Echoes from an Anechoic Chamber
Uzma Falak
MILITARY AREA
YOU ARE BEING WATCHED
ARMED RESPONSE TO TRESPASSING
ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS,
LIVING OR DEAD, IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED.
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
‘In the anechoic chamber, you become the sound.’1
-
Rose Eveleth, ‘Earth’s Quietest Place Will Drive You Crazy in 45 Minutes,’ Smithsonian Magazine, December 17, 2013,
https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/earths-quietest-place-will-drive-you-crazy-in-45-minutes-180948160/ ↩
Earwitness One
PRIMA FACIE This is a chronicle of a night. Sounds of that night haunt this chronicle.
1 As teenagers growing up in the nineties, we spent hours listening to the sounds of bullets. We would
2 play a little game –– distinguishing the sound of one weapon from the other and trying to ascertain
3 who is firing: .303, sporadic shots, meant the Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF), AK47 bursts
4 meant the militants. Sound of the Self-Loading Rifle (SLR) and the Light Machine Gun (LMG) indicated
5 that the Border Security Force (BSF) was firing, and the sound of the Universal Machine Gun (UMG)
6 was attributed to the militants. Sound of Mehdi Hassan’s ghazals, in my memory, is inextricably linked
7 with the sound of bullets.
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13 Sounds of grenades, Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs), and mine blasts. During the Gawkadal
14 massacre, we also heard Sten guns.
15 I still remember the gunshots I heard during one crackdown. It was the time of the Operation Catch and
16 Kill. We had been asked to assemble in Tangbagh and suddenly we heard gunshots. It turned out that
17 the goalkeeper of our local football team was shot near the hem of the Zabarwan hills.
18
19 [boots against tarmac and bones] [tinnitus after an explosion] [inaudible] [inaudible] [inaudible]
20 [This number doesn’t exist] [Simon says shut your eyes] [Simon says stomp your feet] [Simon says drop
21 the bombs] [dialling] [We all fall down] [We all fall down] [How many forms of silence can you identify in
22 this chronicle?] [stutter] [beep] [metal detector doorway] [Am I audible?]
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24 Horn of a military jeep. During a crackdown, after men would be asked to assemble outside (in an open
25 space), they would be frisked and paraded before a row of military gypsies. Masked informers, called
26 ‘cats’, would be sitting in these jeeps. A honk from one of these jeeps meant that the person identified
27 would be taken by the army to an undisclosed location. It could mean torture, death, or disappearance.
28 Sounds of nocturnal horror. A commotion caused by sudden haunting noises in the night attributed to
29 supernatural creations like djinn and daen; iron claws and shoes with springs, hopping from one wall to
30 the next, or jumping from roofs. It was later established that this was a military tactic carried out by the
31 Indian army to create fear amongst people.
Earwitness Two
PRIMA FACIE Is this a story of sounds, of listening witnesses, or of silences? Is this a story of audibility, or inaudibility? What do you hear when coercion qualifies audibility? What sound does forced inaudibility produce? Is silence quiet?
1 Nights were marked by rumours, fear, and commotion in the village; daen of the folklore had suddenly
2 become real. It was a part of the military’s psychological operations (PsyOps). In defiance, we would
3 bang our tin roofs and drums, signalling each other to be vigilant –– forging a sense of togetherness
4 and community.
5
6 [dialling] [sound of a weapon] [sound as a weapon] [sound as a form of control] [sound as a tactic to
7 discipline time] [sound as a disruption] [sound as an index of violence] [sound as violence] [a little girl
8 hiding inside her grandmother’s pheran and creating an in-between space of safety against the
9 thumping of the advancing military boots during a search operation] [sounds of liberation] [sound as
10 liberation] [stutter] [freedom] [freedom] [freedom]
11
12 BBC News radio broadcast.
13 Alif Laila (One Thousand and One Nights ) on television: Alif Laila, Alif Laila, Alif Laila / Har shab nayi
14 kahani/ Dilchasp hai bayaani / Sadiyaa guzar gayi hain / Lekin na ho puraani (Thousand Nights / Each
15 night a new story / Alluring narration / Centuries have passed / Yet so riveting). There was another
16 television series, Yug (Age), aired between 1996 to 1997. Title song: Yug badla badla Hindustan… (A
17 new age, a new India…)
18 One night we heard army vehicles coming to a screeching halt near our house. Search lights darted
19 across our windows. We heard sounds of jackboots marching by our house to the nearby fields. After
20 some time, we heard a person crying in the dead of the night: ‘Kanh chunna? Nebar neeryuv, kanh
21 bachaiyev, kanh neeryuv! Ba chus Sayluk!’ (Is anyone listening? Somebody please come out and save
22 me. I am from the neighbouring village of Sayl!). I remember these cries vividly. No one slept that night
23 and no one dared to come out! Next, we heard a mine blast and the sound of the retreating vehicles.
24 As soon as a call for the dawn prayers reverberated from the mosque loudspeaker, people rushed out
25 only to find that the person whose cries resonated in the night was killed: in the shade of the mighty
26 Chinar tree. People gathered his bones and remains in a sack. Some of his body parts were still
27 lingering on the tree branches. No one in the village cooked meat for weeks.
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Earwitness Three
PRIMA FACIE To most, he was a madman. They called him khish khish, a sound word suggesting the swishing sound of a knife. No one knows exactly why and how this became his moniker. Some say he would say khish khish, endearingly, to admonish children, while also offering them candies and nuts. On my way back from school, I would often find him in the neighbourhood responding in expletives to people who teased him using this moniker.
1 It was winter. Clad in a pheran, I was walking towards my private tuition. A trooper stopped me and
2 asked, ‘What is inside your pheran? Take it out.’ He asked me to fold it and put it over my shoulders and
3 threatened me: ‘Walk straight and if this pheran drops off from your shoulder, I will shoot you.’
4 Tracing the direction and proximity of the gunshots. ‘Kapaer cha gasaan?’ (Where are the firing sounds
5 coming from?) and fretting about a family member who had not yet returned home.
6 I spent my childhood in a house next to an army camp. We would hear the constant barking of dogs
7 guarding the camp. Bollywood patriotic songs and bhajans (devotional songs) would waft in the air.
