rediff.com Special: Ramesh Menon meets a Pakistan-trained militant

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A year after the Kargil war, Roving Editor Ramesh Menon remembers meeting Mohammed Shafique, a 26-year-old Pakistan-trained militant.
There are many surrendered militants like him. One thing that binds them today is fear.
The fear of death from militants.
Often, Shafique thinks of going back to Pakistan. And militancy. He has still not found the courage...
YOU would probably miss him if he were on the high ridges of Rajouri district. Mohammed Shafique has a small frame and with his shaggy beard, he blends into the heavily forested area easily.
He certainly does not look like a hardened Pakistani-trained militant who can use any firearm with precision. He is soft-spoken, mild-mannered. There is an inexplicable softness in his eyes.

Shafique is just 26. His well-oiled hair falls neatly over his forehead. His shaggy beard gives his otherwise sunken cheeks a distinct character. It takes time to get him to talk. When he finally does, the anger and bitterness is stark.
Lots of anger. Anger at himself. Anger at Pakistan. Anger at India.
He was just 18 when he started looking for some job to shore up the family's falling bank balance. And keep the fire burning in the kitchen.
As he had only studied till the eighth standard, jobs were not easy to come by. As it was terrorism had shrunk all opportunities in Jammu and Kashmir.
That was not all. A rich landlord who wanted his family land was harassing them. Shafiques's parents were poor and could do nothing about it. As he saw it happening in his Kandi village in Rajouri district, he felt helpless and weak. He had seen it elsewhere; land grabbing was common.
Some youngsters in his village one day suggested he could end this humiliation at the hands of the rich and powerful. All he had to do was move to Srinagar and get in touch with the militants. They would take him to Pakistan, train him, give him a gun, enough money and send him back. He could then use his gun to settle scores with those out to exploit his family.
Shafique remembers that he got instantly excited. It seemed the only way he could protect his little piece of land.
He had seen militants with guns around. They were greatly admired. It seemed glamorous and a sure-shot way to get out of the cocktail of misery, poverty and injustice.
So Shafique travelled to Srinagar. And met some militants. They asked him what he wanted. He said he wanted to be a fighter and be as powerful as them. One dark night, they crossed the Kupwara-Lolab border into Pakistan.
AT Muzafarabad, he was kept in a training camp while the Rangers [a wing of the Pakistani army] verified his credentials for five long days.
Once they were convinced, they let him into a huge camp where Kashmiris were being trained for militancy in India. He is not sure of the exact figure, but there were around 20,000 Kashmiris there. It really felt like home, he remembers.
He was no more the unwanted unemployed youth he was in Rajouri. A new respectable life had begun, he thought.
In the next nine months, Shafique followed a rigorous drill. His days started at 0600 hours. There were physical exercises for two hours. After breakfast, they would attend theoretical classes in firearms, read the Quran, listen to lectures on why and how he would be a part of a jihad, and the need to free Kashmir from India.
After these basics, practical training sessions were conducted. They were also taught how to use the wireless, and handle detonators.
The practice sessions went on for three years. "We were not allowed to idle. They kept us engaged all the time. They kept drilling it into our heads that we must train to perfect our skills."
Shafique was under no pressure from the Pakistani trainers and Inter-Services Intelligence officials to leave for India.
"They treated us with kid gloves. They cared a lot for any Kashmiri who crossed over for training. We were respected and cared for. We got everything we wanted. They were careful enough not to pay us any money.
"But there was no need for money at all. We got all we asked for. They gave us good food, good clothes and even took us for a countrywide sightseeing tour."
It was fun, he felt.
Today he understands why they were treated well. "We were very crucial for their operations in Kashmir. We were to act as guides and escorts for top militants. Without us, the security forces would spot them within hours of crossing over."
There was a sense of glee when he heard that the rich landlord who harassed his family had fled Rajouri as soon as he had crossed over to Pakistan.
"They probably anticipated that one day I would return with an AK-47 to get even with them for the torture they heaped on me and my family," he said.
WHEN Shafique decided to return, the Pakistanis were only too happy to hear his resolve.
They handed him an AK-47, grenades and ammunition. As they bade him a warm goodbye, they told him that his task would be to hound the Indian army and keep it occupied.
Shafique re-entered India through the Poonch sector. Thereafter, he kept escorting Pakistani-trained militants, helping them get into India and also return to Pakistan.
It did not take long for the glamour to wear off. He wondered how long he would be able to survive such hide-and-seek. He could move only at night. If the security forces spotted him, he would be dead. His parents wanted him to surrender as they were living a life of misery. Often, they were raided by the forces.
