Kashmir’s history is dotted with natural calamities and man-made disasters. And over the centuries the people of Jammu and Kashmir have perfected the art of rising from the ashes. They have seen famines and epidemics, floods and earthquakes, blazes and mayhem, organised violence and massacres, forced and voluntary migrations, incarcerations and worse.
In my life, spread across half-a-century, I have seen fellow Kashmiris caught in the midst of many major crises. And once again they find themselves in a very difficult situation — the worst floods in 111 years, caused by five days of incessant rains and a series of cloudbursts, have thrown life out of gear in Srinagar as well as most other parts of the Valley and Jammu division Just yesterday, my 18-year-old daughter Umme Kulthum was telling her grandmother, “Amma, I haven’t seen such horrible conditions before.” To which my mother, who turned 83 in June, replied, “Even I haven’t witnessed such an awful situation in my whole life.”
The flood of 1903 was grave. Breaking all earlier records, Jhelum was at its ferocious worst. In the following century, the otherwise calm river which drains the entire Kashmir Valley became a curse. Memories of it came back on September 7 evening, when Jhelum was overflowing at many places. Strong currents had already caused as many as 16 breaches in the river embankment along a stretch of less than a kilometre in the east of Srinagar, inundating vast areas. Chenab, Tawi, Lidder and almost all other rivers across the state were also flowing above the danger mark.
The death toll had already crossed 160 and, after visiting some of the partially marooned areas and meeting affected people, I was about to file my copy. The survivors had their fingers crossed as there was no news from the south of the Valley, the worst hit till then. Prime Minister Narendra Modi had just returned to Delhi after undertaking an aerial survey of flood-affected areas and holding meetings with officials in Srinagar and Jammu to assess the situation. I was receiving frantic calls from friends and colleagues from Delhi, giving names and details of stranded family members and friends. And then suddenly I discovered that everything had gone quiet — my mobile phone, landline, Internet. Nothing was working. The special broadcast by Srinagar station of Radio Kashmir (AIR) was the only source of updates on the flood situation. By evening that too went off air as the overflowing waters of Jhelum flooded its premises, and it inundated Doordarshan’s Srinagar station.
An official of the state’s irrigation and flood control department assured me that the level of Jhelum will start receding by 6 pm. “Next three to four hours are crucial. After that it will start receding,” he said. But the situation turned from bad to worse. The river was flowing 12 feet above the danger mark of 17 feet at Ram Munshi Bagh, a kilometre from our workplace. The alley outside our office and the nearby Residency Road were already under more than three feet of water. People living in Raj Bagh, Jawahar Nagar, Gogji Bagh and Wazir Bagh, along the southern shore of Jhelum, were being asked through mosque loudspeakers to leave. Soon the local police stations activated sirens to announce emergency. Many people, clutching copies of the Quran, did as they were told. Some did not take the warnings seriously.
Thick dark clouds had reduced visibility considerably. And with electricity lines having snapped the previous evening, people were using cellphone torches to walk through the muddy flood water. It was not any different from what is known locally as “mandnein sham” (darkness at noon).
During the next few days, almost every household in our locality and neighbourhood received one or two families from flooded areas. Relief camps were set up in Kashmir University campus, government schools, community centres, even under-construction hotels. Resident students of Kashmir University and the nearby National Institute of Technology were working round the clock as volunteers. A group of doctors also turned up to treat the sick. People were donating money, food, clothes, blankets, etc. Langars had been set up in different localities.
While walking down the four-km road from Lala Ded Memorial Centre near Nai Sadak to Bahuri Kadal in central Srinagar, I saw about 30 community kitchens serving people food and beverages. I also saw JKLF’s Yasin Malik and Kashmir’s chief Muslim cleric Mirwaiz Umar Farooq actively involved in relief work. PDP’s Altaf Bukhari had offered his house and nearby multistorey office complex as shelter to the flood-affected. I was standing with flood sufferers on Budshah bridge on September 10, when an IAF helicopter dropped half a dozen food packets. People threw the packets in the Jhelum. They were angry over official apathy and the “biased” and “discriminatory” attitude of the armed forces.
While people didn’t deny that the Army and the IAF were carrying out massive rescue and relief operations, when no one from the administration could be seen around, they questioned the wisdom behind categorising people in distress. “Their first priority was to rescue their own men and other security forces... Tourists were taken out next and then came the turn of seasonal labourers and other non-locals, whereas common Kashmiris were left to the mercy of God,” they complained. Likewise, resources available with the state government machinery were utilised to rescue its functionaries and their families on priority basis.
Dr Farah Shaffi told me she had two patients operated upon under candlelight at Lala Ded Women’s Hospital. “There was no water or food available for patients or attendants. The canteen, storerooms, pharmacy all were under water... Earlier, after several requets, DC Srinagar Farooq Shah briefly visited the hospital, but he left saying, ‘Leave it all to God... everything will be alright’. Soon we had to evacuate patients to the upper floors of the hospital.” Three days later even doctors abandoned the hospital, leaving patients to god’s will.
The most difficult stage is over. As people piece their lives back together, nothing may be certain except one thing: Their faith in politicians, particularly those in power, has been shattered.
The writer is our J&K correspondent
