Turtuk
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History after 1971
Turtuk Claims for Right
By Gh Hussain, Monday,
December 31, 2012
Turtuk: Throughout the 41 years of incarnation, many areas of Pakistan-occupied Kashmir in India lay aside in terms of so called development.
Turtuk area in Nubra tehsil of district Leh, a cluster of few villages liberated and reincarnated to India from Pakistan domination during Indo-Pak war of 1971 which became an integral part of J&K and an inalienable part of the country is crying for attention.
Situated at the proximity of LOC on the adjacent to Siachen glacier, Turtuk is believed to be belonging to the Balti community, an archaic sect of ethnic Tibatan (Ladakhi) Mix (Aryan and Mongol). Earlier the area was under administration of POK in Khapulu region.
The most inhuman aspect of nature during the war carved up the families leaving behind their dear ones on the either side of LOC.
Government came up with various measures.
1971, 2021
Himanshi Dhawan, Nov 28, 2021: The Times of India
It is a distance of a mere 30 minutes along the Shyok river but 86-year-old Haji Shamsher Ali has not been able to traverse it in 50 years. Across the border in the Gilgit-Baltistan area of Pakistan, Ali’s younger brother — Haji Abdul Qadir — looks up at the same canopy of stars, listens to the river murmuring across the land and thinks of his family, separated by a twist of fate.
On December 16, 1971 as India awakened to news of a victory that birthed a new nation, the residents of Turtuk woke up to find that their nationalities had changed. Overnight the Line of Control (LoC) along the India-Pakistan border had moved and with it the destiny of the 350 families living there. Turtuk and three other villages in Ladakh’s Nubra Valley, which had been under Pakistani occupation since 1947, had become part of India. Residents of the village, from the Balti community, were split across two hostile neighbours.
Ali’s son Ghulam Hussain Gulli, a travel agent, says that in those days, most young men who were studying or working would go to cities like Skardu or Lahore. “Only the very young or very old were left in the village.” So when the war ended, wives were separated from husbands, fathers from sons and brothers from brothers.
Ali’s brother Qadir was working in Skardu during the war. “Initially we did not even know if he was alive. His wife, my aunt, was here with us. We spent many months waiting for word from him,” Gulli recalls. Then a programme on Skardu Radio announced Qadir’s name. “It was such a relief that we hugged the radio and cried. Yeh border hamare dillon par ek lakeer ban kar rah gayee (The border has divided us from our loved ones),” Gulli says.
Then began the long wait for letters and visits. Getting a visa on either side proved to be an insurmountable task. Letters came erratically, bringing news of birth and death, sometimes months or even years later. The two brothers finally met in Mecca in 1989 when they went for Haj. Ali remembers holding his brother and crying in what would be their last meeting.
Fazil Abbas, 49, was luckier. His brother Mohammed Bashir, who was studying in Pakistan at the time, managed to get a visa and visit his family in 2013. “My father passed away pining for him. But my mother was able to meet her eldest son and I met my brother after 42 years,” Abbas says. A cop posted in Drass, Abbas went to Delhi to receive him. “We had a big celebration and decorated the whole village for Bashir. He stayed for two months and when he left, all of us were in tears. It was very hard to say goodbye,” Abbas says.
Bashir has not been able to get visa approval to visit again. In fact, residents say that since 2016 there have been no visits from either side.
The 9,000 Balti families in 38 villages have been forced to make peace with the ebbs and tides of regional geopolitics. Sadiq Hardassi, scholar of Balti community and culture and a member of the Divided Families Coordination Committee, says, “The community has been forgotten in the animosity between the two countries.”
“When the relationship between India and Pakistan sours, it is people like us who suffer,” says Gulli.
Most have reconciled to this reality. Retired power department official Sanaullah’s brother —stranded in Pakistanwaited for 12 years to meet his wife who was left in Turtuk. “Humne socha phir milna hoga (We kept thinking they will meet again.) Then my brother gave up and sent a letter of divorce. How long can you go on living in false hope,” he asks.
In recent years, technology has helped bridge the gap. “Now we can chat on the phone though the network is erratic but at least we are not cut off from each other’s life,” Abbas says.
A common thread of music and poetry also binds the tiny community spread in Pakistan’s Gilgit-Baltistan and in India’s Ladakh, Uttarakhand and J&K. Balti — predominantly Shia Muslim — have a distinct language, culture and cuisine. The music that often speaks of love and longing has been inspired by years of separation. “Our artistes like Sherine Fatima Balti are very popular there and songs by Manzoor Baltistani from Pakistan are a big hit here,” Hardassi says.
Long cut-off from the rest of the world, Turtuk opened for tourists in 2010 and an all-weather road connects it to the nearest town of Diskit, 100 km away. The village is now on the tourist map with over 100 visitors every day during summer. “People come to see our way of life in such harsh climatic conditions,” says Anayatullah, Turtuk’s sarpanch. Before the pandemic, foreign tourists came to experience the cuisine and culture by living with a Balti family. In recent years, residents who were mainly dependent on agriculture — growing apricot, walnut, barley and buckwheat — have also started homestays and travel agencies. And there is a growing realisation that the culture and language needs to be preserved. Abbas, also a musician, runs a Facebook page Turtuk at a Glance that has over 2,500 followers and posts music videos and everyday scenes from the village. The village also has a museum on Balti heritage that displays clothes, utensils and tools.
But infrastructure issues continue to plague Turtuk. While the road network is well-maintained, phone and internet coverage remains patchy. As winter sets in, communication lines can stay down for several days at a time. But for the first time since 1971, the village enjoyed 24-hour power supply this summer. There are plans afoot to get tap water to every home and a mobile tower installed next year. When the snow melts heralding spring, Turtuk hopes that their dreams for a better life will come true as well.