One day, he finally decided enough was enough.
He walked into a police station, laid down his gun, grenades and ammunition. And said he was sorry. The police listened to him, verified what he said and gave him Rs 10,000 in cash to meet his immediate expenses. Then they drafted him into their service as a special police officer.
Shafique was given a gun and uniform. It seemed a new life had begun.
But, as he soon figured out, he had just stepped on to a new road to misery.
VERY soon, militants hounded his family out of their village. Today, his piece of land has weeds growing on it. Militants have burnt down his house.
Shafique now lives in the heart of the heavily-guarded Rajouri town in a poky rented house. The smile is off his face and with good reason.
One of his friends, a Pak-trained militant who had also surrendered like him, was shot dead in Rajouri. Another friend who had laid down arms was gasping for life in a hospital after being shot by militants.
"I do not know what to do. The Pakistanis hate me for having surrendered. The Indians hate me for what I was. They still suspect me. I will always have a negative tag. There is nothing to look forward to. I cannot sustain my family on this job. There is no protection for me. I can be shot anytime. I am a sitting target," he said.
Shafique is worried about his father, mother, three brothers and three sisters.
Does he ever think of going back to Pakistan?
"If it had not have been for my family, I might have gone back. Life was better there and more secure. After all, I had only to deal with the Pakistanis there. Here I now have to deal with the militants and the security forces
"What did my surrender bring me? There are 40 others like me who have surrendered in Rajouri itself. We all want to feel secure. We all want to feel wanted. There is nothing called rehabilitation. All we want is to have some decent jobs to help feed our family," he replied.
The fear of death is worse than dying. He knows the militants will not allow him to rest.
Shafique has knocked on numerous government doors. But every time, he finds officials thinking up a new excuse. He cannot live like this. On a salary of Rs 1,500 a month.
One day, he says, his patience may run out.
Photograph of Mohammed Shafique: Vijay Kaul
Also see Life in the jaws of death
OTHER RELATED LINKS
'I want to die an Indian'
Kargil: June 2000
Kargil crisis: The complete coverage
The Rediff Specials
Mail us your comments

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	The Rediff Special A year after the Kargil war, Roving Editor Ramesh Menon remembers meeting Mohammed Shafique, a 26-year-old Pakistan-trained militant. There are many surrendered militants like him. One thing that binds them today is fear. The fear of death from militants. Often, Shafique thinks of going back to Pakistan. And militancy. He has still not found the courage... YOU would probably miss him if he were on the high ridges of Rajouri district. Mohammed Shafique has a small frame and with his shaggy beard, he blends into the heavily forested area easily. He certainly does not look like a hardened Pakistani-trained militant who can use any firearm with precision. He is soft-spoken, mild-mannered. There is an inexplicable softness in his eyes. Shafique is just 26. His well-oiled hair falls neatly over his forehead. His shaggy beard gives his otherwise sunken cheeks a distinct character. It takes time to get him to talk. When he finally does, the anger and bitterness is stark. Lots of anger. Anger at himself. Anger at Pakistan. Anger at India. He was just 18 when he started looking for some job to shore up the family's falling bank balance. And keep the fire burning in the kitchen. As he had only studied till the eighth standard, jobs were not easy to come by. As it was terrorism had shrunk all opportunities in Jammu and Kashmir. That was not all. A rich landlord who wanted his family land was harassing them. Shafiques's parents were poor and could do nothing about it. As he saw it happening in his Kandi village in Rajouri district, he felt helpless and weak. He had seen it elsewhere; land grabbing was common. Some youngsters in his village one day suggested he could end this humiliation at the hands of the rich and powerful. All he had to do was move to Srinagar and get in touch with the militants. They would take him to Pakistan, train him, give him a gun, enough money and send him back. He could then use his gun to settle scores with those out to exploit his family. Shafique remembers that he got instantly excited. It seemed the only way he could protect his little piece of land. He had seen militants with guns around. They were greatly admired. It seemed glamorous and a sure-shot way to get out of the cocktail of misery, poverty and injustice. So Shafique travelled to Srinagar. And met some militants. They asked him what he wanted. He said he wanted to be a fighter and be as powerful as them. One dark night, they crossed the Kupwara-Lolab border into Pakistan. AT Muzafarabad, he was kept in a training camp while the Rangers [a wing of the Pakistani army] verified his credentials for five long days. Once they were convinced, they let him into a huge camp where Kashmiris were being trained for militancy in India. He is not sure of the exact figure, but there were around 