PKP

The Sun is Back in The Valley

by Zulfiqar Gul – gul.zulfiqar at gmail dot com

On the 17th of February 2009, I had left Swat after some militants had established their base close to our place in Barikot in Swat. Prior to that, Barikot was once a peaceful area of a stunning valley. I still remember at that time, the role of our security forces was very dubious. While coming back from Mingora to my hometown in a cloudy and drizzling evening, I saw them patrolling Barikot’s markets before suddenly disappearing. Just a few hours after that during night time, the militants broke into Barikot for the first time. But everyone were less bothered to take decisive action against the militants who were spreading their wings at will. Maybe it was because our soldiers did not have the clear-cut order from Islamabad, where a judiciary issue was still overshadowing the looming threat exploding in Swat.

While traveling to Mingora, my eyes caught the debris of Qambar High School, which had been blown up recently by the fanatics, depriving hundreds of students of their education. Even before going outside, my mom used to tell me forcefully not to speak my mind out against those fanatics in public places as my head would be cut off of my body by the next day. It was such a chaos that every morning we had to bear the brutal news that somebody was slaughtered last night and there was a body laying on Mingora’s Nishat Chowk. The Mullah would proudly announce on FM radio how many people the militants had slaughtered daily. And while watching TV upstairs, I would have to lower the volume just to avoid being distressed by the news of those fanatics spreading their vulgarity. At nights, just before hitting the bed, I used to think about our policies of the 1980s and 90s. The policies of installing a proxy government in Afghanistan and bleeding India in Kashmir, using private groups along with the religious ideology. Unfortunately these plans had backfired quite badly and now they begun pointing their sharp swords at our naked heads.

Finally I thought, enough is enough and I left Swat for Islamabad on the 17th of February. With 20,000 Rupees in my pocket, I started a persistent search for a job and found myself visiting every office in Islamabad. After few days of effort, I got myself a job in a British call centre. Everyday I picked up the newspaper in hope of hearing something positive about Swat‘s situation, but only in vein.

In March, the controversial act of Shariah, in the Malakand division was passed by the national assembly and also Justice Iftikhar Chaudry was restored as chief justice of Pakistan. The act carried out by the Government for peace was considered a great weakness for the militants and they moved into the adjacent Buner district, which in turn caused panic for the western media, spreading masses of propaganda that the Taliban were now just 60 miles away from occupying Islamabad to get their hands on some nuclear weapons. Then in the month of April, we had news hitting the airwaves of different TV channels where a teenage girl somewhere in Swat was being flogged by fanatics for going out with her father in law. I watched that bone chilling video during my lunch break and it left me so broken that after it had finished. I decided to have a walk from the Rawalpindi double road to Faizabad so that I could cry my heart out. While going to my place, I was pleading to Allah to send a messiah to us so he could free us from those brutal butchers who were ripping us off.

In second week of April, I went back to Swat to spend my holidays there. During my brief stay there, I found that the entire valley was being taken over by the militants, hitting the roads and streets at their will with heavy weapons in their hands. CDs shops were being blown up and Dish TV was being kept in hide by the locals from militants. Seeing the valley being pushed into a Stone Age and in action from the government’s side got us boiling with rage. After coming back from Swat, I got myself busy again working in the call centre. I was not making enough sales and that was bothering me everyday. In the call centre, the role was simple and if one did not hit the sales often enough then that person would be effectively screwed up by the management. However, I was lucky because my floor manager was not so tough and always guided me on how to go about the whole business.

Meanwhile, the third week of the April operation against the militants was launched in Buner with the main concentration of uprooting the militants from the area using destructive airpower. In moments people from Buner started migrating to safer places such as those of Mardan and Swabi. Fighter jets and Gunship Helicopters also shelled the mountains of Karakar, which separate Swat from Buner. Those mountains were situated just 11km from our place. My family used to tell me on the phone that they could smell the operation steadily extending to the Swat valley since the militants had taken over the Mingora city. In the first week of May the militants openly began to challenge the government rite by occupying government offices in Mingora. This crucial move awoke Islamabad from the slumber of fake peace in Swat after they conceded so much with a so-called peace accord. While over here in Islamabad, I moved to another British call centre located in F-11/2. I had to make that move because I was not getting paid on time. On my first day in the new call centre, I hit a sale and received a clip of appreciation from the entire floor. But since then, it had just been tough going.

So, in the first week of May, the operation was extended to Swat. Mingora was pounded heavily by the fighter jets and gunship choppers, leaving many people trapped. During a few days of pause, the locals started fleeing the area for the Mardan district. However, due to lack of transport, the locals had to cover miles on foot. Barikot, my hometown, which apparently was safe from this conflict, came under fire for the first time when numerous gunship helicopters suddenly started shelling militant hideouts. This obliged my family to flee to my uncle’s place in Peshawar. Only my two elder brothers; (I) and (S), opted to stay in Barikot. But this was only to make sure that our place was not to be occupied by the militants, which would result insecurity forces attacking our only shelter, and this would sadly leave us homeless forever.

