Along the LoC, remnants of '71 war and a heartbreaking tale

Borders, they say, are just lines on land, and not hearts. But ask 55-year-old Mohamed Ali and he will tell you how a single line can break hundreds of hearts and homes. A resident of Thang near Turtuk in the Leh district of Ladakh, Ali — more popularly known as Goba Ali — lives in the last village on India-Pakistan border.

Ali’s father and brothers, however, live across the barbed wires in Franu village, the last post from Pakistan. Between them lies a gurgling river Shyok.

Turtuk was not known to the outside world until 2010 when the village was opened for tourism. Ever since, the area has attracted a good number of domestic and international tourists.

Geographically a part of Baltistan, it is predominantly inhabited by the Balti Muslim community. Apart from the picturesque place and lush green fields of barley and apricot, Turtuk and four other villages — Chulunka, Tyakshi, Thang and Grari — came under India during the 1971 India-Pakistan war.

Cut in the middle

On the chilling night of December 13, 1971, hundreds of Balti families found themselves on the wrong side of the border. Ali, a five-year-old back then, was one of them.

Pointing towards the border, Ali says, “Waha mere waalid aur bhai rehte hai aur ab meri Maa ka maqbara bhi wahi hai (My father and brothers live there and my mother too is buried there).”

Talking about the 1971 war and the time when the Indian army captured the four villages of Turtuk and were near Thang, Ali says, “Days before the Army reached Thang, most children, women and elderly people were taken to neighbouring Franu village to keep them away from danger. When the Indian army came here, they were amazed to see no women and children in the village.”

Indian army officers reported to their higher-ups that the children and women had gone to Franu and by the time the ceasefire was announced, a border was drawn between Franu and Thang.

According to Ali, Colonel Chewang Rinchen sent his father to Franu to come back with the children and women, as a sign of peace and goodwill. However, Ali’s father never came back.

Meanwhile, Ali, one of his brothers and their 90-year-old blind grandfather — who were left behind in Thang — were now at the mercy of the Indian Army.

“The Pakistani army did not allow my father to come back. The Indian army had sent him as he was the most educated in the village, but it proved a curse for him. My father was held captive for years,” Ali adds.

Since the two brothers were separated from their parents, the Indian army felt obligated to take their custody. After all, Ali’s father had crossed the border on the directions of the Indian army.

“For years we lived in tents with the army. After our grandfather passed away, the army raised us and gave education. I have not been to any formal school but no one will say after interacting with me that I am unlettered. For this, all credit goes to the Indian army,” Ali smiles.

But the separation from his parents weighed heavy on Ali’s young mind. So much so that he could never live a normal childhood. “Na mai jooth bool sakta tha, na mai bachoo ke tarah shaitani karsakta tha, kyuki maar pad sakti thi (Unlike other children, I could never think of indulging in a little harmless mischief, fearing that I may get beaten up. After all, I wasn’t living with my parents, I was with the army,” Ali explains.

The two brothers spent their entire childhood in army camps until attaining youth. Narrating a childhood incident, he says the army officers used to make the two children wear colourful clothes and position them on the border, assuming that someone from the other side, especially their parents, would someday see them through binoculars.

Later when Ali met his family after more than 40 years, he would discover that the parents had actually seen some children in colourful clothes standing on the border. “When I asked if they ever saw any kids in colourful clothes, they nodded with tears in their eyes. But they didn’t know it was us — their own children.”

Ali, who never went to a formal school, spent most of his childhood and youth playing volleyball. But after getting married and starting his own family, it dawned on him that his parents were on the other side of the border. The desire to see his long lost parents became stronger.

“Whenever someone would call out their parents, I used to think when will I get the opportunity to meet my mother and call her Maa,” says Ali.

The decades of separation finally ended in 2014, when he got a visa to Pakistan and spent 11 months with his parents. Meeting them after so many years turned out to be emotionally exhaustive for him.

“As my car was approaching nearer to the destination where my parents lived, my heart was beating fast. My entire childhood flashed in front of my eyes, and with it all those painful memories. I feared either something would happen to me or my parents and we won’t be able to meet,” Ali recounts those tense moments.

And when he was finally standing in front of his parents, he couldn’t believe his eyes. “I met them at an isolated place, just them and me. The moment had come and my car stopped opposite theirs. I had no control over my emotions. I can’t describe the feeling of hugging my father after so many years. We both had tears in our eyes. After that I fainted and do not remember what happened next.”

Across the border

Ali spent 11 beautiful months with his parents and enjoyed the hospitality of relatives and villagers he had not met in decades. He also became a celebrity of sorts as many news channels interviewed him. He was also invited to seminars and programmes during his stay. Ali says he got a very warm reception from the Balti community on the other side of the border.

But when he met Pakistani army officers during his stay there, he couldn’t help asking them one question: “Why did your army not allow my father come back, I had to live like an orphan.”

In their moments of solitude, when the mother and son would talk about life after separation, Ali says, this question often came up. She would often ask how was life without them, who took care of Ali and his brother.

“When mother came to know that we were raised by the Army, she used to say ‘my salaam and blessings to the real mothers who raised you and inculcated such good values’.”

After spending 11 months, coming back home to his family in India was again very emotionally draining for Ali. He admits it took a lot of courage to leave them again.

“I placed my election card in her hands, calling it a passport, and said I am not going anywhere. I was just going to the nearby town. I came back to India with a heavy heart. They were adamant that I shouldn’t leave them and stay there itself.”

Blurring borders, joining hearts

Ali feels the Balti community, on both sides of the border, is marginalised and misunderstood. He strongly believes that his peace-loving community deserves a chance and both the countries should make honest efforts to open important routes along the Line of Control (LOC) such as Turtuk-Khaplu and Kargil-Skardu.

“We are a peace-loving community. There is no incident of terrorism on both sides of this area. In the three districts of Baltistan where there are Balti people, there is no jail. I request the governments of India and Pakistan to think on humanitarian grounds so that divided families could meet their loved ones,” he appeals.

But Ali is very much aware of the reality and recalls what he told his parents and relatives during his stay there. “It’s true we are one community but each of us have to remain loyal to our nations. I told them you remain loyal to your country, I’ll remain loyal to my nation.”

Back in Thang, Ali’s life has seen all kinds of ups and downs. After struggling to make a living, he went on to eventually build a zoo and an organic farm. He has also been felicitated by the central government for his innovations in farming.

But all these achievements mean nothing to Ali, especially after the death of his mother last year.

“I managed to achieve a lot in this life for myself. I have built my heaven in my backyard, a zoo and a farm. I may have been the first one to have automated doors and CCTVs in my house in Turtuk. Hundreds of intellectuals from the country visit my house, love and adore me. However, all this means nothing for me.” he laments.

Ali says all his aspirations died with the death of his mother. He wanted to go back to Pakistan one more time or call them over here. However, he says, now he doesn’t feel like going back. “For whom will I go? My mother won’t be there anymore to welcome me.”