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War at Wahga
A daily military ritual at an India-Pakistan border entrypoint shoots up patriotism
By Ameen Izzadeen
A. R. Radcliffe-Brown observed the rituals, including war dances, of Andaman Island tribes, and came up with his theory of structural functionalism in social anthropology. A social anthropologist following A.R. Radcliffe-Brown’s structural functionalist school of thought will consider the principal function of communal ritual to be the expression or reaffirmation of sentiments of collective loyalty.

Communal rituals in society do not operate in a vacuum. They have their meanings – well steeped in deep social, economic, political and cultural realities. What Radcliffe-Brown saw some one hundred years ago in the Andamans, I saw at the Wahga border, which the Redcliff Boundary Commission drew 58 years ago splitting the subcontinent into two.

Yes, rituals have relevance – but only as long as they contribute towards the cohesiveness of society. When the Pakistani and Indian troops at the Wahga border performed their well-coordinated military exercise – an aggressive ritual that resembled a tribal war dance – patriotism was at its peak. Thus in a functional sense, this ritual at the border helps build up patriotism and unite people speaking different languages and belonging to different ethnic groups and ideologies under the banner of Pakistan or India.

Last Friday, around 5 p.m., we gathered at the Lahore Pearl Continental Hotel’s lobby where we were met by Sultan Hassan, a research officer at the Islamabad Institute of Policy Research, a semi-government think tank which sponsored our week-long tour. Sultan was with us throughout the tour, taking care of our needs. Ours was a six-member Sri Lanka print media delegation representing The Sunday Times, the Daily Mirror, Lankadeepa, the Island, the Sunday Leader and the Sunday Observer. When we stepped out of the hotel, we were met by a member of a Pakistani elite security unit. With his escort vehicle going in front, our Toyota mini bus left the hotel for the Wahga border, which was a 40-minute drive from Lahore.

When we alighted from the bus at the last military post on the Pakistani side, a chorus of cheering greeted us. Was Shahid Afridi walking into the crease to open batting for Pakistan? Well, the atmosphere resembled an India-Pakistan cricket match. The gate ahead of us had the Urdu words Bab-e-Azadi (Freedom Gate) embossed on it. We were led through this open gate to the special tiers, from where we had a good view of two iron gates – one belongs to Pakistan and the other to India. The two gates are separated by a patch of no-man’s land where the two flagpoles stand. The distance from the Bab-e-Azadi gate to the border gates is about 40 metres.

The time was around 5.45 p.m. People were still coming in. In keeping with tradition, men took their seats on the right side tiers and the women on the left, though we hardly saw the practice of sex segregation in urban areas.
Playing a larger-than-life role and encouraging the crowd to join the chorus was a flag-carrying 80-year-old man, who has been visiting the site daily for the past 20 years. He was clad in a green kurtha, white sarong and a white skull cap. The appliquéd Urdu words ‘Pakistan Zindabad’ (long live Pakistan) and the country’s crescent-and-star symbol adorned the front and back of his kurtha. He reminded us of the old man who was seen at every cricket match Pakistan played and whom the Pakistanis fondly called ‘Chacha Cricket’ or Uncle Cricket – the equivalent of our old Percy.

But they call this Wahga old man Bhaba (father). His name is Meherdeen. His family lived on the Indian side of Punjab and was killed in the 1947 partition riots. He survived to find a new meaning to his life in the new state of Pakistan, which literally means the land of purity or land of the pure. He has a younger partner, 28-year-old Mohammed Shafeek, an eight-year veteran at the Wahga ceremony and heir apparent to the aging Bhaba.

Bhaba exhorted the crowd to join him. He would shout “Pakistan”. The crowd would say “Zindabad”. He would shout ‘Nare Thakbir’ the crowd would respond “Allahu Akbar” (God is great). Pointing to the inscriptions on the Bab-e-Azadi gate, he would ask the crowd: “Pakistan ki matlab kiya?” (What is the meaning of Pakistan?). The crowd would say “Lailaha Illallah” (There is no god but Allah). He would get angry if the response lacked vigour. The cheering went on while the public address system played patriotic Qawali songs.

Not to be outdone, the Indians were also at their highest pitch. “Bharat Matha Ki,” cried the crier. “Jay,” the crowd responded. “Hindustan,” cried the crier. “Zindabad,” the crowd shouted back. Exposing the feebleness of the two strong iron gates and the strong fortification on either side, the sound waves carrying the patriotic slogans travelled freely across, only to be greeted with jeers the moment they crossed the border.

A few minutes before the colourful ceremony began, I could see an Indian military officer taking a group of friends to the fence that stretched from the gates to the right and left as far as the eye could see and beyond. The Indians took pictures of a Pakistani sentry and said something to him. The Pakistani was not provoked. Perhaps he was used to such antics.

Suddenly, the cheering stopped on the Pakistani side. The public address system blared verses from Quran, followed by prayers. The Indians continued with their cheering and jeering. The Pakistanis were unruffled and kept their composure.

The time was exactly 6 p.m. Clad in ceremonial garb, members of the elite Pakistani Rangers and the Indian Border Security Force were ready for the showdown – their daily ritual, a belligerent military show. The commanders barked out orders at the top of their voices. It looked and sounded like a real war of words – a sound war. The Pakistanis were elated as though they were winning the war of the voices.

Then, one by one, soldiers on either side in well synchronized and coordinated steps, goose-marched towards each other, while stamping their feet – with their boots almost touching their foreheads. They opened the gates and took up their positions. They glared at their Indian counterparts, who marched towards the gates in the same manner. They huffed and puffed at each other as the ceremony continued and climaxed in the lowering of the respective flags and the closing of the gates.

Overcharged with a high dose of patriotism, the Pakistanis felt their soldiers’ performance was better and encouraged them with thunderous applause. We could hear similar applause on the other side of the border, too. Maybe, those on the other side were thinking that the Indian soldiers did a better job.
The 15-minute ceremony did arouse patriotic fervour in the Pakistanis and the Indians present, but at the same time stressed the undercurrent that they were also adversaries. But for thinking Pakistanis and Indians, Wahga offers an opportunity to ponder the futility of the belligerence that has led to three full-scale wars and several border clashes between the two neighbours who are now armed with nuclear weapons.

I felt the ceremony required some amendments to underscore the need for peace. Instead of banging their respective gates in each other’s face at the end of the ceremony, they should finish it with a bear hug, like Inidan Prime Minister Atal Behari Vajpayee and Pakistani Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif did on February 20, 1998 at Wahga.

The New Delhi-Lahore bus service which Mr. Vajpayee and Mr. Sharif launched on that date – the first such service since Independence – operates twice or thrice a week. It supplements a train service across the border.

With relations between India and Pakistan improving and the two countries taking several confidence building measures, including a gas pipeline project from Iran to India across Pakistan, Wahga sends a confused and contradictory signal. However, I thanked Sultan Hassan for taking us to Wahga and helping us to get a once-in-a-life-time experience.

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