At Hill Kaka, in the Pir Panjal, the mountains close in. Valleys rise into ridgelines, footpaths dissolve into forests, and for months each winter, snow cuts off entire settlements from the rest of the world. A group of villages in Jammu and Kashmir’s Poonch district, near the Line of Control (LoC), the state once existed here as an afterthought. Villagers recall that even a burial shroud could take a day to arrive for want of road connectivity.

It was into this isolated landscape—shaped by both terrorism and state neglect—that Tahir Fazal returned from the Gulf. Not for work, but for war.

Fazal died on April 22 of heart failure. He was 58. He had been working as a marble mason in Saudi Arabia, part of a steady migration from the hills of Poonch. But in 2002, news reached him that his brother had been killed by terrorists, reportedly for resisting their influence and opposing their harassment of local women.

I first travelled to the region in 2014, nearly a decade after the war against terrorism had been won, but little had changed on the ground. Development remained absent, basic services were scarce, and long-standing grievances persisted amid what residents described as official indifference. For many, the Army remained the only accessible arm of the state—a situation that has not changed much even today.

The region is home largely to Gujjar-Bakerwal and Pahari communities, with distinct linguistic and cultural traditions that set the Pir Panjal apart from the Kashmir Valley.

By the early 2000s, Hill Kaka had become a major terrorist stronghold. Armed groups—many believed to have crossed from across the LoC after the Kargil war—had built a network of bunkers across high-altitude ridges. Seasonal shepherd shelters, or dhoks, were turned into fortified hideouts. The forests became corridors for safe movement, and the mountains a natural shield.

The state’s presence was minimal. From the nearest motorable road at Kalali, reaching the village meant a day-long trek across steep trails and multiple crossings of icy streams. There were no roads, no functional healthcare facilities, and little administrative presence. Terrorists moved with impunity—kidnapping, torturing, and killing civilians and enforcing their writ through fear.

Fazal returned to this vacuum. Driven by his brother’s killing, he would later recall tracking down and killing the terrorist he believed was responsible—an act that led to his entry into a wider resistance. Revenge, in his case, was not an endpoint. It was a beginning.

A militia takes shape

The rise of men like Fazal reflected a shift in India’s counter-insurgency strategy. In remote and rugged terrain where regular forces struggled to maintain a sustained presence, the state increasingly relied on arming civilians to defend their own communities.

Fazal joined other local men, including returnees from the Gulf, who began assisting security forces with intelligence and logistics. These efforts took shape within the framework of Village Defence Committees (VDCs), later expanded to counter better-trained, often foreign terrorists operating with support from across the LoC.

In the Pir Panjal, VDCs became a critical layer of defence. But the model also blurred the line between civilian and combatant, placing local communities at the centre of both resistance and risk. Across Jammu and Kashmir, VDC members faced over 200 FIRs, including for 23 murder and seven rape cases, including for murder and rape, according to figures tabled in the State Assembly in 2016.

Fazal went on to lead one of the largest VDCs in Jammu and Kashmir, with around 180 members, including women. His wife had also been trained to handle firearms as part of the village’s defence—a measure of how deeply the conflict had drawn entire families into its orbit.

Their role became particularly significant during Operation Sarp Vinash in 2003—a large-scale offensive to dismantle terrorist infrastructure in Hill Kaka. The operation involved multiple Army brigades, special forces units, and air support. Troops encountered a network of bunkers, some at altitudes above 3,500 metres.

The scale of the operation drew attention, but its outcome depended on local support. Villagers, special police officers, and VDC members had already mapped militant positions. The offensive was as much a culmination of grassroots intelligence as a display of military force.

The clearing of Hill Kaka was a turning point, but not a resolution. Villagers who had fled returned to find homes destroyed and lives upended. Relief was uneven, and allegations of corruption surfaced around compensation funds. Roads remained unbuilt, healthcare scarce, and educational access limited.

When this correspondent visited the region in 2014, Fazal spoke less about past operations and more about what had followed—or failed to. “We gave the prime of our youth to national security,” he said. “But what have we received in return?”

His words reflected a broader sentiment among VDC members. Despite their role in counter-insurgency, many lived with limited institutional support and continued exposure to risk. Promises of jobs, infrastructure, and rehabilitation went largely unfulfilled.

Hill Kaka and the surrounding villages remained cut off for months each year. Medical emergencies were dictated by distance; education beyond the middle level required journeys few could afford.

In 2022, after a spate of targeted killings, the Union Ministry of Home Affairs approved a new Village Defence Guards (VDG) scheme, replacing the earlier VDC structure. But for veterans like Fazal, the renewed focus came after years of neglect, without fully addressing earlier grievances.

An unsung fighter

Tahir Fazal’s life resists easy categorisation. He was not a soldier in the conventional sense, nor merely a victim of circumstance. He belonged to a generation that stepped into a vacuum—men and women who confronted violence and became part of a localised response to a larger conflict.

At his funeral in his native village of Murrah in Surankote tehsil, where he had moved from Hill Kaka during the conflict, Army personnel paid tribute. A White Knight Corps spokesperson described his “daring spirit, unwavering courage, and strong bond with the Indian Army”, adding that the force “stands steadfast with the bereaved family in this hour of grief”.

Political leaders also paid tribute. Gulam Ali Khatana, a nominated Rajya Sabha MP, described Fazal as “a brave and fearless son of the nation”. Jammu and Kashmir Minister Javed Ahmed Rana called him the “Hero of Hill Kaka”, saying his role had been central to “restoring peace” in the region.

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