were intercepted by a police officer who confirmed Asim’sstatus as a member of Hurriyat. The report also mentioned that he was suspected of using hawala to bankroll stone-pelters in the valley a few summers back.
“A real troublemaker! What is he doing here?” Ankush wondered aloud.
Asim was uncharacteristically quiet, sipping a small glass of tea; his expression changed as soon as he saw Vijay. He scowled.
“What are you doing here, Asim? Why are you here? Long way from Trigam for you.”
“Why should I answer you? This is our country, not yours; I should ask you the question. What are you doing here?” spat Asim.
Vijay didn’t have time for this. He walked across the room and slapped Asim repeatedly. “You better understand that this is not a political rally, neither are we reporters who will listen and debate your nonsense? Now you start answering my questions, and keep your speeches for when you become the chief minister, okay? Understand, or should I explain again?” Asim nodded visibly shaken.
“I came to meet my old uncle who is not well.”
“When did you come from Trigam?”
“Day before morning. Took a bus and a cousin picked me up from the highway on his motorcycle.”
“Where were you last night?”
“I had dinner at seven and went to sleep in my house.”
“Are you sure? Where did you sleep?”
“On the bed, sir, where else?” Asim allowed himself a smirk.
“Really? We went to your house; the bed was not slept in.”
The smirk vanished from Asim’s face. Vijay gestured to the policeman outside, who brought in a gunny sack and a polythene bag.
“Are these clothes yours? I said, are these clothes yours, Asim?” Vijay repeated.
“No … yes they are….”
“Where were you yesterday?” The salwar had gashes and was soiled at the ankles as if somebody had been in the mud wearing them. “You went into the forest at night, didn’t you?” Vijay pulled out the shoes from the gunny sack and pointed the sole at Asim.
There was a stream on the far side of the village bordering the woods. It was far enough from the village that it could not be considered a stroll as per the policeman who had briefed Vijay on the topography of the area. “Stream bed mud. So you crossed over into the forest. Who were you meeting there? We know that someone from the other side passed through the area. Look Asim, whoever you are protecting will run into us today or tomorrow and eventually get killed. You know how it is nowadays, don’t you?” Vijay said.
It was true, a militant was lucky to survive three months in the valley without being tracked down and terminated. The army units were based in the area for two to three years with most senior officers, having service experience of more than five years in the valley. They knew the topography and the mindset of the local populace. Every trooper inducted into the valley underwent proper acclimatisation and training sessions. Units like the RR had archival institutional experience and contacts in the local population. The militants were usually from Pakistani states of Punjab or from poorer regions of the POK. Some were from as far as Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA) and Afghanistan. Without local guides, they were cannon fodder. Most troops had years of training under their belt, while the militants hardly had few weeks, if any, of training. The odds were heavily stacked against an insurgent crossing over. The factthat most local militant organisations espousing the ‘cause’ had either gone political or had been eliminated were proof of the inability of the insurgency to shake the foundations of Indian control in the state.
Vijay’s voice suddenly turned icy cold. “But you … I will personally put a bullet in your head if you don’t start talking; tell me who they were and where they were heading … And you walk out from here unharmed or you go home in a bag.” Asim seemed to get the general idea. Vijay was not in a mood to
“A real troublemaker! What is he doing here?” Ankush wondered aloud.
Asim was uncharacteristically quiet, sipping a small glass of tea; his expression changed as soon as he saw Vijay. He scowled.
“What are you doing here, Asim? Why are you here? Long way from Trigam for you.”
“Why should I answer you? This is our country, not yours; I should ask you the question. What are you doing here?” spat Asim.
Vijay didn’t have time for this. He walked across the room and slapped Asim repeatedly. “You better understand that this is not a political rally, neither are we reporters who will listen and debate your nonsense? Now you start answering my questions, and keep your speeches for when you become the chief minister, okay? Understand, or should I explain again?” Asim nodded visibly shaken.
“I came to meet my old uncle who is not well.”
“When did you come from Trigam?”
“Day before morning. Took a bus and a cousin picked me up from the highway on his motorcycle.”
“Where were you last night?”
“I had dinner at seven and went to sleep in my house.”
“Are you sure? Where did you sleep?”
“On the bed, sir, where else?” Asim allowed himself a smirk.
“Really? We went to your house; the bed was not slept in.”
The smirk vanished from Asim’s face. Vijay gestured to the policeman outside, who brought in a gunny sack and a polythene bag.
“Are these clothes yours? I said, are these clothes yours, Asim?” Vijay repeated.
“No … yes they are….”
“Where were you yesterday?” The salwar had gashes and was soiled at the ankles as if somebody had been in the mud wearing them. “You went into the forest at night, didn’t you?” Vijay pulled out the shoes from the gunny sack and pointed the sole at Asim.
There was a stream on the far side of the village bordering the woods. It was far enough from the village that it could not be considered a stroll as per the policeman who had briefed Vijay on the topography of the area. “Stream bed mud. So you crossed over into the forest. Who were you meeting there? We know that someone from the other side passed through the area. Look Asim, whoever you are protecting will run into us today or tomorrow and eventually get killed. You know how it is nowadays, don’t you?” Vijay said.
It was true, a militant was lucky to survive three months in the valley without being tracked down and terminated. The army units were based in the area for two to three years with most senior officers, having service experience of more than five years in the valley. They knew the topography and the mindset of the local populace. Every trooper inducted into the valley underwent proper acclimatisation and training sessions. Units like the RR had archival institutional experience and contacts in the local population. The militants were usually from Pakistani states of Punjab or from poorer regions of the POK. Some were from as far as Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA) and Afghanistan. Without local guides, they were cannon fodder. Most troops had years of training under their belt, while the militants hardly had few weeks, if any, of training. The odds were heavily stacked against an insurgent crossing over. The factthat most local militant organisations espousing the ‘cause’ had either gone political or had been eliminated were proof of the inability of the insurgency to shake the foundations of Indian control in the state.
Vijay’s voice suddenly turned icy cold. “But you … I will personally put a bullet in your head if you don’t start talking; tell me who they were and where they were heading … And you walk out from here unharmed or you go home in a bag.” Asim seemed to get the general idea. Vijay was not in a mood to
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