2010.12.19: Where Winter Wives Wither

About one million soldiers and six million native inhabitants live within Kashmir’s borders. It’s therefore not surprising that the military presence is overwhelming. To say the Hindu soldiers and Muslim civilians live together peacefully wouldn’t be an overstatement; it would be a misunderstanding. In the past months alone they’ve exchanged stones and bullets at such a rate that over a hundred people have died in Srinagar alone.

Right now I’m on an airplane going away from Srinagar, towards Delhi. High up in the air, far away from roads, it’s impossible to encounter barbed wire, roadblocks and guard posts. Only there I can experience a Kashmir without machine guns. I see snow-topped mountains. They’ve got long arms reaching into valleys covered with trees, water and stones. It looks beautiful. Down there old, now diminishing, communities of Hindus and Buddhist are living there along with a growing Muslim population. The army, consisting out of Hindu soldiers, is there too, to protect all. Signs tell “At your service”, “For our safety” and sometimes, when announcing the home of a certain division: “Pride of our nation, envy of our neighbour.” The contrast between the alien soldiers and local Muslim majority is immense.

Most soldiers wear a collection of camouflage riffraff, which makes me wonder if they belong to the paramilitary forces. All look greenish and a few wear a sweater my sister would like to have because it looks cool. Most locals don’t look fashionable at all. They wear, what I can only describe as, an oversized nightgown made of various warm materials. It has long sleeves, reaches lower than their knees and looks extremely comfortable. They call it a phiran. Most men are wearing this garment. Also, they seem to hide something underneath it, on their belly.

It could be a particularly nasty stone intended for throwing, but when I asked my boat owner about this he told everyone was just pregnant. They were pregnant with their winter wife. Immediately I wanted to know why he needed a winter wife, just a moment before he had told us about his family. Well, a winter wife never complains and keeps her husband warm whenever he pleases. On the other hand, she’s rather ugly and smelly; she looks like a fletched basket filled with ashes and charcoal. Maybe it’s true, and real beauty is only inside.

What I really want to know is what would come of her if her husband dies a violent death. What if he becomes collateral damage in the Kashmir conflict? Is there anything she can do? I doubt the winter lover can offer relief and support to the real wife. What about the children? Kashmir is, apart from many other things, a country of broken families.

Violence has scarred the people, shattered society into fractions and engulfed the beautiful nature in a tense atmosphere. Violence for what? Is the conflict over Kashmir just between India and Pakistan? In what ways is the other neighbour, China, involved? What about religion? Most of all, what about the Kashmiri themselves? They suffer. The conflict roams around for twenty years and for example, only in the past months alone there was so much unrest with so many casualties, that the government imposed many daytime curfews. This has brought tourism to a standstill, as well as factories and most notably the transport sector. What can be done about this anguish?

Initially I thought it would be most fair if the Kashmiri people would be given their own state. It’s not that easy. For example, as I was driven around, I saw big banners with texts such as: “It’s not Islam that should be modernized, but modern age that needs to be Islamized.” What does this entail for people who aren’t conservative Muslims? Over the years many minorities have left their homes for a safer place. Religious minorities need protection in Kashmir.

The government does offer some, which is painfully clear at roadblocks. Many removable iron fences obstructing the way contain the message: “Have a safe Yatra!” In Hindi “yatra” means journey, but I think in this context “tirth yatra”, pilgrimage, is implied. In specific seasons Hindus come en masse to Kashmir to visit beautiful, centuries old temples. Whenever I pass these boards I get the impression the army is mostly in the region to protect Hindus and Hindu points of interest. The ninety percent of the local population who is Muslim hate the army. Not in the least, I think, because the dislike is mutual. As a matter of fact, the website of the Dutch ministry of foreign affairs mentions this as well. They mention too that the army does little to protect locals or western tourists. In a way the website insinuates it’s best not to trust the army at all, even being a tourist.

I believe it’s relevant to question who the army serves and protects. At two religious sites I had very different experiences. At the Hazrathbal Mosque, I saw an uniformed man with a machine gun standing guard inside, overlooking the praying Muslims. The Shankaracharya Mandir Shrine has a strict no-photo policy, at least, for civilians. On my visit a soldier was snapping outdoor pictures with his mobile and another one was using a professional camera to shoot pictures of his colleague, who was inside with his wife and son.

Somehow I’m happy I don’t have to pass any judgement over the Kashmir conflict. For me there’s no need to dive into the many horrendous details of this drama. In my previous blog posts you’ve been able to read how I enjoyed Kashmir and it’s heavenly aspects; what I thought about the road sign introducing me to Kashmir: “Welcome to Kashmir, the paradise on earth.” High up in the air, I’m pondering over this sign once again. Now — more than ever — I ponder too over a quote out of Tacitus’s writings:


“They make a desert and call it peace.”