An account of Maqbool Bhat, Ghulam Yasin and Mir Ahmed’s escape from prison to Pakistan-administered-Kashmir from one of the Maqbool Bhat’s interviews in 1972.

Freedom lovers have always tried to break the walls that cage them, it’s even more important in a guerrilla fight. Our escape was no coincidence, we didn’t just see an opportunity and took it. Right from the time they put the shackles on me, I was thinking of ways to escape. I knew if I had to finish what I had started I would have to escape no matter what. I decided not to take help from anybody outside as it would put their life in danger too, their allegiance had to remain a secret for now. We were kept separate from other prisoners, our area was called Zanaan Khana/Zanana Jail and during the autumn of 1967, we were joined by Zul Zamaan, Jamus Khan and Ghulam Yasin. All of them were from Azaad Kashmir and had crossed over to IOK during the 1965 war. Yasin had been arrested for spying for Pakistan. After getting to know them, our team grew, we were six now (Kala Khan, it seems, was being held in the other wing), Jamus and Zamaan lived in the second cell. Our cell had Room A and Room B, Room B was divided into 3 sections, kitchen, toilet and washroom. Four guards would still always stay outside to keep a watch. One had a machine gun and the other three were armed with rifles, all of them were from the BSF. We divided our escape plan into three steps. First, we had to improve our relationship with the prison administration by acting naive and making them believe that we mean no harm

We would even smile whenever they tried to instigate a reaction. Second, we had to get friendly with prison Administration, most of them were Muslims who identified with us. Slowly and one by one, we explained to them how we were not arrested for looting or stealing as the state and it’s propaganda says but for demanding freedom for Kashmir. We told them we wanted Kashmiris to rise and they could only rise after Azaadi.

We soon found a support base who identified and would work for us among them, they would do minute tasks and carry our messages. We also used to get Indian Express, Aftab and a few cigarettes during the evening. The prison administration would censor much of the stuff in the newspapers. In winters, we were supplied with a Kashmiri bukhāri, which also helped us in our escape later on. The prison building was pretty old, it had soil plastered on stones not wider than a brick. On 21 August, 1968, I filed an appeal against my death penalty in from of the Chief Justice of Indian occupied Kashmir. It was 300 lines long (The appeal is missing from the High-Court records). After my appeal, our wooden doors were replaced by iron doors, our walls were fixed and coloured with white, we demanded a bulb but it was rejected as “people under death sentence aren’t allowed such privileges” but they would leave a lantern near the prison bars. We asked for a 6-inch nail to hang our clothes and a place to put our Quran on. We were being chained even while roaming around the prison grounds and even when we went to the bathroom.

In October 1968, we started putting our plan into action. The appeal was going on while I was gathering information from my sources inside the prison. I came to know that our wall was just 8 feet away from the prison walls, outside which was a field where vegetables used to grow. Many prisoners used to be taken there for work during the summers. There were no guards in the field during winter so it seemed to be the best time for escape. The second cell was at the end of the jail (where Pakistani citizens were held) was the end of the jail, it’s eastern wall made up of bricks and at least 3 feet wide but the one opposite to the bars were weaker and made up of stones. We used one of it’s rooms as our store room where we would keep our things (mattresses/blankets etc). My sources told me that it would be comparatively easier to break through a stonewall than through the brick one. We decided to open a hole between the two cells first so that we can move easily.

As the winters came, we noticed our walls were turning wet, so we covered them with blankets upto 2.5 feet in height. When questioned about our actions we simply said that our clothes were getting dirty and wet walls were making the cells colder. As we had already won their trust, they believed it. I complained to the jail administration that our jails were too open for such a brutal winter. I asked for permission to cover them from the floor to a few feet height with blankets, to which they again agreed. At evenings, I used to stay near the blankets, as if trying to find some light to read my newspapers but in reality I was keeping an eye while my friends were doing their work. We used the 6-inch nail to dig the wall and hid the mud and stones under our mattresses. This was done so slowly that even the guard roaming outside our cell wouldn’t hear anything. No newspaper meant no digging. We soon managed to create a hole big enough to pass by through, it took us eight days.

