By Umaisar Gull
It was early morning. One of my senior colleagues, who was a patient, had to reach Banihal so that he could board the Vande Bharat train for Jammu and then travel onward to Delhi.
It was the Amarnath Yatra period, and movement on the highway was restricted during the morning hours. I decided to help him out of humanity and friendship. I took my bike and followed him from Qazigund. I had already made the necessary arrangements so that he would not face any difficulty on the way.
Finally, we reached Banihal.
From there, we booked the Vande Bharat train. As soon as my colleague boarded the train, I stayed back for a few moments to help him arrange his bags. While I was fixing his luggage, the train doors suddenly closed.
And just like that, I was stuck inside the train.
I immediately approached the railway staff and explained the situation. They told me that the Vande Bharat would not stop and that the next stop was Katra. Some employees had told me a few days earlier that the same thing had happened to them and that they had managed to get the doors reopened before the train departed. However, in my case, I was unable to get them reopened.
I had no option.
The vehicle that had brought my colleague to Banihal had already gone towards Jammu. So I decided that instead of getting down at Katra and creating further complications, I would travel till Jammu and return from there.
Soon, the ticket-checking staff arrived.
I explained the entire situation to them. I told them that I was not travelling as a passenger but had accidentally remained inside the train while helping a patient colleague. I said I was ready to pay the actual ticket fare but requested them to waive the penalty on humanitarian grounds.
I showed them the ticket and explained everything. I even offered to show them the person I had been helping.
I also tried contacting higher authorities, hoping that someone would understand the situation.
But nothing worked.
Eventually, I had to pay Rs 1,350, including the penalty.
For me, this was not about refusing to pay for a journey. I was willing to pay the ticket fare. It was about whether, in an unusual situation involving a patient, there could be some understanding and humanity.
I reached Jammu and met the two people who had gone to Jammu in the vehicle earlier. I was not able to bear the heat of Jammu that day, and my bike had also been left at Banihal Railway Station, as I had not been prepared to travel to Jammu. I had simply left it there. Now, I had to go back at any cost.
We then started our journey back towards Qazigund.
On the way, there were traffic naka points everywhere. All vehicles were being stopped.
I was told that the highway had been closed because of a landslide.
I contacted several officials, including Traffic Police officials, requesting that we be allowed to proceed. But I was repeatedly told that movement was not possible and that there were serious restrictions.
After considerable effort, I somehow managed to get through.
And then I saw something that made me think deeply.
The highway was almost completely empty.
There was hardly any traffic on the road. At around 1 a.m., I reached the Kashmir side and found hundreds of trucks stranded in Qazigund. Traffic authorities had already stopped traffic coming from Jammu. Traffic from the Kashmir side had also been stopped, even when the road was open. It is true that there was a minor issue (a few metres) on the road in the Udhampur area, but one-way movement was allowed.
For days, whenever drivers in Qazigund told me that they were being repeatedly stopped by traffic authorities and were facing unnecessary difficulties on the highway, I would tell them:
“No, someone cannot deliberately do this. There must be some reason.”
I genuinely believed that.
But that night, when I experienced the situation myself, I began to understand what those drivers had been trying to tell me.
It made me realise that sometimes what is communicated from the system and what actually happens on the ground can be two very different things.
Until that night, I had dismissed the concerns of drivers because I believed there must be a genuine reason behind the restrictions.
After witnessing the situation myself, I could no longer simply dismiss them.
I am not claiming that every restriction was deliberately imposed or that I know the intention behind it. But what I personally witnessed that night has certainly raised serious questions for me about the way highway restrictions are implemented and communicated.
For me, this entire experience was not just about a Rs 1,350 penalty.
It was about humanity.
A patient was travelling. I was helping him as a colleague and a friend. I never intended to travel on that train. Yet, when an unexpected situation occurred, I felt that there was very little room for understanding.
And it was also about the highway.
Sometimes, you don’t understand the reality by simply listening to what people say.
You understand it when you stand there yourself.
That night changed the way I looked at the complaints I had been hearing from drivers for days. It is apple season in Kashmir, and I feel that the deliberate stopping of fruit-laden trucks, if happening without genuine reasons, could seriously hurt Kashmir’s economy.
What is shown may be one story.
What happens on the ground is another.
And perhaps that is the real meaning behind these words:
When Doors Get Closed, the Highway Gets Exposed.
The author is a reporter in south Kashmir. This article is a first-hand account based on the author’s personal experience of the events described.
