The heated discussion, marked by emotional outbursts from several lawmakers over personal security matters in the Legislative Assembly yesterday, reminded me of a few anecdotes from the conflict landscape of Jammu and Kashmir.

Here is one particularly profound memory: In September 2002, veteran Daily Excelsior journalist and my friend Sanjeev Pargal and I accompanied Ghulam Nabi Azad and Ambika Soni to a campaign rally for Congress leader Chowdhary Mohammad Aslam in Surankote.

As the helicopter descended from the hills and hovered briefly while locating a touchdown point, we noticed highly unusual movement among the security personnel. Ambika Soni drew Azad’s attention to it. He said, “This is for us.”

As the helicopter descended further toward the landing site, we saw several dozen bulletproof cars closing in. The moment the helicopter touched down, they formed a complete circle around it. Police personnel rushed to the aircraft without even waiting for the blades to come to a halt.

This was certainly not the kind of protocol Azad had suggested to Soni just a short while earlier. Honestly, Sanjeev and I found ourselves oscillating between calm and excitement, anticipating what would unfold next.

A DySP signalled to the pilot of the Deccan Aviation chopper (Azad’s proclaimed election lucky charm) to open the doors immediately. As the door on Azad’s side opened, we heard loud gunshots being exchanged. We could then clearly see action unfolding in the maize fields right in front of us.

The DySP said, “Sir, there is an encounter going on,” as he hurriedly escorted the leaders out and pushed them into a bulletproof car.

The scene was deeply moving for me, watching how the police were risking their lives to protect those classified as “protected persons” in security parlance, the political VIPs.

Pargal and I also made our way into one of those cars. It was quite a spectacle. Nearly two thousand people sat silently at the rally site, that too well within the firing range of the nearby encounter. Chowdhary Aslam had reassured them, saying, “Kuchh nahin hoga, Allah hamare saath hai.”

Azad insisted on carrying on with the programme as scheduled. 

We continued to hear occasional gunshots over the next two hours. I don’t remember a single word from the speeches, as I knew they wouldn’t make it to the next day’s paper, the encounter had overtaken their news value. 

If my memory serves me right, there were five deaths in that encounter.

Late in the afternoon, as it began raining and made it difficult for the helicopter to take off, we sat at the Dak Bungalow, where the leaders were served roasted corn. Poonch SSP Kamal Saini arrived shortly after. He had another story to tell. 

“Today we made Mufti run away. He wanted to address a rally at the bus stand, taking advantage of the routine crowd. We didn’t let that happen,” he said. Everyone in the room laughed.

As the weather cleared, we began our return journey to Jammu. Azad had a well-known routine of addressing a press conference at the end of each day’s rallies. He took out a piece of paper, which he always kept in the chest pocket of his Nehru jacket, and jotted down some notes.

Upon landing in Jammu, he was received with a formal salutation by his security OSD, a senior IPS officer from Uttar Pradesh. Taking long, quick strides, Azad walked past him. The officer turned swiftly and rushed after him, requesting him to pause. 

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“There is bad news, sir,” he said in a hushed tone. The Minister of State for Home, Mr. Mushtaq Ahmed Lone, has been assassinated.

As we got into different cars, I do not know what further conversation followed. 

At the press conference at Asia Hotel, Azad said, “Farooq Abdullah’s National Conference government must go. No one is secure under them.” 

He hinted that the attack was carried out by forces intent on preventing the Congress from coming to power.

Veteran journalist Arun Joshi quipped, “I am glad you survived. But the National Conference lost their minister to terrorists today in Kupwara.” 

Under the weight of that morning’s trauma, Azad had perhaps not paused to consider which was the greater tragedy. He then immediately reconfigured his response, saying, “A highly competent political leader, an absolute gentleman, has been lost. If the National Conference cannot ensure the security of its own ministers, that is reason enough for people to vote them out.”

Replacing the Farooq Abdullah government in November 2002, Mufti Mohammad Sayeed instituted an inquiry under Kashmir Divisional Commissioner Bharat Bhushan Vyas to examine the circumstances in which Farooq’s Home Minister, Mushtaq Ahmed Lone, was killed. His primary task was to identify any security lapses.

The Vyas Commission report, the quickest in my memory, was tabled in the very next Assembly session. It noted that as many as 84 police personnel, paratroopers, and soldiers were present at the venue of Lone’s public meeting. 

He had a three-tier security cover, with additional deployment in view of the rally. Two men in pherans, with guns concealed inside, rose from the crowd and sprayed bullets at Mushtaq Lone. 

By the time the security personnel could respond amid the panic, the assassins had escaped.

Mushtaq Lone is among hundreds of “protected” political leaders and other notable figures who have fallen to assassins’ bullets over the last four decades of sustained and deliberate terrorist violence.

Anyone with even a basic understanding of security would know that for every successful assassination, there are many more, often far more, that security personnel manage to prevent. We should be grateful for each of those averted attacks. 

Assassins have the advantage of surprise, but security arrangements provide a measure of reassurance necessary to function in such challenging circumstances.

Responding to these questions in recent times, authorities have often said, “We are building an atmosphere free of violence, where everyone feels secure without the need for a personal guard.” 

One hopes that such a situation is achieved sooner rather than later.

The author is a reputed journalist, author, policy analyst, and peace-building practitioner. He is the founding editor-in-chief of The Dispatch, focused on Jammu & Kashmir.

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