Muteeb Raja is eight. His voice cracked as he shouted. “Hum kya chahte hain?” (what do we want?). A crowd of adults around him responded: Azadi (independence). Ishtiyaq Rasool is six. His mother told him that he was far too young to go and protest. “I insisted. The protestors will be thirsty, we can offer them water,” he said. His mother joined the slogan-shouting women, hiding her face with her blue scarf.

The march on Srinagar-Muzaffarabad road flowed like a river of people covering the highway from Chanakhan in Sopore to Khanpora ahead of Baramulla. A generation of young men, who were toddlers in the 1990s when Kashmir exploded with massive public demonstrations, was leading the procession.

The security forces had withdrawn after failing to halt this march at 10 different places. They had tried everything. They had fired hundreds of smoke shells. They had baton charged to disperse the mob. They had opened fire, killing one and injuring two dozen at Sangrama Chowk, a few miles away from Sopore.

Furious, the people had pelted stones at the police and security force contingent. The security personnel retreated, abandoning their two vehicles, which were immediately set afire by angry protestors.

This was the scene on August 11. All of Kashmir has erupted since then; 24 people have died in police firing. This phenomenon is extremely unusual for a place where two months ago, the only buzz was election rallies, a pleasant spring and thousands of tourists.

Kashmir had returned to its glory as a favourite destination of the holidaymaker. The militant attacks were rare and whenever there were reports of encounters, the security forces launched a pre-emptive offensive to kill them. Pakistan’s President Musharraf had withdrawn from his traditional Kashmir agenda, condemned militant attacks and even dropped demand for plebiscite in Kashmir. His democratic successors had publicly altered Pakistan’s Kashmir-centric foreign policy; emphasised on friendly relations with New Delhi to boost bilateral trade.

... contd.