By Ghulam hAsnain
in Muzaffarabad and Karachi
http://www.outlookindia.com/20000925/coverstory.htm
Sitting cross-legged, facing the first Indian ridge at the
border town of Ath Maqam in Pakistan-held Kashmir, Abu Mahaz, 25, anxiously
awaits the moment when he would be behind that mountain. A Lashkar-e-Toiba
militant, Mahaz had been to India twice and returned home safely after
participating in various missions. But this time, this village school dropout
from Abbotabad in Pakistan’s North-west Frontier Province (nwfp) has been
selected for a special task: a suicide mission, or what the jehadi groups call
fidai missions.
On an earlier operation in India, Abu lost one of his
friends, Abu Talah Hazarvi, who was killed during an attack on the 15 Corps
headquarters at Badamibagh, Srinagar. But not before Abu and his friend gunned
down Maj Purushottaman and two others. Recalls Abu, "Our target was to kill
Gen Krishan Pal. But somehow, we could not get hold of him... This time, I am
going on a suicide mission. And I am happy. I will soon achieve martyrdom."
Indeed, this Pakistan-based mujahideen group launched the
new strategy of suicide missions soon after Kargil in an attempt to boost the
sagging morale of the militants and deliver deadly blows to the Indian army.
Abu has been in the Lashkar for only three years but has
already witnessed the death of several friends in clashes with the Indian army.
His family has a tradition of militarism. One brother is in the Pakistani army,
another fought in Afghanistan and is now a religious cleric in Abbotabad. His
father is a farmer.
But not everyone has the same social background. In fact,
hundreds of other young Pakistani jehadis fighting the Indian forces in Kashmir
are from all strata of Pakistani society - innocent village boys, sons of urban
middle-class families and highly-qualified expatriates who chucked their cushy
jobs to rough it out in the strife-torn Valley. What brings together these boys
from diverse backgrounds is the one-point agenda: the destruction of Hindu India
and the renaissance of Islam. For them, it’s a brotherhood, secure as they are
in the knowledge that their families would be taken care of were they to be
killed in India. The families of the dead are provided a monthly stipend.
Usually, the militants are expected to marry the womenfolk of their dead
comrades.
The modus operandi is to recruit the future militant at an
early age. At a Lashkar madrasa in Karachi, children as young as eight are
groomed for the guerrilla warfare during their religious education. For
instance, every night, teachers issue a new code for each class and the boys
have to remember it for the next 24 hours. This, because the armed guards at the
gate of the premises would allow them in only after the code is given. In the
afternoon, the students listen to lectures on the importance of jehad in a
Muslim’s life.
Pakistan’s
madrasas are the recruiting ground for militants. Pampered and officially
patronised during the 11-year regime of the late Gen Zia-ul-Haq, the country has
now over 2,000 madrasas spread across Pakistan. Some of these religious schools
are directly manned by the jehadi leaders; most others recommend the potential
terrorist to myriad militant organisations.
The selection process is tough. A new entrant has to first
undergo a training for three weeks at one of the camps the jehadi groups have
established in Muzaffarabad and the nwfp. Here, basic training in handling arms
is imparted, as is a course of ideological indoctrination.
Initial training completed, the boys are sent to their
respective towns and cities, where for the next few months they work as
volunteers for different militant groups. However, what the young militants
don’t know is that during this period they are closely watched and assessed
for their commitment to the cause of jehad. Those selected are then sent for a
three-month commando training.
The teachers at the training centres are former Afghan
veterans or senior mujahid who have spent a good part of their life fighting in
the Valley. Under them, the boys learn to use AK-47s, handle explosives and
participate in mock attacks on dummy Indian convoys and positions. In all, it
costs Rs 1 lakh to train a militant.
Their final test is an endurance test. The selected boys
walk and climb for 72 hours without food and water and are allowed a few
hours’ nap. Once they pass this test, the recruit is ready to cross the
border.
The jehadi groups seek the permission of parents before
sending the militant to fight across the border. Often, though, the
indoctrinated boys force their parents into allowing them to wage the jehad.
Take the case of Gulzar Ali, 40, a labourer from Okara in
Punjab. He wanted his son Rizwan Ahmed to seek a job in the Gulf. Instead,
Rizwan joined the Pakistan-based Al-Badr organisation. He died in Sopore, 60 km
from Srinagar, in 1997, at the age of 16. Says Gulzar, "I thought that he
will become my right hand. However, he was adamant to go there. My wife was also
in favour of his going. So I let him go. He was so young that no jehadi group
was willing to take him to India. Finally, Al-Badr gave him the chance."
Ironically, Gulzar is now himself a member of Al-Badr and wants to fight
Indians.
There are families here which have committed their sons to
fight India. For instance, Syed Rizwan Ali, 70, a retired draftsman, sent three
of his five sons to Kashmir. Two of them, Arsalan and Yassir, died there; the
third, Irfan, is now the chief launching commander of Al-Badr in Muzaffarabad.
"I don’t feel any regret or guilt. Instead, I’m ready to commit my
other sons too," says Rizwan Ali, himself an activist of the Jamaat-e-Islami.
Karachi-based Parveen Akhtar, who lost her son Rashid in
Kashmir, has no regrets either: "When I was told about his death, I wept
like any other mother. But then it’s a big honour for me. I am thankful to god
that I have produced a warrior who died fighting the infidels," she adds.
Every year, hundreds of young volunteers from across the
country go through a rigorous guerrilla training for three months at the
Muzaffarabad-based Maskar Abdullah bin Masoud training facility of the Lashkar.
In the odd hours, the hills surrounding the city echo with gunfire or
explosions. People here know that another band of mujahids is being prepared to
fight Indians.