8 During cricket matches, the camp would resonate with noise and cheering.
9
10 [beep] [the jangle of keys in her mother’s hands merging with the sound of the boots and the metal of
11 the guns] [ambulance sirens] [a barrage of gun shots –– .303, AK47, LMG] [grenades] [bombs] [loud
12 thuds on doors and windows] [heavy battering on the gate] [sound of the troops barging in]
13
14 Sound of whistles, for me, means military whistles. You could be walking and a military whistle would
15 mean you would have to stop and turn back and they would ask, ‘Kahan ja rahe ho?’ (Where are you
16 going?), or you would be asked to show your identity card or run an errand for them, ‘Buy us ghutka’
17 (chewing tobacco).
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29 We now live near the highway and the continuous rumble of the passing military convoys has become a
30 permanent part of the (sub)urban soundscape.
31 Sounds of rampage during a cordon-and-search operation or a house raid.
32 BBC Urdu Service
33 A sudden thud. Sound of someone jumping from a wall.
34 Chag is a sudden disruption, an interruption, helter-skelter. You could be playing, walking to school, or
35 running an errand, and suddenly the approaching military jeeps would mean there is a Chag!
36 Someone, like a passer-by, would announce it in a state of commotion, and everyone would run. Run.
37 Run. Run. Run. Run. To any random house, towards any refuge; one alley to the next –– only to run into
38 paths that turned into cul-de-sacs.
Earwitness Four
PRIMA FACIE I trace his absence, remnant after remnant. Some say he was Rahim. Rahim, one of the attributes of Allah, means merciful. Others say his name was Abdul Rahim: servant of the Merciful.
1 Do you remember Chag? For the longest time, I thought Chag was a gunshot or a particular
2 object, only to realise it is the sound of mayhem, havoc, uproar on the streets, a sudden disruption,
3 people running… And then an abrupt silence. A cacophony followed by an eerie quiet.
4
5 [paramilitaries occupying the living room for hours to watch Mahabharata — the Hindu mythological
6 epics, serialised and aired by the Indian government–owned public broadcaster Doordarshan — on
7 television, as the little girl and her siblings wait on the porch]
8
9 There is a particular sound memory I have. It must have been the summer of 1993 or 1994. There was
10 an afternoon crackdown. The army came and all the men were taken out. Day turned to dusk but the
11 crackdown didn’t end. There was a bunker close to our neighbourhood. The nearby four-way had been
12 blocked. Barring one alley, the inner streets too were barricaded by, as they were locally called, the teer
13 fouj (in Kaeshur, one of Kashmir’s native languages, ‘teer’ means feathers and ‘fouj’ refers to the army):
14 these were troopers who wore helmets with nets, scrim, and scraps of camouflage which looked like
15 feathers. Scores of women from my neighbourhood had gathered on a street where there were no
16 troopers. As hours passed by and the crackdown continued, a woman came running and addressing
17 the gathering, announcing in panic: ‘Why are you still here? You all have been widowed. March.’ I
18 remember the distinct sound of women talking, crying, screaming, sloganeering in unison — sculpting
19 a haunting rhythm of its own.
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26 Doordarshan used to broadcast an Indian patriotic song: vijay vishwa tiranga pyaara / Jhanda uncha
27 rahe hamara (The victor of the world, our tricolour / Let our flag always fly high), featuring India’s
28 space missions and other images of ‘progress’. In my memory this song has merged with the memory
29 of curfews, search and cordon operations, killings…
30 I have vivid memories of Roja –– a 1992 Indian patriotic and romantic film set against the backdrop of
31 the war in Kashmir, playing on our black and white television. The romance of a newlywed couple is set
32 against the picturesque landscapes of Kashmir –– Bollywood’s dominant trope. However, this film also
33 marks the beginning of Bollywood’s second trope –– Indian patriots versus Kashmir’s ‘terrorists’. The
34 hero is a cryptologist working for India’s intelligence agency, deployed in Kashmir. A particular
35 sequence in the film shows fighters in Kashmir setting fire to the Indian flag. As the patriotic
36 cryptologist tries to douse the fire, his own clothes catch fire. This entire sequence is set to a
37 heightened dramatic music interlaced with chants and the actor’s cries.
38 Chappa chappa charkha chale (Chappa chappa, the spinning wheel turns) –– a song from a 1996
39 Indian film, Maachis (Matchsticks), portraying the rise of the Sikh insurgency in Punjab in the 1980s.
40 Do you remember the bhoot incidents? People said these ‘ghosts’ wore shoes with springs and they
41 jumped from one roof to another. This was India’s Operation Ghost. I remember, in defiance, everyone
42 started banging tin drums and canisters. Neighbours would whistle and cry out to each other.
43 Bass sounds from the boats of the Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF) patrolling in Dal lake.
44 Sound of wooden planks breaking against the bodies of two boys who were chased by the
45 police during a Muharram procession.
46 Sound of the Rocket Propelled Grenade (RPG) as I stood on the verandah of my house: Zooooooop!
47 It was summer. There was a bunker near our house and we heard rumours that it was going to be
48 attacked. We left our home and sought refuge in a nearby hotel. There was no electricity. I just
49 remember the constant buzz of a swarm of mosquitoes and the uncertainty which gripped our lives.
50 Sound of a vehicle moving over smashed glass on the street.
51 A boy in our neighbourhood was abducted by the army and tortured. Upon his return, he was lowered
52 onto a mattress laid down in the courtyard. I remember him being out of breath, his gasps and
53 retching, that coalesced into one sound.
54 1993: bullets rained upon our neighbourhood and troops went on a rampage. I remember my mother
55 and I seeking refuge behind a refrigerator as we heard them hurling abuses, shouting, and banging the
56 doors and walls.
57 Loud growl of a trooper: ‘Haaaaaaa! Andar jao!’ (Go inside!)
58 In the 2000s, a heavy blast which shook our classroom created a powerful tremor, a sudden jolt. I
59 haven’t ever heard such a loud sound.
60 When the US invaded Iraq, people marched out in protest in Kashmir. From my classroom window we
61 witnessed one such massive protest: anti-US slogans, sound of batons and tear gas.