The wall was covered with blankets so the guards wouldn’t smell anything fishy whenever they peaked in during the day. As we couldn’t crossover to the second cell until everybody slept, we changed the timing of our digging. To dig the wall for our escape, we found 12 am-2 am a preferable time to work. I would still go the prison bars to read my newspaper order to minimize any chance of suspicion and we all would fake sleep till 12. Around 12:00 am everyday, Ghulam Yasin would cross over to the other cell and start his work. I would use blankets from the store to make a dummy in order to make sure he would seem to be sleeping from the outside if anybody came to check. It took us almost two weeks to finish working on this wall. Now, we had to create a hole in the main wall which surrounded the whole compound. We used the iron and wood from our Bukhari to do this job but suddenly one day our guard changed.

These new guards were from the CRPF. They didn’t even speak Urdu or Hindu but only English and Tamil. We found it easier to impress them and I even learnt a bit of Tamil from them. These poor souls were from the plains and the winters of Kashmir were too harsh for them. They would light a big Bukhari during the night, surround it, make tea and talk, thinking that we all were deep asleep. They would have not even in their wildest dreams thought what we were upto. On 17 November 1968, the Indian government decided to convert all death sentences into life sentences in respect of the 20th death anniversary of the Mahatma Gandhi that was soon about to be celebrated. Next day, the Jail staff visited to congratulate and informed us that we shall be soon shifted to the normal cells. We had already finished 3/4th of our work, so changing our cells would have exposed our secret. We told them that every cell was the same for us and we were still on the death sentence till the official order came. Even our guards weren’t happy with the general actions of the Indian state. I used to discuss and share news from Madras with them and that would make them extremely happy. During the third week of November, Ramadan started and we were given some relaxation.

Our Pakistani friends would come into our cell during the day (legally) and we would pray together. After the prayers, I would recite the Quran to them and talk about Jihad against falsehood so that they wouldn’t lose hope. One day, Mir Ahmed returned with red eyes and deep breaths, he said, “Maybe Allah doesn’t want our Azaadi, there is a huge stone blocking our way out. We can’t close the holes neither can we get away. What should we do now, Maqbool?“. I told him to have faith and start digging around the edges of the stone. When the edges became weak, the big stone took just around 15 minutes to dispose. I cannot explain the smile on his face when he came back! He hugged me and kissed my forehead, it was around 2. The guards came as they always would around this time during Ramadhan to order Yasin to make Sehri for us. We explained the plan of escaping on the same night to Yasin after the guards went away to warm themselves. Mir Ahmed was the first to cross, then Yasin and then me. We thought about our brother, who refused to come with us. They didn’t believe we would be able to escape, forget cross over to Azaad Kashmir during such a harsh winter. They said it was impossible, that it was a suicide, but we had made our mind. We again requested them to join us but they declined. I think they were scared, very scared. We took some food, a packet of cigarettes and my legal documents with us and left.

It was 9th of December 1968 and around 2:30 am when we escaped. We reached the mountains of Badamwari and crossed a river. The winter was bone chilling, only the thirst of Azaadi and the strength of our Emaan kept us going. We would deliberately cross rivers rather than going around them as we knew police (with their trained dogs) would soon be looking for us. It took us 16 days to reach to the first border check post of Azad Kashmir. We didn’t contact our sympathisers in Indian Occupied Kashmir because we knew they would be facing the brunt of the state after our escape. We also knew crackdowns would be happening all over Kashmir. We would walk through apple orchards to escape sight while eating our eggs and rotis. Everyday at around 4 am, guards usually interchanged their positions in the prison. After the change they would check on the prisoners from outside to see if everything was going alright, but we weren’t there anymore. The countermeasures should have started by now. The sun was coming up, so we took upto the mountains and hid there till it was dark again.

