A Kashmir Escapade

Famed for its steep valleys, winding roads and snow-clad mountains is Kashmir. Contoured by conflict, this destination is less for the faint-hearted, and more for those up for a challenge. My one-week stay began in a rustic tent, pitched besides the Harwan Garden in Srinagar. The icy mountains and lush green meadows of Sonmarg, and the two-phase Gondola ride to the Kongdoori Mountain, which stands at 14,000-feet, had left me enamoured.

However, a series of events unfolded on May 28, before my family and I could reach the airport in Srinagar from Pahalgam, for our flight back to Mumbai. A few minutes into our journey, Javed, our driver got a call. "Kuch toh masla hai, lekin aap chinta na karo (There seems to be some issue, but you need not worry)," he said. Shortly, a group of men banged on our vehicle telling us to stop. To our horror, they told us that Sabzar Ahmad Bhat, the Hizbul Mujahideen Commander, had been killed in an encounter that morning, approximately 60km away. Stone pelters had already taken to the streets of Srinagar, and a college boy was shot in the head for allegedly protesting a little away from Pahalgam. Javed was quick to take us into hiding near a meadow. While he assessed the situation, locals told us how Sabzar was no ordinary man, but their leader. Now there was going to be trouble, which could last from three days to six months.

Baffled, I cancelled our return tickets and re-booked them for the next day. With trouble brewing, we decided to return to the safety of our hotel. Sabzar Ahmed's death had made national headlines and we could feel the tension pile on. Shops closed, people stayed indoors in at home, and businesses were brought to a halt. The only working locals were those like Javed and the 200 other tourist vehicles stuck at Pahalgam. "We'll leave anytime between 10pm and 3am. Don't unpack, just rest and eat; it's going to be a long night. When I give the signal we'll leave in a group with other tourist vehicles," said Javed.

A curfew was called for the next three days. Too tensed to rest, we survived on boiled eggs and bread, which my father managed to arrange from a shepherd. We finally set out at 2am; hundreds of vehicles in a line, their headlights twinkling like stars along the pitch-black route. We passed a road that led to Tral, where Sabzar had been killed. Javed instructed us to keep an eye out for trouble as we passed certain spots, which were prone to pelting.

Roads were guarded and patrolled by the Indian army, camouflaged by their bulletproof trucks or trees. Some were dressed in normal attire, holding AK47s. At one point, Javed even mistook them for militants and immediately reversed the car.

We reached the airport by 1am, but the ordeal continued. The Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF) had locked down the airport, so we slept on the road till 6.30am in the cold. Once the gates opened, we walked for 2km to the airport terminal, but owing to the crowd we had to sit outside till our 3pm flight was scheduled for departure.

Even though it was a nightmare of an experience, the memories of waking up to views of sledges being pulled down frosty mountains, below which flowed the Lidder river; of flowers dancing in the valleys, and birds soaring in the blue sky, are enough to make me want to go back any day.