Kashmir The Vajpayee Years

258 Pages·2015·1.09 MB·English

by  A.S. Dulat

For
My mother Raj, and my father Shamsher,
an avid reader who would have enjoyed
my Kashmir story
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as night the day,
Thou can’st not then be false to any man.
—Shakespeare (Hamlet)
CONTENTS

COVER
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
EPIGRAPH
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
INTRODUCTION

1. CUTTING THE GORDIAN KNOT
2. KARGIL AND THE COUP
3. TWO HOSTAGE CRISES
4. KASHMIR’S MANDELA OR DELHI’S AGENT: SHABIR SHAH
5. PROXY WARRIOR
6. TINKER, TAILOR, HIJACKER, SPY
7. THE DEFECTOR WHO SHOOK PAKISTAN
8. ‘THIS MOVEMENT IS AN EXPERIMENT AND IT WILL PASS’:
A.G. LONE
9. SPY Vs. SPY
10. FROM COLD WAR TO HIGH POLITICS
11. VAJPAYEE CHOOSES OMAR
12. VAJPAYEE’S ‘BETRAYAL’ OF FAROOQ ABDULLAH
13. WAR AND PEACE
14. VAJPAYEE’S LAST CHOICE—MUFTI
15. THE HARDLINER AND THE HURRIYAT
16. MANMOHAN SINGH’S LOST DECADE
17. THE LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN
18. MAINSTREAMING THE FUTURE

TALK TO US
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Since this book is about Kashmir, Kashmir and Kashmiris must remain centre
stage. Kashmir has been a huge education. I have learnt more in the last ten
years since I left the government than when I was in the government and thought
I knew everything. I am indebted for this education, which transformed itself
into a story, to innumerable friends with whom I spent endless hours talking,
discussing and learning about Kashmir. It is not possible to name them all, and
many may prefer to remain anonymous. But to those who have been more
indulgent I owe a huge debt: my friend, philosopher and guide who helped keep
the flock intact during most trying times, Prof. Abdul Ghani Bhat; manager
Ghulam Hassan Mir, who was a storehouse of knowledge but also simplified my
understanding of Kashmir; the kind, gentle and underestimated Firdous Syed;
the more mercurial Sajad, not only TV anchor Barkha Dutt’s favourite but mine
also; the macho Hashim ever ready to take on both adversaries in Kashmir and
even those across; Altaf, a businessman to his political fingers; Zafar, who
everyone always thought was on the wrong side; Nadir, my ready reckoner; Prof.
Riyaz Punjabi, who gave me my first lesson on Kashmir.
Agha Sahib—Ashraf Ali—was the most remarkable human being I have
ever come across. My education of Kashmir would have remained incomplete
without his words of wisdom. That he was always indulgent towards me was my
great fortune and I can never thank him enough.
How can one forget Dillu (Dilshad Shaikh), not only the most beautiful
woman, but warm, hospitable and with the best table in Srinagar. As Aarooji
once said, ‘You haven’t seen the true beauty of Kashmir unless you have been to
Gulmarg and met Dilshad Shaikh.’ Thanks, Dillu, for your affection and great
food.
My family has been a pillar of strength. As with everything in my life, this
would not have happened but for the inspiration of my wife, Paran. She, most of
all, made me believe that I had a story that needed to be told. During the last
year and more, she has been my confidante, private secretary and typist, apart
from helping with the computer and internet, about using which I am still
clueless. But above all she has been by my side at times of doubt when I have
thought of chucking it all up in exchange for the mess I made of the house with
thought of chucking it all up in exchange for the mess I made of the house with
papers strewn in every room. She also helped me gather photographs and
recollect important events as we went down memory lane.
The Intelligence Bureau (IB) and the great institution of the Friday Meeting
made men out of boys. Not just the dozen chiefs I had the privilege to serve
under, but so many seniors from whom one learnt so much. In particular, M.K.
Narayanan not only sent me to Kashmir but also tolerated me as a roommate
during my first two years in the Bureau, which gave me an opportunity to see the
master at work from close quarters and get my first whiff of intelligence. I am
equally grateful to my colleagues in the K-group, each one a thorough
professional, which made for an excellent team that made an impact in Kashmir.
A special thanks to my colleagues C.D. Sahay and K.M. Singh, with whom I
had the good fortune of working closely. C.D. and K.M. not only helped put
events and personalities in Kashmir in proper perspective but helped with the
editing as well. My thanks to the Research and Analysis Wing for continuing its
support to me during my term in the PMO.
Finally I must thank Krishan Chopra of HarperCollins for believing that I
had a story to tell. Krishan could qualify as one of Smiley’s People for the way
he led me up and down the alleys and staircases of Khan Market for our
meetings. Thanks also to Rajinder Ganju, who provided valuable backup in
taking the book through to press in a short time, and also took an interest in and
appreciated the story in these pages.
Last but not the least, I must say a big thank you to ‘boss’, without whom
there would have been no book. Aditya has been an old friend since the 1990s
but when we began together (some would say he was the ghost writer but that
somehow sounds spooky) as collaborators (not Ikhwanis in the Mirza Waheed
sense!) he made it well known who the boss was and that’s the only way it
would have worked. Thanks, friend.
INTRODUCTION