62 Sound of ambulance sirens in 2010, 2016…
63 In 2016, when phone lines were suspended, I remember I connected my phone to a stray wi-fi signal
64 and watched the news. A tarana (a religious and/or political song/anthem/hymn) resonated from the
65 mosque loudspeakers: ‘Roti hai Kashmir ki dharti… (In tears, is the land of Kashmir…)
66 I remember a haunting sound from Sanjay Kak’s film, Jashn-e-Azadi: How We Celebrate Freedom –– a
67 1992 video of a massive protest gathering with the entire crowd singing in unison: ‘Sani Kasheeri kya
68 banyo/ Alvida sani shaheedo’ (What has become of our Kashmir / Farewell, our martyrs)
69 In 2010, Everlast’s Stone in My Hand was set to the protest visuals from Kashmir, and was widely
70 circulated (the concept was borrowed from another video: Everlast’s song set to visuals from
71 Palestine): ‘[…] I got no pistol, ain’t got no sword / I got no army, ain’t got no land / Ain’t got nothing but
72 the stone that’s in my hand / Stone in my hand, stone in my hand / […] You build your fighter jets, you
73 drop your bombs / You kill our fathers, you kill our moms / Kill our brothers and our sisters, and our
74 uncles and our aunts / Still I’m fighting with the stone that’s in my hand / Stone in my hand, stone in
75 my hand / […] All the love that’s in my heart and the stone that’s in my hand.’
76
77 [shattering sound of the glass] [whirring of hovering jets and helicopters] [curfew announcements] [a
78 colour broadcast of a massacre] [drums beat in a military parade]
Earwitness Five
PRIMA FACIE Before he wandered again and took refuge in a makeshift shack made of tin sheets, he worked as a daily labourer in the fields for a family. He lived with them. I am sitting in the room where he used to sleep. And then he left.
1 I was born in Kargil, but I grew up in Varmul. When I left Kargil for Kashmir, upon reaching Sonamarg, I
2 remember asking, ‘Yahi Kashmir hai?’ (Is this Kashmir?). My only memory of Kargil is playing with
3 stones. It was full of stones, my village. I also remember my grandfather listening to the radio broadcast
4 from Pakistan, or songs in Shina and Balti languages relayed from Pakistan. I was nine years old at the
5 time of the Kargil war. I wasn’t there but I went a year after. The shelling continued for a few years.
6 Shells would travel over my village and hit the nearby mountains. Shuuuuuuuuuuun, the sound of the
7 projectile, followed by a blast. One could actually trace the trajectory of the shells at night.
8 Bollywood songs were a prominent sound of the nineties. Some of these songs, somehow, were
9 strangely relevant to what was happening during that time. The songs from the film Border, for
10 example, were popular, and even though it is an Indian patriotic film, people related these songs to
11 their own contexts.
12 Crackdown announcements. Once, the crackdown lasted for a month. We would leave our homes and
13 assemble on the street every day. During one crackdown, I remember, women in our neighbourhood
14 took some time to leave their homes. Fearing the wrath of the military, they were indecisive as to who
15 should take the lead. They were giggling. It was absurd.
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22 Sound of military vehicles. The horns. Dogs barking meant the military was outside: ‘hooin voray,
23 military aay’ (dogs are barking/ the military is here).
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25 [buzz of the military wireless sets] [paramilitaries idly listening to All India Radio: Fauji Bhaiyon Ke
26 Liye, a song request radio program dedicated to the Indian troopers]
Earwitness Six
PRIMA FACIE He collected newspapers and used them to cover the window of his tin shed. Why don’t I recall seeing a window?
1 I was in sixth grade. I had to walk for an hour to reach my school. There was an army camp in that
2 neighbourhood and a particularly infamous army major called Chatterji. The Rashtriya Rifles (RR)
3 wouldn’t often step out of their camp, but it was terrifying when they did. People would shutter down
4 their shops and rush inside their homes. ‘What is my name?’ he would ask. ‘Chatterji,’ people replied.
5 ‘Mein kutta hun, kutta bolo mujhe’ (I am a dog. Call me dog), he would retort. I remember it so vividly.
6 He coerced people into calling him a dog and then he would say, ‘Kuta kya karta hai? Kaatta hai’ (What
7 does a dog do? It bites). He would actually bite people! As children, we would walk in clusters holding
8 each other’s hands and we were always on the lookout for new alleys, different pathways, short-cuts to
9 reach home, to avoid running into Chatterji.
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11 Bhoot –– part of army’s PsyOps –– was a prominent figure when we were growing up. Springs up their
12 feet, iron claws… Evenings were terror-filled. We wouldn’t venture out after Maghrib prayers. People
13 would bang P Mark oil canisters. We would also beat the tumbakhnaer (an earthen membranophone)
14 and the dhol (drum). There was a saharkhan (Ramdhan drummer) in our neighbourhood who had a
15 dhol. People took turns guarding the neighbourhood and held lanterns and torches.
16 Maghrib azan was like an alarm for us, signalling that we have to go inside. Our village was
17 surrounded by several army camps and they would often patrol late at night in their vehicles or on foot.
18 They would go on a rampage and beat people.
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24 We would hear aerial shots just before the Maghrib azan. The firing would last for a long time,
25 sometimes an hour. We had become familiar with this sound. We knew it was the army and not the
26 militants.
27 There was a particular firing which sounded like the tossing of a tennis ball. It was often associated
28 with the militants.
29 Sound of military vehicles –– the smaller 4x4 and the bigger truck. The speed of these vehicles was
30 crucial. Slow speed meant the routine patrol. But if these vehicles whizzed past and then suddenly
31 stopped, it meant trouble.
32 They [army] would coerce people into removing their clothes and then beat them. Whenever we heard
33 this sound while we were in the playground, we would run.
34
35 [dogs barking] [cusses of drunken soldiers] [drones] [silence] [rattling of the alcohol bottles dangling
36 from the concertina wire] [inaudible] [screeching sounds of military trucks]
37
38 Crackdown announcements from the mosque loudspeakers: ‘assemble on the ground…. men, women,
39 children… nobody should stay back.’
