“Has the war started?” Twenty-seven-year-old Fayaz Ahmad’s voice quivers as he reacts to news of the terror attack in Baramulla on Sunday night. The Uri resident, just like every other person in this town which has ruled headlines since September 18, looks both anxious and resigned. As details of the Baramulla incident pour in — the death of a Border Security Force (BSF) soldier and the two militants who tried to enter the 46 Rashtriya Rifles headquarters — the frown lines on Ahmad’s forehead grow deeper. As he walks down a narrow path hugging an orchard, he says he is grateful to have a home to return to.

Home to many walnut traders and farmers, Uri’s life has always been on the edge. Being one of the towns near the Line of Control (LOC) in north Kashmir, Uri is familiar with the havoc and trauma caused by heavy shelling. The roof of almost every house in this riverside town has been hit by mortar shells fired by both India and Pakistan. Conflict arising from border issues has often disturbed the pace of life in Uri, and sound, uninterrupted sleep tops its wish-list. However, India’s ‘surgical strikes on seven terror pads across the LOC’ has further robbed the town of its hope for peace and quiet. Apart from the threat of another war, Uri fears retaliatory assaults by militant groups from across the border.

Strangely, no one in Uri utters the name of the artillery weapon that shatters its calm frequently. Just six km from the nearest point on the disputed border, the town has also survived the boom of Bofors howitzers that, during the Kargil War in 1999, occupied a 50-km stretch of the highway that connects it to the district headquarters of Baramulla. “Explosions; gunfire, unrest... all this is part and parcel of our life. We are used to it,” says Abdul Hamid, 52, owner of a tea shop in Uri market.

Following the ceasefire between India and Pakistan in 2003, Uri did see some welcome changes. Broken roads were rebuilt, schools were constructed and in 2005, the town got its first college — Government Degree College, affiliated to the University of Kashmir. This was a ray of hope for parents who were reluctant to send their children to Srinagar or other cities in India for higher studies.

The relative calm was shattered on this September 18, when four militants stormed the army camp in Uri, killing 18 soldiers. The surgical strikes in Pakistan-occupied Kashmir came 11 days later. Speaking to the media in Delhi, Director General Military Operations Lt Gen Ranbir Singh informed that “during these counter terrorist operations significant casualties were caused to terrorists and those providing support to them”.

Uri residents don’t understand the difference between surgical strikes and cross-border fighting. What doesn’t escape them is the gravity of the situation. “We have already suffered a lot — and now we are back to living in constant fear. Who knows when the next weapon will land on my house?” says Hamid. “Maybe it sounds stupid, but I hope good sense and peace will prevail,” he adds.

Sitting in a shop in another lane in the market, 60-year-old Mohammad Aqeel Khan is worried about being displaced. A native of Silikot, a village six km from Uri town, Khan was forced to flee during the Kargil War. “For the last one week, we’re trying to cope with the sound of cross-border firing. They say the fight is on within two km of the police post,” he says. Khan’s family is one of the 22 that made Uri their home after the 2003 ceasefire. “Earlier, during shelling, the army and the police would move us to underground bunkers, but those were damaged during the 2015 earthquake,” he says. Reports suggest that the local administration has reviewed an evacuation plan in case of danger to civilian lives and property.

Despite its war phobia, Uri maintains a friendly relation with the men in uniform. This is in sharp contrast with the equation between the forces and the public in others parts of Kashmir. Following the death of Burhan Wani on July 8, the Valley has recorded innumerable instances of violent clashes with the law-enforcement and defence forces. These have led to deaths and injuries on both sides.

Uri inhabitants believe that its proximity to the border makes it different from the rest of the Valley. “This is a sensitive area, and the army presence is important for our safety. So we must have cordial relations with them,” says Mohammad Sahif Chakloo, another resident at the market.

He continues: “Just walk around the town and you will find more men in uniform than civilians. You will find them chatting and laughing with us. They allow us in their canteens. Most importantly, we use their medical facilities, which you cannot imagine in Srinagar.” Among other things, the army is also said to have helped the locals when petrol was in short supply. Some families also send their children to the army school.

Maryam Bano, a housewife, is keen that her school-going children get the chance to “see and travel the world”. “If they (India and Pakistan) fight another war, it will be the end of the many dreams we have for our kids. I am having sleepless nights at the thought of evacuation, fighting, deaths...” her voice trails off as she walks in the direction of her home. Bano doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring for her — and Uri — but dinnertime duties take her mind off the crisis momentarily.

Tawqeer Hussainis a Delhi-based journalist

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