ELECTIONS '98
COMMENTARY
SPECIALS
INTERVIEWS
CAPITAL BUZZ
REDIFF POLL
DEAR REDIFF
THE STATES
YEH HAI INDIA!
ARCHIVES

The Rediff Special/Syed Firdaus Ashraf & Jewella C Miranda

'We stay, because we have no options'

Do they ever cross over to Pakistan? Vice versa? "No, never," says Abu Bakkar. "Those who left for Pakistan never came back to India after 1947. I don't recall in my memory anybody who crossed over, nor have we ever had guests from Pakistan."

Not because crossing is difficult, mind -- in fact, nothing could be simpler, because there is not one single fence, even, along the border.

Any other visitors, I ask, wondering what kind of person would come to this outpost of nowhere. "Yes, traders from Ahmedabad who come to buy our buffaloes, because here they can get them for cheap rates," says Abu Bakr.

Bacchubhai is one such trader. "I have been visiting this place for twenty years now, and as far as I can see, nothing has changed, not one single thing, they still live the same way, eat the same things."

Speaking of eating, the menu is basic. Bajra rotis, onions. And if the year has been very very good, or if the occasion is very very special, maybe a glass of chaas or, ah, heaven, lassi.

I am there, in the midst of the natives, and I keep thinking I am in a ghost town. And then I am told that had I timed my visit for the monsoon season, I really would have found a ghost town -- everyone leaves.

The reason being that water from the surrounding creek enters the villages, making any kind of movement impossible -- no one in his sane mind wants to go wandering around, never knowing whether the next step will be on solid earth, or quicksand.

"When it rains, most of us go to some other villages for a month or two, or go to the cities in search of work," says Omar. "And we come back only when the water recedes.

By this point in time, I am dying to get back to some kind of town, city, whatever -- to civilisation as I know it. And I wonder if the same urge doesn't strike the natives. "Certainly," says Sharrif Bachhal of Burkul village. "We want to leave this place, go to the cities. But how? Go to the city and do what? Unless the government takes care of our rehabilitation, gives us some kind of place to stay and some work to do, what is the point of leaving here, and going somewhere to starve? We stay, because we have no options."

As far as I can see, the main reason for their plight is that there is no continuing contact with the outside world. No one comes, no one goes, so it is easy to forget about them -- there is, after all, nothing to remind us that they exist.

Unless war happens, that is. "In 1965 and 1971, when India and Pakistan were at war, we suddenly became important," recalls Abdullah baba of Nana Bitara. "Military outposts came up, traders followed them, we were made much of. Then the war ended, the outposts vanished, and we were forgotten."

And oh yes, there is one day in the year when people from the real world frantically look at their maps to locate this region -- and that is during the annual urs of Haji Pir Baba, in the first week of every April.

Haji Pir Baba -- Ali Akbarshah to use his given name -- was a saint who came to the region from what is now West Punjab, in Pakistan, some 750 years ago and went on to attain sainthood. And come the time of the urs, the faithful trek here to pay homage, and the natives see faces other than their own.

Border Security Force officers tell me the area -- which qualifies as a sensitive border and spans all of 600 km -- is guarded by a total of 4,000 officers and sepoys. This, incidentally, is the only international boundary between the two countries that is officially accepted by both nations.

Then again, the sheer length of the border apart, you don't need too many people to police it. You won't find, for instance, a single notice warning against trespassing, or indicating that an international border is near. The reason is simple -- the villages are small, everyone knows everyone else, the BSF can identify the natives easily because they all have individual ID cards.

Perhaps for this reason, the authorities have tended to ignore the demands of the local BSF personnel. For instance, they point out that while BSF personnel in the other eight frontiers (Rajasthan, Gujarat, Punjab, Jammu, Kashmir, Tripura, AMMN which includes, Assam, Manipur, Meghalaya and Nagaland, North Bengal and South Bengal) are armed with AK-56 assault rifles and other state of the art weaponry, the officers and men here are armed in comparitively primitive fashion.

In the fashion of thanking the powers that be for small mercies, the officials point out with some relief that lately, the camels they relied on for transport had been replaced by multi-purpose tractors.

"In quicksand, an entire camel will be buried as you watch," says a BSF official. "These tractors give us a better chance of survival."

Topographically speaking, the Indian forces are at a disadvantage in the region, since the Rann is more on the Indian side of the border. This makes passage from one border post to the next as near impossible as dammit -- there are no roads, nor even clearly defined tracks. If you want to get someplace, you head off in the general direction and hope to get where you are going, through sheer blind luck.

"Last year," says a BSF officer, who requests that his name be kept out, "two Indian military men were caught by the Pakistani forces when they lost their direction in the Rann of Kutch. And to this day, they are still prisoners in Pakistan."

Given the ease of access, you would expect that the region would be a regular entry point for infiltrating militants and smugglers. Not so, say the ones who know. In fact, BSF officials point out that it is Bangladeshis, more than Pakistanis, who are being caught making the crossing.

Poor Bangladeshis, that is, who are lured by agents who promise them employment opportunities in Pakistan, cheat them of their money, promise a smooth crossing through Gujarat and then leave them to fend for themselves.

It is only when they get near the Rann that these unfortunates realise what they are getting into -- a land so inhospitable that those who are in can't get out, and those who are out prefer to stay out.

Life on the border ain't all that it's cracked up to be...

The Rediff Specials

Tell us what you think of this feature