At around 2:00 am on 10th of December, it started to snow but we couldn’t stop. Our feet were freezing and we lost the way, but we still kept going as stopping was no option. It had snowed only on the mountains till now, so we found a cave and warmed ourselves there, then we came down and continued our journey through the plains. We soon found a lonely village, right in the middle of nowhere. On the outskirts of it, we found a small hut. The inhabitants were poor, so we asked only for a place to rest. Treating us as his own, the owner told us to sit near the Dambur and served tea. He told us about a dream he had had yesternight, in which a divine figure had appeared to him and informed him about the coming of a few guests who should be taken great care of. Even though he was a shepherd, he make sure we got everything we needed. Our feet were washed with warm water. My companions slept but I kept talking to my host till we had Sehri. This places was somewhere in Alasteng, the same place Srinagar gets its electricity from. We soon left for Ghanderbal, it was a highly militarised area but to our good-luck, it was also raining profusely and due to heavy fog, nobody could see beyond about 50 feet.

We again took refuge in a lonely house to dry our clothes and to warm ourselves by acting as business men from Residency Road, Srinagar who had come to the area for hunting. Our host asked me if I could help him with a land-grabbing case going on at the Srinagar High Court, I replied affirmative.

During our stay, Ahmed Rather (our host) instructed us to be careful as the army and the CRPF had started strict checking of all roads leading to and from Srinagar and were harassing people, even the women weren’t spared. I acted surprised and asked him why all this was happening.

“Don’t you know? Mujahideen have escaped from Srinagar. They were being kept there since long, some were even on the death sentence… Not only army, even CID is looking for them, but they are nowhere to be found“, he said.

We then started to talk about the Mujahideen of 1965. I told him how I had helped the Mujahideen during those years (which is a fact) and he was highly impressed. I asked him, “I have heard that a lot of Mujahideen were working in this area. Is it true?“, He sighed and said, “Yes, it’s true. They were working here, some even saw them but I never did, how I wish I would have seen one“. I changed the subject and asked about his personal life. He was a farmer, who during his youth also used to deliver supplies to Srinagar, Gurez, Asur, Poji and Giglit. “But these are the stories of old times, now the LOC has divided our country. I can’t go there nor can they come here.” he added. I then told him that I wanted to discuss something of a grave importance with him alone. He took me to the third floor of his home and we sat on a Patij. I asked him if he was in the state of Wuduh and he replied replied with a yes.

I then took out the Panch-Surah which I always used to carry with me out from my pocket and asked him to keep his hand on it and promise me that he would not share the secrets I was about to reveal with any other living soul. After his promise, I told him we were the same Mujahideen who had escaped from Srinagar. His face brightened up, and his eyes turned bloodshot. I don’t think I can really explain his emotions at that time. He began crying, kissing my hands and hugging me. He ran down to the first floor and spread a new carpet, opened his Almirah and also took out his new blankets and mattresses. From now on, we were told to stay in this room. He then went to the kitchen and asked his wife to cook chicken. Rather than Tyoth, preparations for Kehwa began too.

The old man ordered his daughter to go to the main village and get her brother (Habib) home too. At the time of dinner, food was brought to the first floor. I could see on the face of his wife how proud she was for getting a change to cook for us (Mujahideen), but only men ate at our table while the women ate separately. Within a few hours, we turned from strangers to their most beloved guests. They made sure we had no complaints about our stay. We told them we had to leave in the middle of the night and Habib offered to guide us as far as he could.

On 12 December 1968, at around 1:00 am, I and my friends woke up and found the old man still awake and waiting. He woke up his family and asked them to prepare a meal while he went to get some fruits and a few kilograms of rice for us from his orchids which we would need during our journey. We refused to take anything but were forced to accept. With a heavy heart and a lot of blessing, Baba bade us farewell. In the dim moonlight, we left for our destination with Habib.