40 Horn of a military jeep during a crackdown.
41 Sound of grenade guns, rocket launchers, mine blasts.
42 Sound of the army drills, shouting, exhortations…
43 I remember the army camp close to our village had occupied the building of the Power Development
44 Department (PDD). They would play patriotic songs on some sort of a stereo system. They would play
45 songs from the film Border: sandeshe aate hain… (messages [ from home] arrive…)
46 We would listen to Radio Pakistan, Sada-e-Hurriyat (Voice of Freedom) and taranas on the tape
47 recorder. I don’t remember whether these cassettes were locally recorded and mixed or if people ––
48 who crossed the border –– brought them along. But it was sort of a secret listening. The army would
49 punish people listening to these songs. They would beat the listeners, smash or confiscate tape
50 recorders and cassettes. I remember packing all the cassettes in a box and hiding it in the attic.
51 In 2019, people were tortured and their cries relayed on loudspeakers. This was already happening in
52 the nineties. Rashtriya Rifles (RR) would torture people inside a school building or a camp and we
53 would hear the cries but Pandra Punjab would perform open interrogations and torture and ask people
54 to witness it.
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56 [boots against tarmac and bones] [tinnitus after an explosion] [inaudible] [inaudible] [inaudible]
57 [This number doesn’t exist] [Simon says shut your eyes] [Simon says stomp your feet] [Simon says
58 drop the bombs] [dialling] [We all fall down] [We all fall down] [How many forms of silence can you
59 identify in this chronicle?] [stutter] [beep] [metal detector doorway] [Am I audible?]
60
61 Sound of the pumping of a kerosene stove was a sound we associated with torture. I remember this so
62 vividly. As a method of torture, people were forced to sit on a kerosene stove. The military would often
63 perform the ‘interrogation’ inside a government school building. That’s also where people assembled
64 during the crackdown. One of my relatives was also subjected to torture. He fell completely silent after
65 he was released. He wouldn’t talk. He didn’t take a shower for about six months. He hasn’t been well
66 ever since.
67 Something I can’t forget: the last words of my school friend as a bullet hit his chest. He kept saying,
68 ‘take me somewhere, I will die’….
Earwitness Seven
1 The fullest, highest sound was ‘unsound’. We tried, as much as we could, to mute ourselves into
2 complete silence when the troops would be patrolling or shouting or going on a rampage outside. The
3 loudest sound was silence.
4
5 [dialling] [sound of a weapon] [sound as a weapon] [sound as a form of control] [sound as a tactic to
6 discipline time] [sound as a disruption] [sound as an index of violence] [sound as violence] [a little girl
7 hiding inside her grandmother’s pheran and creating an in-between space of safety against the
8 thumping of the advancing military boots during a search operation] [sounds of liberation] [sound as
9 liberation] [stutter] [freedom] [freedom] [freedom]
10
11 There was a kerosene tank in our neighbourhood. The troops would often slam it with batons and rifles.
12 Sound of the lowering of shop shutters at the sudden announcement of a curfew.
13 Troops banging shutters, windows, and doors.
14 Sound of jackboots.
15 Sound of the army vehicles coming to a halt or whizzing past.
16 Grenades and gunfire.
17 Announcements of curfew and search-and-cordon operations.
18 There was a bunker outside our home and the troops had installed a tap outside the bunker. I would
19 hear them coughing, or the sound of water running from the tap as they washed their dishes, or the
20 sound of the food truck which would bring them supplies, the clinking sound of the utensils…
21 Sound of rice canisters being overturned by the troops during a search operation.
22 Once, a military vehicle whizzed past our home and they smashed the windows of a room I was in. I
23 shrunk in a corner and from the broken panes of the roshandan, I could see their helmets. I still
24 remember that sound.
25 Once a truck went past our home and after a while we heard screams: moujai, moujai! (Mother,
26 Mother!). Someone was being beaten up by the troops.
27 The troops would sometimes occupy our living room and watch Mahabharata on TV.
28 Mere desh ki dharti… (my country’s soil…) playing on the radio.
29 Announcements of funerals from the mosque loudspeakers.
20 Urdu service of Voice of America, Radio Moscow, BBC.
21 Once, the paramilitaries from the nearby bunker rang our doorbell, and when we didn’t open, they
22 tampered with the switch, inserting a matchstick, such that the bell rang continuously.
Sound of
23 protests: Go India Go Back!
24 Malika Pukhraj on the tape recorder as curfews throttled the streets: ye kaun sakhi hain / jin ke lahu ki
25 ashrafiyan –– chan chan chan (who are these generous (youth) / their blood, like golden coins –– clang
26 clang, clang)
27
28 PRIMA FACIE I trace his absence, remnant after remnant:
29
30
‘He was from a village called Durbagh.’
31
‘He sold bangles.’
32
‘He was possessed by fairies.’
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‘He owned land which his brothers usurped.’
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‘He was forsaken, cast off.’
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‘He had no one, asmaan wothmuth zameenas pyomut.’
36
(From skies to the earth)
37
38 I have become hyper-alert and hypersensitive to sounds, even the slightest sounds, especially during
39 the nights –– riddled with uncertainty.
40
41 [beep] [the jangle of keys in her mother’s hands merging with the sound of the boots and metal of the
42 guns] [ambulance sirens] [a barrage of gun shots –– .303, AK47, LMG] [grenades] [bombs] [loud thuds
43 on doors and windows] [heavy battering on the gate] [sound of the troops barging in]
Earwitness Eight
PRIMA FACIE Sounds of that night haunt this chronicle. There was a power cut-off. It was winter. January, perhaps. ‘It was a few days after the Indian Republic Day. The military had gone on a rampage in the neighbourhood.’ No one remembers the year. It could have been the late nineties or early 2000s.
1 The border is 10–15km away from Boniyar but it is on a hill. Continuous gola bari (shelling) and
2 dhamake (blasts). Ear-shattering. Once in 1999, the shelling lasted, continuously, for about two months.
3 Our cattle were destroyed. People were injured. Villagers would leave their homes and assemble in
4 underground bunkers. It was loud, very loud. All the sounds together: goliyan, gola bhari, dhamake
5 (bullets, shelling, blasts). Dhamaka bahut zyada hota tha, bohat na bohat (The blasts were frequent,
6 quite frequent). Tinnitus. After that, even the slightest of sounds would make us jolt. The sound of
7 helicopters and jets –– especially when they would fly low –– was deafening.
