Embraced by the majestic peaks of the Karakoram mountain range and hugging the bank of the Shyok River, Turtuk unfolds as a captivating hamlet in the far northern Himalayan region of India. But its scenic beauty conceals the heart-wrenching loss of identity and family suffered by many of its inhabitants since 1971.
In that year, while the world focused on the war that saw Bangladesh break away from Pakistan, the Indian army captured Turtuk and three other villages in the Gilgit-Baltistan region from Pakistan, leading in each case to families torn apart and connections lost.
Residents like Mohammed Ali Bari, known as “Goba Ali,” have lived with the pain of separation since childhood. Ali and his brother were raised by their grandfather after being separated from their parents when the border was moved.
The pain remains vivid in Ali’s eyes as he recounts his story to VOA. Desperate to reunite with his parents, he embarked on a years-long quest for permission to travel to Franu, a village across the Line of Control in Pakistan, where his parents lived. Ali finally obtained a passport in 2014, enabling him to see his parents again for the first time in 43 years.
Upon arriving in Pakistan, Ali was greeted by an unknown man who tightly embraced him, shedding tears of joy. Curiosity surrounded this emotional encounter, and the stranger explained the reason for his tears.
It turned out that Ali’s father had served water to the Pakistani army when the stranger was stationed on a nearby mountain peak. Ali’s father had often borrowed the soldier’s binoculars to try to catch a glimpse of his two sons across the border, and the memory moved the stranger to tears.
Ali’s reunion with his parents in Pakistan lasted 10 months. Ali recalls, “Before my return, my mother urged me to visit the border every Friday, dressed in white, to exchange glances through binoculars. This ritual continued for a couple of years until my mother’s passing.”
Ali and his parents even devised a plan for sending flowers from Ali’s garden across the Shyok River, symbolizing their enduring connection. Although Ali was unsure if the flowers reached their destination, the gesture served as a powerful symbol of love and longing.
The experiences of Ali mirror those of many other households affected by the events of 1971.
Yabgo Mohammed Khan Kacho, a descendant of a family dynasty that ruled the region for centuries, shared his memories of Turtuk’s fall to the Indian army when he was just about 12 years old.
“I recall the time when the Pakistan army was engaged in the Bengal war, diverting their attention and resources,” he says. “Taking advantage of this situation, the Indian army, with their numerical superiority, easily seized control of Turtuk and the neighboring villages, assimilating them into the Ladakh region.”
In recent times, the border around Turtuk has seen relative calm, leading to the opening of the village for tourism in 2010. Turtuk is renowned for its apricot and walnut orchards and has witnessed the construction of paved roads, government schools and other infrastructure.
Mohammad Ali Bari, who experienced the integration of Turtuk into India at the age of 9, recalls there was only one primary school at that time, named Yhul. He says he studied the Pakistani curriculum until fourth grade and then transitioned to the Indian education system, where he had to start afresh in first grade.
Bari later became a teacher, working in the same Yhul School where he once studied. He says many of his fellow villagers work with the army while others are involved in the tourism sector and agriculture, including the cultivation of apricots and barley.
Reflecting on how his village and its residents’ lives have changed since it switched from one country to another, Bari is philosophical.
“It doesn’t matter what nationality you have; what matters is humanity,” he says.
Source: Voice of America