Habib was well-informed about the area and helped us skip checkpoints with ease. After an hour of walk, Habib told us that he didn’t know what lay beyond, so we bade him farewell. Before leaving, I had written a letter attributed to Sheikh Nazir of the Plebiscite Front for our hosts, I wrote to him about our escape and asked him to help Habib and his family in their case going on in the High Court. I had met Sheikh Nazir during our imprisonment at the Srinagar Jail.

We took to the mountains and crossed a few rivers and reached another village. The river divided the village into two parts. On the banks of it was a Masjid, we prayed Nafl there and resumed our journey. After reaching the Sumbal-Ganderbal road intersection we started walking towards Sumbal. We reached yet another village where people were leaving for Fajr prayers. A man saw us and and greeted us with the Islamic greeting, he asked us who we were and I answered saying that I was the forester from a nearby village on my way to Sumbal with my colleagues. Foresters are not seen as a direct part of occupying force in Kashmir, so people go easy on them.

Coincidentally, Mohammad Akhoon (our host) had just built a new house and needed wood for it. He requested us to stay with him for a few hours so that we could rest. The sun was coming up, we also were in need of a place to stay, so we agreed. He took us to his newly built house, they hadn’t moved in yet but preparations were in place. We decided to sit there rather than going to his old house because it was easier to keep an eye on the village from this location. Akhoon went home and came back with tea. While he was gone, I had ordered my friends not to unpack anything and be ready to move while staying at the window. One cannot be sure of anything.

After coming back and noticing our uneasiness, Akhoon asked me why we wouldn’t even take our shoes off? I, acting as a forester, authoritatively ordered him to not talk about useless matters with us but he kept insisting. We removed our shoes and sat comfortably.

I asked him about his family. Akhoon had a wife, and a daughter who had been married recently. By morning, the news of our escape had reached here too. Akhoon told me how the forces were looking everywhere to find the escaped Mujahids. My eyes fell on a sewing machine and I learnt that Akhoon was a part-time tailor. I used his scissors and the sewing machine to make a pair of gloves from a piece of my blanket that I had taken along from the jail.

I found Akhoon to be very supportive and same as I had done with Baba, I made him place his hand on the Quran and promise to protect our secrets. Akhoon wanted to run back home and get more food for us after he heard the truth but I refused. When his son-in-law came to check on us, Akhoon went to get the dawat he was planning all along. He ordered his son-in-law to look after us and not to leave us alone incase we needed anything. Akhoon requested me if he could bring his daughter in to meet us too. He wanted her to see the Mujahideen. I skipped his requests multiple times, but he wouldn’t give up so we agreed to see his daughter. She and her husband later left for their home after meeting us.

Akhoon provided us with a guide who was extremely happy for getting a chance to guide the Mujahideen. He also got some sugar, tea, cigarettes and kulchas from for us which we might need on the way. We left at around 7:00pm.

We walked on the road to Sumbal for a some time but later went into the corn fields. Electric polls were directing us towards other villages. After two hours of walking, I asked my guide to return, he insisted on coming with us until we reached Sumbal but I refused stating that his family would be waiting for his return.

After waiting for a few minutes, we changed our path. It was not a sudden change, it was our plan all along (this was done to fool the authorities in case somebody snitched). After walking for a few more hours, we reached the Mansbal lake. To our left was a big village with bright lights. We found two houses on the outskirts, but both were empty. While we were discussing our plan ahead, electricity went out in the village. We decided it was safer to go into the village now but we couldn’t just knock at any house and be mistaken for thieves. I told my companions to keep their eyes and ears open and look for a house where people were still awake. While walking, we heard a man coughing on the second floor of his wooden godown. These godowns always have a room where the owner can stay and is usually built near one’s own house.