Aadaab. Baat Niklegi Toh Phir Door Talak Jayegi
—Kafeel Azzer

One day during my tenure in the Prime Minister’s Office (PMO)—where I
unexpectedly landed after my time heading the Research & Analysis Wing
(R&AW) was up—I was as usual discussing Kashmir with Brajesh Mishra, the
principal secretary to Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee (who also served as
India’s first national security advisor). ‘Do you know, Dulat, the only thing
straight in Kashmir are the poplars?’ he said.
Kashmir has been a part of my life since I first visited in 1987, in preparation
for my posting there as deputy director in the Intelligence Bureau. The Kashmir
Valley is beautiful all year round and it’s difficult to say which season is most
beautiful. Spring, however, is special, with fruit blossoms, tulips, daffodils and
narcissi. So even after retirement, come the ‘Darbar’ move, Paran, my wife, and
I still make our annual constitutional visit to Srinagar to savour the crispness of
the air and a round or two of golf but most of all to catch up with old friends.
Paran thinks I’m nuts, interacting with Kashmiris on an almost daily basis
even ten years after I left the government. She herself is acquainted with many
Kashmiri voices, literally: when I was deeply involved with Kashmir in the
1990s, our day in New Delhi normally began with a telephone call, which Paran
would receive with an ‘Aadaab’. This was before mobile phones. In due course
she recognised regular callers to whom she assigned nicknames: ‘Tweedledee
and Tweedledum’, ‘Beehive’, ‘Sidekick’, ‘Gingersnaps’, ‘Drone’, ‘Sleepyhead’,
‘Aap ka Bhai’, etc. God knows how she came up with these names but we would
laugh our guts out; it was the lighter side of what was a stressful period. Paran’s
favourite was ‘Gingersnaps’, who was politeness personified.
In 2012 I was in Srinagar with Paran and six of her friends, and a regular
visitor to our hut at the Centaur Hotel was Firdous Syed, a former militant
commander-in-chief who went by the name of Babar Badr. The ladies were
excited at meeting a militant and one of them, Sonia Pandhi, sacrificed a trip to
Gulmarg to spend the morning listening to Firdous’s story. ‘How could such a
decent person ever have been a terrorist?’ she asked me afterwards. I explained
decent person ever have been a terrorist?’ she asked me afterwards. I explained
that Firdous was not a terrorist in the way she imagined one to be, but one of
many disillusioned Kashmiris who took to the gun. More significantly, Firdous
understood the futility of violence as early as 1994 when he wrote of his
‘shattered dream’, quoting Faiz Ahmed Faiz: ‘Shishon ka koi messiah nahin,
kyon aas lagaye baithe ho.’
Reports of boys like Firdous coming and going to Pakistan began to trickle
in as soon as I was posted to Srinagar in May 1988. There was no hint of this
when I had come for my familiarisation visit six months earlier; at that time it all
seemed like a holiday with a grand farewell party at Chief Minister Farooq
Abdullah’s residence for my predecessor K.P. Singh, who was on his way to the
National Defence College, and we had vodka and kebabs by the fireside at
Highland Park with Praveen Mahendru, a colleague, while it snowed outside
during my first visit to Gulmarg. It all seemed like a picnic. Kashmir was at its
glorious best. Soon I would also see it at its worst.
The first report of serious concern I got came a month into my tenure from
an unlikely source. Praneet Sahni was a young, suave, good-looking Punjabi
businessman whose father Raj owned a flour mill and used to be called Sheikh
Abdullah’s ‘fourth son’. Praneet had a lot of Kashmiri friends, a lot of contacts,
and his family was known to us. ‘Please find out, whatever is happening there is
not good,’ he said.
‘What are you implying?’ I asked.
‘Boys from downtown Srinagar are turning to Pakistan,’ he said. ‘You need
to be on your guard.’
There was a lot of going-to-and-coming-from Pakistan, and for someone new
in the Valley like me, who was tasked basically to keep Farooq Abdullah in
good humour, it was bewildering.
I was grateful to Praneet, who sadly met a tragic end when militancy took
centre stage in Kashmir in 1990. As mentioned, his father Raj was part of
Srinagar’s Punjabi business community; he was a post-Partition Dilliwala who
went to Srinagar and started a business. In time Raj Sahni built the most
beautiful house in town, standing on Gupkar Road in the same line as Farooq’s
place and Farooq’s sister’s house; his house had central heating and we would
head there often in the winter because it was warm and he laid a good table. Raj,
incidentally, was raided by the income tax authorities in the late 1970s, which
became a political controversy at the time.
Raj Sahni had three children, two daughters and a son, Praneet, who was
very smart and was taking control of the family business. Praneet got married in
January of 1990 and there was a reception for him in Jammu on 1 March 1990,
which I attended. I asked him how his mum and dad were.