8 Sound of military parades and everyday puja (Hindu worship rituals) from the nearby army camps.
9 Sound of the army vehicles.
10 Curfew announcements from the mosque loudspeakers.
11 On the hills, we could hear azaan from the other side, traversing the border.
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Earwitness Nine
PRIMA FACIE We heard the ratatat: loud thuds, screams, cries for help, the sound of tin banging. Is it the troopers again?
Whose house tonight? No one dared to go out to see what was happening and no one could sleep. We were coerced into silence. Obedient listening. Our time was stolen. Our nights and days, occupied. We were being punished for reclaiming our time.
1 Chalo chalo, Eidgah chalo! (march, march, to Eidgah we march!). It was 2008 and I was in eighth
2 grade. A massive gathering passed by our home in the Old City. People distributed water and sherbet
3 amongst the marchers. Slogans and taranas echoed from the loudspeakers: Roti hai Kashmir ki
4 dharti… (The land of Kashmir, in tears…)
5 2010, Sound of continuous gunfire. Our kitchen is on the first floor. We took refuge on the ground floor.
6 Most days the military curfew was lifted in the evenings; silence followed by the ordinary sounds of life:
7 people’s voices, chatter, sound of traffic, people running errands, buying supplies…
8 We were having dinner when suddenly news of Burhan’s killing reached us. In no time, protestors
9 played taranas from the mosque loudspeakers. Choun Burhan myon Burhan… (Your Burhan, my
10 Burhan…) In one of the taranas, the word larzan stirred me. I can’t recall the exact line. I just
11 remember a strange emotion taking over me and moving me to tears.
12 In the morning, a police vehicle announced curfew and a shoot-on-sight order. For months, this sound
13 defined our everyday. We would discern the sound of the Rakshaks (lightly armoured vehicles by
14 Mahindra Defence Systems, featuring a steel plating fabricated in Israel) from the one-tonne military
15 trucks.
16 Once, the military entered the mosque to disrupt and stop the relay of taranas. The protestors fled.
17 Later, that mosque was locked and prayers disallowed.
18
19 Troopers would attach the concertina wire to their one-tonne trucks dragging it along the road emitting
20 sparks due to friction. It produced a distinct sound: a cue indicating our streets were being barricaded
21 and turned to cul-de-sacs.
22
23 [paramilitaries occupying the living room for hours to watch Mahabharata –– the Hindu mythological
24 epics, serialised and aired by Doordarshan –– on TV, as the little girl and her siblings wait on the
25 porch]
26
27 Often, when the protestors dispersed, paramilitaries would throw stones at the windows. Once, as they
28 were smashing windows in our neighbourhood, we stood in our corridor. Suddenly, we heard very loud
29 sounds. It felt as if the walls were crashing down. We soon realised our windows had been smashed: I
30 still remember the sound. It was followed by a long silence. We, like others in our neighbourhood, didn’t
31 repair the windows. In winters, we reinstalled them but in the summer of that year, our windows were
32 again smashed. We left our homes without windows.
33 In the evenings, after the curfew was lifted, as troopers returned to their camps, protesters would start
34 pelting stones. Sound of stones hitting the Rakshak and the one-tonne trucks. Rain of stones. Sound of
35 the tear gas firing. Sound of pellet guns. Pellets hitting the shop shutters. A sudden shrill sound, like
36 pearls hitting a metal object.
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46 Sound of the military shouting. Sound of the military boots.
47 Sound of the ‘encounters’ between the troopers and militants. Recently during an encounter in
48 Novkadal, we heard continuous rounds of firing throughout the night, interspersed with loud booms. It
49 was the month of Ramadhan. Several homes were gutted in that encounter. We could see the flames
50 from our home. Sound of the military vehicles moving towards Novkadal for cordon.
1 Sound of ambulances. Sound of the fire brigade.
2 Funeral processions passing by our home.
3 The funeral gathering of my cousin who was martyred in Nayut. A military vehicle ran over him. Police
4 fired tear smoke shells inside our homes. Taranas and sloganeering. Those sounds still resound in my
5 ears. Women singing, karyo goor gooro (Let me cradle you!) Once, I heard a particular tarana,
6 circulated online, which moved me. The same tarana was played at my cousin’s funeral. It was unreal:
7 fasle gul hai ab jahan mein / aye shaheedo tum kahan ho […] sabz o khurram dasht e duniya tumhare
8 gham mein giriyan […] bin tumhare kya baharain, kaisay naghmay, kya taranay / chashm nam hai, lab
9 pe aahein, hum milein ge kab na jane / paas apnay ab bula lo aye shaheedo tum jahan ho… (It is
10 springtime / Oh martyrs, where are you? […] World’s green pastures and deserts are in mourning […]
11 without you what use is the spring, the songs, hymns and melodies / Eyes are moist, sighs on lips, who
12 knows when shall we meet / Oh martyrs call us to the place where you dwell).
13 At his funeral, his younger sister came to whisper in my ears, ‘I have heard those who are martyred
14 should be given honey and water. But I don’t think we have honey. What should we do?’
15 There used to be a textile mill near our home which was occupied by the Central Reserve Police Force
16 (CRPF). Protesters would throw stones which would hit the roof of the mill –– a sound I remember: tak
17 tak tak.
18 In 2021, a mysterious loud explosion-like sound was heard. I first thought something fell from the skies
19 exploding our water tank. It felt like our roof would fall on our heads. I screamed. Some said it was an
20 earthquake or a sonic boom. Others speculated that it might be the army ‘testing’ their explosives.
21 The night before the months-long siege began on 5 August 2019, I remember the last phone call from
22 my brother in Delhi. He asked us to buy emergency stocks. In the morning, all communication lines
23 were snapped. We woke up to the sound of helicopters. Police vehicle announcing curfew and
24 imposition of Section 144. Silence.
25 In October 2020, during the tensions between India and Pakistan, we heard constant sounds of
26 helicopters and jets.
27 In September 2021, Indian Air Force hosted an ‘air show’ over Dal Lake. The drill, before the actual
28 event, went on for two–three days. We heard the continuous sound of the military jets. It was traumatic.