I ordered my companions to stop and knocked at the window with a long stick. There was no answer for the first time, but when I knocked again, he asked us who we were and what did we want at this time. In a hushed up voice, I told him that we were no strangers and asked him to open the window so we could talk. He opened the window and again asked us about our business there. “We are Musafirs from Sumbal and want to go a village a little far from here, we are very tired and want to take some rest“, I said politely. He pointed at a Masjid nearby and asked us to go there and rest as much as we wanted to. I told him that it wasn’t possible for us to go there, had it been possible we wouldn’t have come to him in the first place.

He allowed us to come in. He then lit his lantern and looked at us carefully. “Oh, so it is you people! I am so happy to meet you. Now I understand why you don’t want to go to the Masjid. You are the Mujahideen everybody is looking for!”, exclaimed the 25-years-old young man. We told him that we wouldn’t have disturbed him in the middle of the night like this, but it was extremely necessary for us to cross the lake somehow. “Consider it done, if you want, I can be of more help. We are always ready to make sacrifices for our Mujahideen, but first you should take some rest.” he replied.

He extinguished the light and talked to us about the Mujahideen. He told us about his younger brother who was studying in a college nearby and how he would love to see us. I asked him to make the arrangements for our crossing, but he wanted us to have Sehri with him first. We went to his house, where we also met his brother who was really happy to meet us. All of us together had our Sehri with rice and fishes. We also listened to the radio to catch some news. After we were done, both the brothers helped us cross the river and joined us till we reached the Sumbal-Bandipora road. I asked them to return from there. I don’t remember their names, but they belonged to the Wagay caste.

On 13 December 1968, we again walked non-stop till we reached Sadarkot. We could hear the sound of Duroods being hummed from the Masjids. It was almost morning. We crossed Sadarkot and again started looking for a place to stay. A mile away from Sadarkot, we found a few isolated houses. We decided to either stay in the jungles nearby or stay in one of the houses. When we reached the last house, we knocked on it’s door and a young boy came out. He told me that his father was still at the Masjid.

I told him that we were his father’s guests and wanted to meet him. He guided us inside and introduced himself as Ghulam Rasool. After around 15 minutes, his father returned and sat near me and asked us who we were and where we were from. I told him that we had come here for hunting and wanted to cross the mountains ahead. While we were talking, I also told him that I was a school master by profession. So, to test his sons progress, he requested me to ask him a few questions. The father was himself uneducated but had left no stone unturned to educate his son. I ordered Ghulam Rasool, a 9th class student to come closer and asked a few questions. After some time, much to the relief of his father, I told him that his child was good at studies and would pass his exams with ease. Now, he wanted me to examine his 10 year old daughter too. She was a student of the Qu’ran. She was a bit weak in her studies so I had to correct her from time to time. Hearing my Tilawat (recitation), the father asked me where I had learnt it from but I asked him why was he interested in knowing where I had learnt to recite the Qu’ran in such a manner.

“Your recitation reminds me of the old times, the time when our country wasn’t divided. I was a young man then working in Punjab. The Mullahs there have a tone much similar to yours.”, he said. I told him that I had got my religious knowledge from Punjab itself. He then began to share his experiences of living in Punjab. While discussing different topics, we also took up Kashmir’s politics. After getting positive answers from him, we revealed our real identity to him too. He too was extremely happy to host us and did whatever he could to make our stay comfortable. One of us would stay at the door and keep an eye on the surroundings while others would rest. Our host told us that the whole of Bandipora had been turned into a garrison after our escape. Various check-points had been set up and raids were taking places everywhere. Sensing danger, we decided to change our course. At the evening, I asked our host if he could find for us a guide who could help us reach the Sonawari Tehsil through Jehlum. He sent his son to the surrounding houses who came back with 3 more people. Out of them, Ghulam Ahmed Khan volunteered to go with us. After our dinner, we left at around 9:00pm and reached Chandaregare. Here, our guide took us to his son-in-law’s house.