20,000 Kashmiris there. It really felt like home, he remembers. He was no more the unwanted unemployed youth he was in Rajouri. A new respectable life had begun, he thought. In the next nine months, Shafique followed a rigorous drill. His days started at 0600 hours. There were physical exercises for two hours. After breakfast, they would attend theoretical classes in firearms, read the Quran, listen to lectures on why and how he would be a part of a jihad, and the need to free Kashmir from India. After these basics, practical training sessions were conducted. They were also taught how to use the wireless, and handle detonators. The practice sessions went on for three years. "We were not allowed to idle. They kept us engaged all the time. They kept drilling it into our heads that we must train to perfect our skills." Shafique was under no pressure from the Pakistani trainers and Inter-Services Intelligence officials to leave for India. "They treated us with kid gloves. They cared a lot for any Kashmiri who crossed over for training. We were respected and cared for. We got everything we wanted. They were careful enough not to pay us any money. "But there was no need for money at all. We got all we asked for. They gave us good food, good clothes and even took us for a countrywide sightseeing tour." It was fun, he felt. Today he understands why they were treated well. "We were very crucial for their operations in Kashmir. We were to act as guides and escorts for top militants. Without us, the security forces would spot them within hours of crossing over." There was a sense of glee when he heard that the rich landlord who harassed his family had fled Rajouri as soon as he had crossed over to Pakistan. "They probably anticipated that one day I would return with an AK-47 to get even with them for the torture they heaped on me and my family," he said. WHEN Shafique decided to return, the Pakistanis were only too happy to hear his resolve. They handed him an AK-47, grenades and ammunition. As they bade him a warm goodbye, they told him that his task would be to hound the Indian army and keep it occupied. Shafique re-entered India through the Poonch sector. Thereafter, he kept escorting Pakistani-trained militants, helping them get into India and also return to Pakistan. It did not take long for the glamour to wear off. He wondered how long he would be able to survive such hide-and-seek. He could move only at night. If the security forces spotted him, he would be dead. His parents wanted him to surrender as they were living a life of misery. Often, they were raided by the forces. One day, he finally decided enough was enough. He walked into a police station, laid down his gun, grenades and ammunition. And said he was sorry. The police listened to him, verified what he said and gave him Rs 10,000 in cash to meet his immediate expenses. Then they drafted him into their service as a special police officer. Shafique was given a gun and uniform. It seemed a new life had begun. But, as he soon figured out, he had just stepped on to a new road to misery. VERY soon, militants hounded his family out of their village. Today, his piece of land has weeds growing on it. Militants have burnt down his house. Shafique now lives in the heart of the heavily-guarded Rajouri town in a poky rented house. The smile is off his face and with good reason. One of his friends, a Pak-trained militant who had also surrendered like him, was shot dead in Rajouri. Another friend who had laid down arms was gasping for life in a hospital after being shot by militants. "I do not know what to do. The Pakistanis hate me for having surrendered. The Indians hate me for what I was. They still suspect me. I will always have a negative tag. There is nothing to look forward to. I cannot sustain my family on this job. There is no protection for me. I can be shot anytime. I am a sitting target," he said. Shafique is worried about his father, mother, three brothers and three sisters. Does he ever think of going back to Pakistan? "If it had not have been for my family, I might have gone back. Life was better there and more secure. After all, I had only to deal with the Pakistanis there. Here I now have to deal with the militants and the security forces "What did my surrender bring me? There are 40 others like me who have surrendered in Rajouri itself. We all want to feel secure. We all want to feel wanted. There is nothing called rehabilitation. All we want is to have some decent jobs to help feed our family," he replied. The fear of death is worse than dying. He knows the militants will not allow him to rest. Shafique has knocked on numerous government doors. But every time, he finds officials thinking up a new excuse. He cannot live like this. On a salary of Rs 1,500 a month. One day, he says, his patience may run out. Photograph of Mohammed Shafique: Vijay Kaul Also see Life in the jaws of death OTHER RELATED LINKS 'I want to die an Indian' Kargil: June 2000 Kargil crisis: The complete coverage The Rediff Specials Mail us your comments
HOME \| NEWS \| MONEY \| SPORTS \| MOVIES \| CHAT \| INFOTECH \| TRAVEL SINGLES \| NEWSLINKS \| BOOK SHOP \| MUSIC SHOP \| GIFT SHOP \| HOTEL BOOKINGS AIR/RAIL \| WEATHER \| MILLENNIUM \| BROADBAND \| E-CARDS \| EDUCATION HOMEPAGES \| FREE EMAIL \| CONTESTS \| FEEDBACK