29 I dreamt of an aircraft crashing in a village. These sounds made me anxious.
30 Sound of drones: an amplified sound of buzzing bees. It was clearly audible and distinct from the
31 helicopters.
32 Sometimes protesters would bang shop shutters and electrical posts to annoy troopers. They would
33 jeer at them and hoot. Once, the troopers were shouting, and in defiance protesters began banging
34 shop shutters, masking the shouts of the troopers. I had recorded this sound. I had also recorded the
35 firing during the encounter at Novkadal and the tear gas shelling from the window of my home. I
36 deleted all the recordings though. And the sound of rain. I have several recordings of that.
37 It is these voices, these disquieting sounds that I grew up with.
Earwitness Ten
PRIMA FACIE At the crack of the dawn when the muezzin’s call to prayers reverberated, people came out, only to find Rahim’s burnt home and his charred remains. Only bones. The cries in the night were his, the screams, the sound of his home burning.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7 I was born in Kargil’s Barsso village but lived in Kargil town most of my life. Kargil is heavily militarised.
8 About 26kms from here, there is a village entirely occupied by the army. I was in primary school at the
9 time of the Kargil war. We saw bombs in the skies and heard the ear-piercing sounds. We had to
10 evacuate our school each time the shelling would begin. We would assemble and seek refuge in
11 another nearby school which had an underground bunker-shelter. We would be there from 10am until
12 an hour before the call for Maghrib prayers. Shelling, bullets, bombs… I still remember these terrorising
13 sounds. A bomb fell close to our school in the backyard, leaving a gaping crater. All the windows were
14 broken. Bursting hoti thi (there would be a bursting). The town was deserted. Villages and homes
15 destroyed. People left behind their homes and moved to relatively safer villages during the war. Or
16 towards the Suru valley. The shelling continued after 1999 as well. Pahad pahad pe, from
17 mountain to mountain [laughs]. Thumping of shells hitting the mountains. Jatka lagta hai (It would
18 shake everything). One of our school mates was injured by a shell splinter.
19
20 [shattering sound of the glass] [whirring of hovering jets and helicopters] [curfew announcements] [a
21 colour broadcast of a massacre] [drums beat in a military parade]
22
23 Sound of army vehicles day and night.
24 The army had an ammunition depot ahead of Kargil town. One of the golas (mortar shells) hit the depot
25 producing a loud jatka (jolt). It shook the earth.
26 Several villages like Hunderman are divided across the border. If one goes towards Hunderman, there
27 are warning signs indicating the presence of landmines. There is a shrine –– the tomb of Sheikh Ali
28 Brolmo in Hunderman, which is now on the other side of the border. On his birth anniversary, or during
29 the processions of Ashura, the shrine buzzes with life but we cannot hear anything. We are only able to
30 view these scenes through the binoculars. In 2020, after twenty-two years, during Muharram, people
31 gathered there for the mourning majlis. Elegies were sung over the microphone. Ritual mourning and
32 sermons too.
33 Sounds of the mortar bombs striking the mountains is predominant in my memory. The skies would be
34 full of smoke… a smoke horizon.
Earwitness Eleven
PRIMA FACIE People said he had lit a candle or perhaps burnt scraps of paper to keep himself warm and this had, accidentally, led to the fire. He had been screaming for help, banging the tin walls of his shed.
1 I was born in Kargil, in 1992. So many of our hills are completely occupied by the Indian army and not
2 accessible to people anymore. The border is very close to our village. The army has captured several
3 places; an entire village was evacuated. Hundreds of our goats, my grandfather recalls, were usurped
4 by the army in 1972. Golay aate thay, golay pata hain, golay? (They would shoot artillery shells. You
5 know (mortar) shells, do you?) From 1999 to 2000, we heard constant sounds of artillery, Oooooooo
6 and then damm. Heart stopping. These sounds were ubiquitous. Some shells would also hit the
7 mountains. There was an underground bunker in our home and everyone would assemble there during
8 gola bari (bombardment or artillery shelling). Slowly, we became accustomed to these sounds. In
9 summers, we sometimes went to the roof to trace the trajectory of the shells. Red flashes. They would
10 either go beyond or hit the nearby mountains. My cousin-sister’s foot had to be amputated.
11 Another cousin of mine was also injured.
12 Radio news formed a continuous background score to our lives.
13 There is a hill with Indian army posts. Then there is an empty stretch, a valley which doesn’t belong to
14 India or Pakistan. ‘No man’s land’. And then there are Pakistan’s military posts. Earlier we would take
15 our cattle to graze there. But now it falls under, or is near, the Line of Control. That area is filled with
16 landmines. My village, Budgam, was originally part of Pakistan. After India captured it, migrations took
17 place. Families were divided. Kuch idhar re gaye, kuch udhar reh gaye (some were left behind here,
18 and some on the other side). People who had gone to graze their cattle, between September and
19 October, couldn’t return after the war broke out. Our pasture, Lhasa, is strewn with landmines and is
20 not accessible. Sometimes donkeys would cross the border.
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28 Many of our goats were killed due to landmines and several people have also died. These are probably
29 Russian made mines and they are old now. Some of them were diffused recently. Once, we were playing,
30 suddenly we heard a very loud and distinct sound. Later, we found a donkey had died: its stomach
31 shredded to pieces. There was another donkey as well who was still alive, but people couldn’t rescue it
32 and later it died too.
33 Sounds of the army’s aerial firing. I remember we would be playing outside, and we would hear these
34 sounds, everyday around 4pm.
35 The schools under India’s Operation Goodwill called the Sadhbhavna or Goodwill schools would resonate
36 with Jana Gana Mana (Thou art the ruler of the minds of all people), Vande Mataram (Mother, I bow to
37 thee) or Bharat Mata Ki Jai (Long live Mother India). The army invited children inside their camps to
38 watch television –– films, cricket matches, etc. Once, there was a cricket match between India and
39 Pakistan. Shahid Afridi was probably playing, and when he scored two sixes, the crowd cheered in a
40 restrained manner, but after he scored a third sixer, the applause grew louder. Children had to leave, and
41 this invitation to watch television stopped altogether.