Here, we met two more people, Salam and Sana-ullah Sheikh. They informed us that crossing through the river into Sonawari was not safe anymore as CID officials in civilian clothes had been installed near the banks of the river, but at the same time they also promised us that they would find a way till morning. We stayed at their house for the night. I warned them not to snitch on us, else we would burn the whole house down with everybody in it. One of us would always stay awake while the others slept to keep an eye. After our Sehri, Ahmed Khan bade us farewell and informed us that he would return by noon with some details.

In the morning, Sana-ullah gave us a transistor to listen to the radio. At around 7:00 am in the morning, Sana-ullah too bade us farewell as he had to mark himself present at his office. He promised to come back as soon as possible. I told him to also get details about the presence of the enemy forces around the area. Salam had volunteered to take us to Sopore undetected.

At around 2:00, Sunaah-ullah returned with the newspaper Aftab. It carried a news of our escape and the repercussions faced by the officials on duty there (Extra detail – At least 24 employees including the Superintendent and his Deputy were dismissed. Two among them identified as Ghulam Qadir Khan and Muhammad Amin Zarger were taken into custody and severely tortured in Kothibagh Police Station for 17 days. They were shifted to Joint Interrogation Centre (JIC), Hari Niwas, and after a month shifted to Coimbatore Jail in Tamil Nadu. After a year, Ghulam Qadir Khan and Muhammad Amin Zarger were released on parole. However, they were required to present themselves before the investigating authorities once a week. Later the court ordered their release and reinstatement. However, severe torture had adversely affected Ghulam Qadir’s nerves. He turned mentally ill and died without hearing the good news of his reinstatement). A little while later, Ghulam Mohammad Khan and Salam joined us too. Everybody shared the information they had been able to gather. Salam had already arranged a boat for us which would lead us into the jungle, crossing which would land us in Sopore. We decided to leave in the evening.

After our journey through boat, We, Sana-ullah, Salam and our boatman reached Mugdambagh, a village of fishermen/women. We knocked at a one-storey hut, but the owner refused to open the door fearing we might be thieves. Only after a few minutes of persuasion did he agree to open the door. We asked for his help and offered to pay, but he refused to go out before the sunrise. His wife was suffering a mental disorder, and she thought she was possessed by a Jinn/Ghost. I read from the Quran and blew on her. She considered our coming as a sign of good luck. At about 6 in the morning, we said goodbye to our friends and got into the old man’s boat to continue our journey.

It took us about 3 hours to reach our destination, Sangar. Sangar is the same hill where the tomb of Baba Shukuruddin is located. From this hill, all of Zaingeer and Sonawari is visible. After walking for about 4 hours, we reached an apple orchid and decided to take some rest there till the sun dusked upon us. I sent Mir Ahmed to the village where one of our friends, Abdul Rehman Mir lived. After finding him at home, we decided to meet. Here, we also met Maqbool Mir, a farmer from Kupwara. He invited us to stay at his place for the night and we agreed.

In the morning, we sent Maqbool Mir to check out the security footprint in the area while Abdul Rehman got supplies and equipment for our journey ahead. He also provided us with bandages and sheep-hides to walk through the snow. Here, people would cover their legs upto their shins with the hides and tie grass-ropes around them to keep them in place. Strips of cloth were also tied from their ankles to their knees to make it air-proof. This was the only way to survive the snow coming ahead. We left after some rest.

On 17 December, after walking for a few hours, we reached Baramulla through Rafiabad and took shelter in the woods. We decided to go to Qazinag, it was a difficult route but we had no other option. Ghulam Yasin remembered these woods, it was through these woods he was able to return to Azaad Kashmir during the Operation Gibraltar. We had also heard that not only Police and CID, but also Chowkidars and Numberdars were warned against helping any unknown individuals. Huge banners with our pictures had also been set up at many places warning people of at least 7 years of imprisonment if they dared to help us and a reward of ₹10,000 if they passed any information leading to our capture. We were on our way towards Nowgam through the dense jungle and soon reached areas covered with snow. When it was almost dark, we found a place to rest and started a fire to keep us warm.

