoor Nikle Ga (City theirs, pretender theirs; Theirs is the judge – I knew they’d find a fault in me),” Mohammad Iqbal Jan, rounds off a letter with the couplet, he has sent to Greater Kashmir from the Delhi’s Tihar Jail - he and his co-accused friend, Mushtaq Ahmad Kaloo, have been languishing in since November 2006। Iqbal and his friend were picked up by Delhi police from an old Delhi hotel on 16, November but were shown arrested from old Delhi’s railway station. “They (Delhi police) abducted us on gun point immediately after we checked out from the hotel, Rest-In, and bundled us in an Indica car,” the letter unfolding the sequence of events, reads. “They asked us to produce our identity cards which we did. They checked our suitcases. I was carrying Rs. 5,50,000 with me out of which I had paid Rs. 18,000 to Delton Industries at Pritampur. Their eyes lit up on seeing the cash and they snatched it. When I resented, they threatened to kill us.” The letter further reads, “They took us to Lodhi Colony where a special cell of Delhi police functioned and tied our hands to tables like animals. On 27 November, they told us that we’d be freed and instructed us to take bath and put on new clothes. They brought us to the old Delhi railway station in the night. They removed our jackets and took away our belongings.” Iqbal says, “The moment we were on the road, some policemen shouted, Pakdo, Pakdo (catch them, catch them). Some more cops appeared which were brought in the same vehicle that had just dropped us and pushed us into the car. I saw my suitcase lying open on the road with my belongings scattered. Strangely, there was a box lying nearby which did not belong to me. When I asked what it was, they said, there’re sweets in it. They took us back to their office and the next day they got a 10-day remand from a mobile magistrate at 6 p.m. using a rear entry to his office.” The duo was paraded before the media. “The police threatened us if we opened our mouth before the press, they would kill us and our family,” writes Iqbal. The police fabricated the case like this: “The duo was to collect a box of RDX from a person, Raju of Deoband at old Delhi railway station. The police apprehended the duo when they were waiting for him. A person namely Sikander Khan was made a public witness to the case.” Iqbal asserts, “This is how the Delhi police cooked up the story and got us falsely implicated.” Back home, the senior superintendent of police, Varmul, has issued a non-involvement certificate in favour of the accused. Even the village numberdar has certified the accused of their non-involvement in militant activities. “I’m ready to face a CBI probe,” Iqbal writes. “If I have done anything wrong, let me be punished. I don’t want to languish in the jail as an under-trial indefinitely.” A gas-distributor, Iqbal, with his friend Mushtaq Ahmad Kaloo had booked a Jet Airways flight to Delhi on 14 November. From the IGI airport, they had hired an auto-rickshaw and checked in at the hotel, Rest-In. Iqbal was carrying the money to be deposited in the company’s Chandigarh office. Iqbal writes they’re being subjected to all manners of ill-treatment in the jail. “Our kin travel all the way from Kashmir and the authorities do not allow them to meet us. We’ve been kept amongst hardcore criminals. They let us out only for one hour in the day. In the scorching heat, we’re not given a drop of water to drink. They abuse us whenever we raise our voice and even say bad things to our religion,” he writes. ‘If at all, we’ve done something wrong, why do they abuse our religion? Incidentally, the letter has come around the time when several reputed human rights activists from all over India had converged on Kashmir’s capital, Srinagar, to unleash their concern over the inhuman conditions of innocent natives in various jails across the country. A letter by India’s leading human rights activists to the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) to “probe the communal policies of the Tihar authorities” has once again brought into sharp focus the malady which afflicts the custodians of law.

@ by M FAROOQ SHAH (GK)