Kashmiri teenagers dying to protect militants

BALSOO, KASHMIR — It was well past midnight in the village of Balsoo when Numan Ashraf Bhat’s phone lit up with an urgent WhatsApp message: “Umar surrounded by forces.”

One of the area’s most wanted milit ants, Umar Majid Ganai had built a loyal youth following in Kashmir, a Himalayan region disputed between India and Pakistan where violence has claimed tens of thousands of lives. Numan, a gangly 16-year-old, was one of his most enthusiastic supporters — all of the photos downloaded on his phone were of Ganai.

So when Numan learned last month that Ganai was holed up in a tiny hamlet, Indian security forces closing in, he jumped on his motor- bike and sped through the cold to reach a house where militants were trapped.

Hundreds of Kashmiri civil- ians had already gathered. They were forming a protec- tive ring to block Indian officers from advancing, part of a new and often fatal development in the decadeslong struggle over Kashmir.

Violence is rising again in the region, where India has presided over a bloody campaign to hunt down those fighting a quixotic battle for independence. This year, according to police officials in Kashmir, Indian security forces have killed more than 240 militants, the highest annual toll in more than a decade.

But along with the com- batants’ deaths has come a new set of casualties: those of civilians who try to defend them. Gone are the days when the sight of an armored vehicle was enough to send entire villages into hiding. Now, civilians are rushing in front of the heavily armed trucks, using stones and their own bodies to try to block security forces.

Last week, seven civilians were killed after inserting themselves between mili- tants and advancing officers.

“This is a new phenome- non,” said Sheikh Showkat Hussain, an international law professor at the Central University of Kashmir. “Civilians have always sup- ported militants, but never with such conviction.”

This year, rights groups say, at least 148 civilians have been killed. Many were teen- agers.

For decades, Hindu-majority India and Muslim-major- ity Pakistan have fought for control of Kashmir, sending millions of troops to square off along a disputed border hundreds of miles long.

In 2016, the nature of civil- ian protests took a turn when Burhan Muzaffar Wani, a charismatic militant leader with a vast following on social media, was fatally shot in the Indian-administered part.

Kashmiris poured into homegrown militant groups like Hizbul Mujahideen. A network of locals who fed information to Indian intel- ligence officers temporarily broke down, allowing the number of militants to swell.

Pakistan’s role in supply- ing arms and recruits also receded, according to Kashmiri police officials, though Western intelligence officers say Pakistan is still actively supporting several groups.

Yasin Malik, a separatist leader who led an armed struggle against Indian security forces in the late 1980s and early 1990s, said the militant groups would continue to grow. A peaceful resolution in Kashmir became impossible, he said, when locals who tried demonstrat- ing against police continued to meet “brute force.”

“There is no space for a nonviolent political movement,” he said. “They are fighting because everyone has failed them.”

It is unclear who told the Indian authorities where to find Ganai, a senior member of Hizbul Mujahideen who had avoided detection for several years. Authorities said the list of charges against him was long. Last year, he was implicated in killing several police officers guarding a bank’s cash van.

In the early morning of Nov. 25, hundreds of Indian army and police officers blocked roads leading into Batgund with barbed wire. A crowd of civilians gathered, hurling stones from narrow alleys and screaming anti-India slogans from their balconies. Authorities fired tear gas canisters, creating a choking, eye-stinging pall of gray smoke.

Indian security forces had the house where Ganai was hiding out completely surrounded. By the time Numan reached Batgund at 7:30 a.m., the security officers had already killed several insurgents. Ganai was one of the last holdouts.

Young protesters, desper- ate to save the fighters, tried to drive the Indian forces back or create enough chaos to distract them to give the last militants a chance to slip away. It had happened before that insurgents melted into a sea of civilians and vanished right in front of security officers.

Numan and several friends moved closer. They entered a small, relatively unguarded lane in the house’s courtyard, looking for a way to help Ganai escape. The scene was quiet for a moment.

Numan shouted, “Umar, come out!”

Gunfire rang out. Numan clutched his chest. “I am hit! It is burning inside,” he told his friends as they carried his bleeding body to a motorbike.

Numan died on the way to the hospital. Later that morning, Ganai was shot dead.

When asked about the shooting, Indian officials said it had been an accident; Numan had been too close to the militants.

“Who wants to kill a young boy?” asked Swayam Prakash Pani, the area’s police chief, who was not present for the shooting but had been briefed about it.

Several witnesses con- tested that claim, saying they had seen a soldier pointing a gun at Numan from a bal- cony and that the shooting had been deliberate.

Over the next couple of days, thousands of mourners gathered for a marathon of funerals, one after the other, spreading the grief. In Balsoo, the streets were so clogged with people that prayers for Numan were divided into four sessions.

Mohammad Ashraf Bhat, tall and broad-shouldered, said he could not fault his son for trying to protect Ganai.

“The mind says if you jump into fire, you will burn,” he said. “But love doesn’t understand that. If he would not have died like this, he would have died as a militant.”

Two days after Numan’s death, his younger brother, Nadeem, 14, took his place. He traveled to a village near Balsoo where more militants were trapped. He picked up stones and threw them at police officers, who shot a pellet into his leg.

That night, he did not eat or tell his parents what had happened. A single emotion consumed him: passion.

“The sentiment of freedom is in our blood,” he said. “It will outlive us.”

THE NEW YORK TIMES A relative visits the grave of Numan Ashraf Bhat, who was shot at 16 while trying to aid a militant.