On 18 December 1968, we started out for Qazinag Galli, our pace slowed down as the weather kept getting colder and snow more dense. After reaching Qazinag at around 2:00pm, we found an abandoned hut and took some rest there. These huts belonged to the Bakarwal community who brought their animals to these areas during the summers.

Now, we had to climb the snow mountains ahead. At places we would be inside the snow upto our waists, but we continued climbing until it was almost dark. Dabritop was our next destination. My companions were tired and wanted to rest, but I didn’t want anybody to stop as we hadn’t covered much distance due to our slow pace. Ration was also running out. We kept walking to the top under the dim moonlight. At around 2:00am, we found a small plateau near the top with another abandoned hut on it. We went inside, ate and slept.

On 19 December 1968, as the dawn was upon us, we picked up bags and resumed our journey to the top. After reaching to the top at around 10 am, we knew this was the spot after which we could no longer see the valley, so we decided to stay there for a moment. I looked back at my motherland but couldn’t see anything. As far as my eyes went, everything was covered with clouds. It was due to these clouds that I couldn’t see this heart-alluring, beautiful nation of mine whom I had chose to live and die for. We started our descent. The snow had frozen during the night, making it easier for us to walk on it. Our plan now was to reach a jungle before dusk. After walking for some time, I saw a forest to my left but while coming down, Mir Ahmed slipped, I still remember how I dig my hiking pole into the snow and grabbed him. When we reached the forest, we found an abandoned bunker. Inside it were only a few letters in Hindi and some utensils. This meant that we were somewhere near the LOC. We stayed for the night.

On 20 December 1968, we resumed our journey. The mountain we were about to cross was so hard to trek that even after a day of climbing, we couldn’t reach the top. We found a small forest midway, got some Birch bark to keep us warm and took rest but it wasn’t comfortable enough to get any sleep. We again resumed our journey in the morning. At around 2:00 pm, we crossed over the mountain, but I had already met with an accident. While climbing, I had slipped and fell down into a river. My hand was also injured but as the temperature was below zero there wasn’t much blood loss. We soon reached Satsari. Now in front of us was a river, which people of Azaad Kashmir call Chumb-nala. We took rest for the night and walked on the banks of it for the next day as it led to mainlands of Azaad Kashmir. The snow was decreasing but our feet had had enough of the frostbites, cramps and injuries (from our handcrafted boots), but we couldn’t take the boots off due to the fear of infection. Whenever we would stop to warm ourselves, the pain would increase due to the increased flow of blood. Mir Ahmed’s condition was the worst. I don’t think he even slept for a moment during that night. But what could we do except console him?

On 23 December 1968, at around 12:00 PM, we had almost reached our destination, but Mir Ahmed refused to go any further. He was trembling with pain and wanted us to leave him behind. As our attempts at motivating him failed, I started to mock and taunt him so as to make him change his mind. I also took his bag and put his arm around my neck to help him walk. When we had to climb, I would carry him on my back. Had all this been not done, I am sure he would have died.

We soon found a man wandering in the jungle and asked him if this was Azaad Kashmir to confirm our belief. He replied with a yes and took us to his home after hearing our story. This was a day after Eid. How our Eid went, you already know. We will celebrate our Eid the day Kashmir is free.

We were hungry since the last three days, Shah Mohammad (our host) cooked some rice and potatoes as fast as he could to feed us. We removed our shoes and they washed our blood-soaked feet. As the house was too small to host us all, Shah Mohammad asked his friend Muhammad Yaqoob to host me and Yasin. We asked Shah to bring Mir Ahmed to us in the morning. Yaqoob’s family took great care of us. People gather around us and congratulated us for our hard earned freedom.

to be continued…