42
43 [buzz of the military wireless sets] [paramilitaries idly listening to All India Radio: Fauji Bhaiyon Ke Liye, a
44 song request radio programme dedicated to the Indian troopers]
45
46. In the higher reaches, near some army posts, one can still hear the azaan from the other side.
47 During Muharram last year, a marsiya on Kashmir was doing rounds via social media. Later, we sang it in
48 our mourning processions: arz-e-Kashmir par zulm ki inteha / charsun sham-e -gham ku ba ku Karbala
49 (limitless oppression in Kashmir / an all-encompassing night of sorrow, massacre of Karbala
50 everywhere).
Earwitness Twelve
PRIMA FACIE Rahim. He is buried in the martyrs’ graveyard. No one knows where. Without an epitaph.
1 My family left for Delhi in early 2000s and I grew up there, but I have a memory from Kashmir,
2 particularly of Fridays. From my home, I could hear the Friday sermon echoing from the loudspeaker of
3 Jamia mosque –– Mirwaiz Umar Farooq delivering the sermon: masla-e-Kashmir ka hal (solution of the
4 Kashmir question… ). Hame manzoor nahi hai (we refuse….) or ham is ki shadeed alfaaz mein
5 mazzamat karte hain… (we condemn this in strong words… ) – protesting against a certain decision of
6 the Indian government. The congregation would respond in unison, ‘Shame, Shame, Shame!’ He would
7 assert that we shall never give up on our demands and continue working towards the goal of liberation.
8 The gathering would resound, ‘Zaroor, Zaroor, Zaroor’ (Indeed, Indeed, Indeed). These utterances are still
9 resonant in my memory. After this, the obligatory Arabic Friday sermon would begin and as soon as the
10 prayer ended, as-salamu alaikum wa rahmatullah, as-salamu alaikum wa rahmatullah (may the peace
11 and mercy of Allah be with you, may the peace and mercy of Allah be with you), we would wait for the
12 sound of the first tear gas shell going off –– a sound cue indicating that the stone pelting had started
13 between the troops and the protestors. Based on the frequency of the tear gas firing, we could determine
14 the intensity of the protests.
15 In the dead of night, the terrifying sound of another language: voices in the ‘other’ language –– Indian
16 troops patrolling outside, conversing in Urdu-Hindi. This could be a night raid or them shouting on
17 streets, banging the doors with their rifles and batons. During winters when my parents and uncle’s
18 family would go to Delhi, the first few weeks of their stay would always be difficult. Hearing a ‘foreign’
19 language (associated with the troops in Kashmir), they would wake up in the middle of the night
20 panting, thinking that the troops had surrounded their house or were patrolling outside, only to realise
21 that they were not in Kashmir but in Delhi, and they could retreat to sleep.
22
23 [dogs barking] [cusses of drunken soldiers] [drones] [silence] [rattling of the alcohol bottles dangling
24 from the concertina wires] [inaudible] [screeching sounds of military trucks]
25
26 During the early 2000s, we would often hear grenade explosions around Maghrib prayer time. In one of
27 the explosions, our neighbour died. He must have been in his mid or late twenties.
28 In 2010, during the curfews, if anyone was spotted in the alleyways, paramilitaries would blow whistles,
29 coercing people into retreating to their homes and staying inside. It is a powerful sound that is intended
30 to cause nervousness.
31 Even the sound of firecrackers at midnight triggers anxiety.
32
33
34
35
36
37
Perhaps this is not his story but a story of our silences knifing through history.
38 The sound of fifty to a hundred troops walking, the way they would walk, stomping their boots… The
39 sound of their boots hitting the ground resounding authority and power, conveying a message: you are
40 the ones trapped in your homes and we are roaming on the streets, stomping our feet, in power and
41 freedom.
42
43 [boots against tarmac and bones] [tinnitus after an explosion] [inaudible] [inaudible] [inaudible] [This
44 number doesn’t exist] [Simon says shut your eyes] [Simon says stomp your feet] [Simon says drop the
45 bombs] [dialling] [We all fall down] [We all fall down] [How many forms of silence can you identify in this
46 chronicle?] [stutter] [beep] [metal detector doorway] [Am I audible?] […] [dialling] [sound of a weapon]
47 [sound as a weapon] [sound as a form of control] [sound as a tactic to discipline time] [sound as a
48 disruption] [sound as an index of violence] [sound as violence] [a little girl hiding inside her
49 grandmother’s pheran and creating an in between space of safety against the thumping of the advancing
50 military boots during a search operation] [sounds of liberation] [sound as liberation] [stutter] [freedom]
51 [freedom] [freedom] [….] AD INFINITUM
Annexure
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
‘The Ministry of Home Affairs has approved the use of sound cannon, devices that can emit pain-inducing sound waves, on rampaging mobs in the Valley […] Known as Long Range Acoustic Device (LRAD), the sonic weapon was used for the first time in Pittsburgh, US, to control an agitated crowd during a G20 summit in 2009. […] The use of LRAD has been criticised world over as the sound can cause pain in humans and permanently damage hearing. Official sources said the ministry is clear that the warning tone won’t cross the human threshold of pain and that the forces should be able to control its intensity. The ministry has directed the Central Armed Police Forces to start the process of procuring LRADs while stressing the need for development and manufacture of the sound cannons in the country. […]
162 dB – Max continuous volume of sound cannon.