So, in the third week of May, our family moved to a flat in Islamabad rented by me and my brother (T) , who is an English Teacher at FG School, Islamabad. While being here at Islamabad, I used to argue with shopkeepers about the fact that everything is so expensive, but I soon realized that goods only seemed expensive to me because I was not earning enough money.

During an intense conflict one night, those brutal militants blew up the Fazaldad Colony Primary School where my brother, (I), was teaching. All the doors of learning and education in Swat were being shut down rapidly, and this had a great impact on us. One evening, an Army conveyer came under deadly ambush at Kota town of Barikot tehsil, leaving many soldiers shaheed and injured…the fight lasted for hours.

Even my two brothers, who were running for safety, came under fire from FC soldiers that were positioned on the mountaintops over looking our house in Barikot. Luckily my brothers escaped that deadly fire, but that accident forced my elder brother to say goodbye to Barikot. He tried his level best to convince (I) that there was not point in saving our house with unexpected death looming on our heads 24/7. He even had a tough argument with him but (I) stuck to his point and opted to stay home. Around that big house in Barikot, the only source of being connected with the rest of the world for (I) was a Radio. Meanwhile, on Buner’s dangerous route, (S) made it to Islamabad on 27the May.

In last week of May, the flat became jam-packed with 12 people accommodating themselves by sleeping on the floor. Soon my family found it too hard to cope in the hell of expenses in Islamabad. They started to miss the economical rates of Swat. Unfortunately, the only source of money for my family during that crunch time of our life was my dad’s pension and (T) salary. Whereas all my salary was being eaten away by my daily expenses.

Swat had been without electricity, telephone and mobile services for almost one and a half months, so we were clueless about (I) wellbeing in Barikot. Everyday while going to my workplace, I used to cry seeing Swat burning in deadly flames. There was a pretty much empty area in street 20 F/11 right next to my office, where I used to weep my heart out because of the agonies and frustrations we were facing.

In the last week of May, our security forces launched a decisive ground operation against militants occupying the Mingora city, the heart of Swat. It took the security forces only a few days to get the area cleared of militants, but not before the bloody urban warfare saw a few of our soldiers accepted Shahadet. Now their next target was Koza Bandai (down town), Bara Bandai (uptown) and their strong hold in Charbagh across the river. Before launching the operation in those areas, the security forces used massive airpower, making the way clear for ground troops to move. Although, still the security forces had to bear a few casualties the reports were suggesting that 80% of militants were grinded by the meat grinder of our armed forces but still possessed a fair amount of threat due to guerrilla warfare friendly terrain of Swat.

On the 21st of June around 10:35pm, we received a call from Swat, with jubilant (I) sharing his moments of joy with us, that Pakistan had won the twenty20 world cup which brought tears of joy in our eyes. I heard the sound of his voice after so many weeks, finally sharing good news. This victory worked as a tonic for IDPs who had something to finally cheer for.

On 15th of July, our family left for Swat, after the government had deemed the Valley safe and secured. When I came back from work, I found the flat in Islamabad giving me a painfully mocking look, as if it were blaming me for the fact that I was not earning enough to help my family in this unfortunate time. Regardless of the fact that they had done so much for me, this flat made me feel as though I was unable to fulfill my duty towards my family.

On the 13th of August, around 4.45pm , I reached Landake, the entering point of Swat. The security forces thoroughly checked us and let us go. The gunship helicopters were hovering over our heads. By 5.20pm I reached my hometown Barikot, after four months. It was peacefully calm but it had lost its innocence having seen so much bloodshed in recent times.

On the 14th of August, the people of the valley were celebrating the Pakistani independence day with full vigor. And security forces were patrolling the markets to assure us that the militants had been eliminated. 300 soldiers had lost their precious lives and 900 injured in the last 4 months’ long conflict. They had sacrificed their today for our better tomorrow and we are proud of them. To do that, one must be as brave as a lion. May Allah rest their souls in peace, Amen. I would like to thank my friends and office colleagues who were there to heal my wounds during those moments of great agony. There are hopes flowing in the air of having that old peaceful Swat again.

Families are flourishing the streets of Swat again, businesses are starting up, markets are once more being seen full of busy shoppers. However these isolated incidents here and there have established the fact that the war is far from over and we need to be persistent and remain agile. But as for now, I am meeting my old friends in the Barikot bazaar before going back to Islamabad.

Yes, we can see that the sun is back in the valley………