Kashmir’s half-widows live between hope and despair

Thirty-two-year-old Naseema has been waiting for her husband Anwar Shah’s return since 2002. A painter by profession, Shah left for work one morning and never returned — a likely victim of the government’s forced disappearances.

“Day by day it is becoming difficult for me to tell my daughter about her father. How long will I keep relying on lies? I hope he is alive and comes back,” Naseema, who lives in the Srinagar district of Kashmir Valley in the north Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir, told ucanews.com.

Naseema is among the hundreds of women in the valley caught in an endless wait for their husbands, who have disappeared during an insurgency that has raged since 1989.

These women are called half-widows because it is not known whether their husbands are alive or dead.

Local human rights activists claim that 8,000 people have been subjected to enforced disappearance in Kashmir since the insurgency began.

However, the Jammu and Kashmir government says the number of those “missing” is most likely closer to 3,000.

Human rights groups say security forces in Kashmir abduct and kill people suspected of being militants or having contacts with them, while the state government claims that most of the disappeared men in fact crossed over to Pakistan to complete arms training, became terrorists and never returned.

The disappearances of the men have not only forced their family members in endure emotional turmoil but have also been a severe financial burden. The women in the family, mostly uneducated, do not have many job opportunities and find it hard to make ends meet.

“There is no one to help us financially. Sometimes we have food and sometimes not. I cannot beg for a few coins. Some locals help me with the school fees of my daughter,” Naseema said.

According to a report by the Association of Parents of Disappeared Persons (APDP), the women whose husbands have disappeared but have not yet been declared dead are in an especially precarious and dangerous situation.

The 2012 report —Half Widow, Half Wife— says that in such a situation, the women and children are left with little legal protection, rendering many of them desperate and homeless, and exposing them to abuse and exploitation.

For Rafeeqa, it has been an 18-year wait. She was only 22 when her husband Abdul Hamid Shah of Kupwara district disappeared.

“These 18 years have been like a hell for me and my son. The wait keeps on burning us bit by bit,” said Rafeeqa, who had to discontinue her son’s education to meet their daily needs.

“He feeds me and himself, till his father returns.”

In an effort to mitigate the problems, the state government recently announced a financial package for these women.

In its latest budget approved last week, the government set aside 50,000 rupees (US$806) for each of the half-widows. While activists have been calling for state protection for years, many were frustrated by the sum set aside.

APDP chairwoman Parveena Ahanger is one among hundreds of mothers who lost their sons to enforced disappearance. Paramilitary Border Security Forces abducted her son in 1990.

Expressing disappointment at the government’s package, Ahanger told ucanews.com that the offer was a “mere joke”.

“There is no one to earn for these women. How they survive is the most dreadful tale. When a lone bread earner is lost, it becomes hard to live without any resources. This small amount is not going to help in any way,” she said.

Haja Begum, another half-widow, said the government’s package didn’t look promising but admitted “something is better than nothing”.

Apart from financial hardships, the women face other difficulties.

Under Islamic law, a woman cannot re-marry until the death of her husband.

Though a group of religious scholars in Kashmir last year unanimously concluded that half-widows can re-marry if their husbands disappeared more than four years ago, most of them prefer to wait.

“What if he is alive? I believe that one day he will return to his children and to me,” Naseema says.

For those hunting for the truth, however, there are few places they can turn. The local authorities, including police, are of little help in searching those gone “missing”.

Bashir Ahmad Sofi, 19, disappeared in 2003. “We had a knock on the door late at night. When we opened the door, army men dragged him out and took him with them. He never came home,” said Hamida, Sofi’s sister.

She said that though they lodged a complaint with the police, the officers kept stalling an investigation and dumped the case after a week.

Jameela said that there was no investigation into the disappearance of her 13-year-old son Muhammad Irfan in 1994.

Irfan was abducted by masked men. “The police didn’t even register a case,” she said.

“The money given by government can mitigate our sufferings but I am doubtful that they really want to help us,” Jameela told ucanews.com.

Nasir Ali, a well-known economist, is similarly skeptical of the aid announced by the government.

“Until the government has a concrete database of widows, half-widows and other destitute, the schemes of the government will only be limited to papers,” Nisar said.

But despite the disappointments and insufficient help, families of the disappeared men have vowed to continue to fight for the truth.

“I don’t know how many times I have to protest for my son but until I have him I will do it,” said Azra, 50, whose son disappeared in 1992 during a late-night raid by soldiers.