130 dB – Usual threshold of pain’1
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
‘Residents of two villages around Chillora army camp say they did not sleep or have any food when they heard cries on a loudspeaker. They allege it was a village boy being tortured, and the loudspeaker was put on to instil fear in the area. “Since then, the screams echo in our ears,” a resident of Turkwangam village says.’2
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
‘[…] Inside that highland house, the motive was to inflict as much pain as possible, Mohammad Ali recalls. Before he would be taken inside on 1 February, 1993 as a suspect, the townspeople would toss and turn on their beds as the torture cries mixed with music would echo in the air throughout the night. “The torture would be carried out amid loud music to overshadow the painful shrieking voices coming from the house,” recalls Ali, sitting at a twenty minute drive away from the erstwhile torture centre. “At times, adhesive tape would be used around the victim’s mouth, so that the cries wouldn’t get mixed with the music.” […] “My fastened feet were tied to the ceiling of the bunker,” says Ali, turning sullen. “The head used to hang into the ditch of the bunker. In that state, they used to beat me endlessly.” As oiled canes would strike with his flesh, the loud music would bury his shrieks. While shrieking inside, he would hear cries of three other detainees being tortured simultaneously in three separate rooms of the same house.’3
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
‘Tinnitus is the term for hearing sounds that come from inside your body, rather than from an outside source. It’s often described as “ringing in the ears”, although several sounds can be heard, including buzzing, humming, grinding, hissing, whistling. In rare cases, the sound beats in sync with your heart (pulsatile tinnitus). Pulsatile tinnitus is a rhythmical noise you hear in your head and/or ears that is usually at the same rate as your heart beat.’4
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
‘The term hyperacusis is generally applied to people who experience the sounds of everyday life as intrusively loud, uncomfortable, and sometimes painful.’5
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
‘A preponderance of firepower had thus been concentrated at Kargil totaling 300 guns, mortars and Grad BM 21 MBRLs. The latter in Russian means ‘hailstorm’. With forty rockets packed on the back of a single carrier vehicle, the name is certainly appropriate.’6
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
‘The Indian artillery fired over 2,50,000 shells, bombs and rockets during the Kargil conflict. Approximately 5,000 artillery shells, mortar bombs and rockets were fired daily from 300 guns, mortars and MBRLs while 9,000 shells were fired the day Tiger Hill was regained. During the peak period of assaults, on an average, each artillery battery fired over one round per minute for seventeen days continuously. Such high rates of fire over long periods had not been witnessed anywhere in the world since World War II.’7
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
‘Over 1,200 rounds of high explosives (HE) rained down on Tiger Hill in the space of five minutes and caused large-scale death and devastation[…] Even 122mm Grad multi-barreled rocket launchers (MBRLs) were employed in the direct firing role. Hundreds of shells and rocket warheads impacted on the pinnacle of Tiger Hill in full view of television cameras — and the nation watched in rapt attention as the might of the regiment of artillery burst forth in magnificent glory […] The 155 mm Bofors medium guns and 105mm Indian field guns firing in the direct firing role from gun positions on the national highway under the nose of the enemy destroyed all visible sangars and forced the enemy to abandon several positions’8
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
‘Despite the controversy over its induction, 155mm FH 77-B Bofors performed remarkably well and was the mainstay of artillery in the operations. Its maximum range of 30km enabled deep strikes on the enemy’s gun positions, administrative installations, ammunition dumps, and headquarters, besides neutralizing forward positions held by the intruders. By moving up these guns, 105mm field guns, 160mm and 120mm Mortars and 122mm GRAD BM 21 Multi Barrel Rocket Launchers (MBRLs) into forward gun positions for ‘direct’ fire on enemy localities, literally under the nose of the enemy and thereby inviting certain enemy artillery fire onto themselves, the gunners exhibited unparalleled courage in battle.’9
-
DNA Web Team, ‘Special Forces Will Use Sound To Disperse Stone-pelters,’ DNA, June 24, 2019, https://www.dnaindia.com/india/report-dna-special-special-forces-will-use-sound-to-disperse-stone-pelters-2764310 ↩
-
Anees Zargar, ‘Shopian: Where Villagers Can’t Sleep as They Hear People ‘Cry’’, Indian Cultural Forum, September 13, 2019, https://indianculturalforum.in/2019/09/13/shopian-where-villagers-cant-sleep-as-they-hear-people-cry/ ↩
-
Afshan Rashid, ‘The ‘Musical’ Horrors Of Ganderbal’s Highland House,’ Freepress Kashmir, November 20, 2017, https://freepresskashmir.news/2017/11/20/the-musical-horrors-of-ganderbals-highland-house/ ↩
-
National Health Service, ‘Tinnitus,’ NHS Inform, accessed June 30, 2022, https://www.nhsinform.scot/illnesses-and-conditions/ears-nose-and-throat/tinnitus ↩
-
British Tinnitus Association, ‘Hyperacusis,’ accessed June 30, 2022, https://www.tinnitus.org.uk/hyperacusis ↩
-
Jagjit Singh, ‘Battle-Winning Role of the Gunners in Kargil War,’ Indian Defence Review, January 22, 2019, http://www.indiandefencereview.com/spotlights/battle-winning-role-of-the-gunners-in-kargil-war/ ↩
-
SD Goswami, ‘How artillery changed the tide of the Kargil war,’ The Economic Times, June 13, 2013,
https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/defence/how-artillery-changed-the-tide-of-the-kargil-war/articleshow/48216559.cms?from=mdr ↩ -
Gurmeet Kanwal, ‘Shooting Fire in Kargil: When India’s determined artillery put the love of Allah in Pakistan’s troops,’ DailyO, July 26, 2019,
https://www.dailyo.in/politics/kargil-diwas-indian-army-gun-hill-tiger-hill-indian-gunners/story/1/31641.html ↩ -
SD Goswami, ‘How artillery changed the tide of the Kargil war,’ The Economic Times, June 13, 2013,
https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/defence/how-artillery-changed-the-tide-of-the-kargil-war/articleshow/48216559.cms?from=mdr ↩
MILITARY AREA
YOU ARE BEING WATCHED
ARMED RESPONSE TO TRESPASSING
ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS,
LIVING OR DEAD, IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED.
Uzma Falak is a DAAD doctoral candidate in anthropology at the University of Heidelberg where her work focuses on the intersection of sound, time and violence. Her poetry, essays, and reportage have appeared in publications like Guernica, The Baffler, Adi Magazine, Al Jazeera English, Warscapes, The Caravan and several edited volumes and anthologies. She won an honourable mention in the Society for Humanistic Anthropology’s Ethnographic Poetry Award (2017). Her film, Till Then The Roads Carry Her, exploring Kashmir women’s repertories of resistance, has been screened at the Art Gallery of Guelph (Guelph), University of Copenhagen, University of Warsaw, Karlstorkino (Heidelberg), Tate Modern, and others.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
The ‘Capture All: A Sonic Investigation’ collection considers how experimental practices of sound and listening may be mobilised as resources for understanding and intervening in forms of capture, extraction, and governance that haunt and influence life in settler- and post-colonial Australia and India.
Notes