There are 18 or so jehadi organisations operating out of
Pakistan. And none denies they enjoy official patronage. The bigger jehadi
groups - such as Lashkar, Al-Badr and Harkat-ul-Mujahideen - have their own
training facilities in various Pakistani cities. There are camps at Ugi in
Mansehra, nwfp; smaller groups, including those of the Kashmiris, send their
boys to government-run training facilities.
Obviously, the isi plays a crucial role in sustaining the
jehad factory. Everyone agrees that jehad can’t be carried on without the
support of the isi. Indeed, the isi’s stranglehold over these groups is such
that even an irresponsible press statement by a jehadi leader can put him in
trouble. "Sometimes you find a junior-level isi clerk knocking at your
door, carrying a clipping of your press statement, asking for an explanation.
It’s humiliating," recalls the once-powerful chief of the
Harkat-ul-Mujahideen, Maulana Fazlur Rehman. "Therefore, I am always
cautious while talking to the press," he says.
Adds another militant, "The moment the isi feels a
jehad body is becoming powerful, it incites trouble in that party or tries to
split it. Breaking the bigger groups by throwing money, arms and vehicles and
putting new leaders in the driving seat is their style."
However, the groups fall in line as they can’t operate
without the institutional help the isi provides. This was proved true in
Afghanistan; and there is consensus that the Kashmir movement would collapse
were the isi to withdraw its patronage. "It will be a tragedy. We could
still operate in the absence of the government’s help but the movement will
soon die out," says a senior jehadi leader.
Currently, there is some heartburn among the militants that
Maulana Masood Azhar is the new horse the isi has put its bet on. Azhar, who
formed his own jehadi organisation, Jaish-e-Mohammad, after he was released in
exchange for the hijacked passengers of IC 814, has an ambitious plan to raise
an army of 5,00,000 volunteers to fight in the Valley. The Maulana has been
successful, largely because he took over the offices and facilities of his
parent party Harkat-ul-Mujahideen, whose in-house publications he edited once.
Indeed, the ranks of the militants swelled following the
withdrawal of the Soviet forces from Afghanistan, which allowed the veterans of
the war there to shift their attention to Kashmir. Thus, most jehadi outfits,
with the exception of a few Kashmir-based groups, are being overseen by the
Afghans.
There’s no dearth of new recruits for these groups.
Often, it becomes difficult for them to handle the pressure trained militants
mount for crossing the border. No wonder the Hizbul Mujahideen’s ceasefire
shocked these Pakistani groups. Even now, they are angry with those Kashmiri
leaders who wanted to hold peace parleys with New Delhi. They have now been
dubbed as traitors. "There can’t be any peace while India remains intact.
Cut them, cut them. Cut them so much that they kneel before you and ask for
mercy. Only then can we think of any talks," roared Prof Hafiz Mohammad
Saeed, chief of the Lashkar-e-Toiba, at an independent rally in Karachi. Warns
Bakht Zameen, ‘amir’ of Al-Badr, "Syed Salahuddin (the leader of the
Kashmiri-dominated Hizbul Mujahideen) should not try to become Yasser
Arafat."
An in-house publication of Al-Badr warned thus,
"Salahuddin should make it clear that it is not just the Kashmiris who shed
their blood for Kashmir. There are thousands of Pakistani families whose boys
have nurtured the Kashmir movement with their blood... Don’t fall in the trap
of America and India."
Hizb leaders have now become suspect in the eyes of other
jehadi groups. Its chief Salahuddin has been accused of being a traitor by all -
from Jamaat-e-Islami to outfits like Al-Badr and Lashkar. The ceasefire
interlude has also brought the undercurrent of hostility between Kashmiri and
non-Kashmiri jehadi outfits to the fore.
"Earlier, we used to work together with the Hizb. But
our casualty rate was abnormal. It appears that someone was leaking information.
So we decided to operate independently. Since then, we are not facing that
problem," remarks an Al-Badr leader in Karachi. But Abdul Musawir, a former
Hizb leader, counters, "Kashmiris should be left alone to decide their own
destiny. Pakistan should not impose its will on them."
Indeed, the Pakistani and Kashmiri militant groups have
started pulling in different directions. Hizbul leaders confirm that Salahuddin
is bringing together all the Kashmiri groups in the hope of evolving a consensus
on how to deal with India and find a solution to the Kashmir problem. Once this
is achieved, the Hizb would then approach the Pakistan groups.
Meanwhile, the Lashkar last week decided to give another
twist to its strategy of fighting the Indian army. The militants have been asked
to attack the Indian army’s convoys and its facilities. "The Indians are
already disturbed over the attacks on their camps and military facilities,"
boasts Abu Omair, a militant leader, who has fought in India.
Inside India, various jehadi groups often fight together or
carry out joint missions against the Indian army, but at home they are bitterly
divided on sectarian lines and desist from sharing a common platform. Thus, a
student from a Deoband madrasa would prefer to join the Harkat-ul-Mujahideen or
any of its splinter groups; those owing allegiance to the Ahle Hadith (a sect
which believes in the primacy of the Quran and the Prophet’s tradition) would
opt for the Lashkar.
Despite these internecine squabbles and emerging
differences between the Kashmiri and Pakistani groups, there’s no denying that
what keeps the Kashmir cauldron on the boil is the machinations and
institutional support the Pakistan establishment renders to the militancy there.
But then, as long as the jehad factory in Pakistan-held Kashmir continues to
have fresh recruits, and churns out hardened militants willing to risk their
lives for that intangible and inexplicable dream of martyrdom, peace in the
Valley will remain elusive.
(The writer is a Pakistan-based journalist)