The Quirky Ritual on the India-Pakistan Border
The shared history of India and Pakistan is a history of conflict. Before leaving the Indian subcontinent, Britain divided the fertile Punjab Valley roughly in half – between the cities of Amritsar and Lahore. For many years, interreligious conflict and disputes over the divided disputed region of Kashmir have led to violence and bloodshed. In the most recent clashes alone, nine civilians were killed.
Despite the extremely tense relations, every day at sunset both countries jointly, with zeal bordering on comedy, hold a ceremony that marks the closing of the border for the night. Leaving the smog of Agra and the splendor of the Taj Mahal, we jumped on a train to Amritsar to see with our own eyes this border ballet of kicking legs above the head.
We left Amritsar and, traveling 30 km west, reached the town of Atari, and from there to the village of Wagah, where the only place where one can legally cross the India-Pakistan border is located. Hundreds of Indian citizens had already gathered here. Hawkers darted through the crowd, pushing pirated CDs of Beyoncé recordings, souvenirs depicting the Taj Mahal, and jalebi – a traditional Indian delicacy of a poisonous orange color, oozing sugary syrup.
Near a concrete structure of official appearance, all spectators were divided into two categories and lined up in rows – men separately, women separately. Strict order was maintained in the lines, unusual for India, a rather chaotic country.
I waved goodbye to my husband and joined a long row of respectfully quiet Indian women, shining in the bright colors of their saris. A stern-looking border guard patted me on the shoulder and pushed me toward my husband, pointing to a separate line marked "foreigners," where spectators of both sexes were allowed to mix. After passport checks and a brief inspection, we were directed along a paved road leading to the border line, where the ceremony was to take place.
The only paved road, barely 100 m long, stretched from our side of the border, passed through two high metal gates, and continued into Pakistan. Along the edges of the road were stands and footpaths. It was obvious that there was a certain hierarchical order for seating spectators. Special Indian guests and very important persons were placed in close proximity to the border gates, followed by concrete benches reserved exclusively for foreigners. Indians – men, women, and children – sat along the footpaths and on the large stands behind us.
From our section, located just behind the gates, less than 50 m away, the Pakistani stands were clearly visible. Seats on the Pakistani side were divided by gender. Many women clapped in time to the music, waved white-and-green Pakistani flags, and chatted animatedly with each other. Turning the gaze to the left, one could see the stoic expressions on the faces of Pakistani men, none of whom showed the slightest enthusiasm for being there.
Dressed in a white tracksuit, our master of ceremonies urged everyone gathered on our side of the border to shout in chorus "Hindustan Zindabad!" ("Long live India!"). Cries of "Pakistan!" echoed from behind the gates. People clapped, danced, and generally had fun to the lively rhythm of the song "Jai Ho" from the film "Slumdog Millionaire." Nothing reminded us that we were literally treading the border between two countries locked in turbulent relations that often escalate into direct violence.
The Indian border guards participating in the action were in khaki dress uniforms. Their tunics were decorated with medals, and their heads were covered with tall headdresses with red plumes, resembling the loose tails of macaws.
One of the guards, with a stone-faced expression, approached the microphone, took a deep breath, and emitted a long, rolling howl that echoed on the other side. He was obviously competing with his Pakistani counterpart. Two men from two different countries, less than 100 m apart, were engaged in a good old game of "who can out-shout whom."
As soon as our guard finished his war cry (the Pakistani border guard out-shouted him by a few seconds), he marched step by step toward Pakistan, five of his comrades marching behind him, chests puffed out. They moved to the middle of the road and began to stomp their feet in unison and kick them upward. Their extravagantly decorated headdresses miraculously did not move, and not a single muscle twitched on their faces, which wore fierce expressions. From time to time, one or another guard would cast a threatening look toward the Pakistani border, as if to intimidate the rivals.
At that moment, the patriotism of the crowd was literally tangible; each section of the stands erupted with cheers and applause. The guard who led this military inspection marched to the end of the road and completed a series of stomps and leg swings. At one point, he nearly smashed his nose with his own knee. His Pakistani counterpart, meanwhile, performed his own staccato dance, whose figures resembled the movements of a martial arts master. Both border guards finished their performance simultaneously, fixing each other with an icy glare at the end.
This demonstration of all-conquering masculinity continued for a good 20 minutes more, each of the six subsequent participants in the border guards' contest receiving their moment of glory and shine. I found myself immersing myself in the noisy merriment all around, clapping in time with the music and holding my breath when one or another guard threw his leg particularly high. The performers continued to execute their acts with an intensity one might expect from Michael Jackson impersonators. The crowd supported the performers with enthusiastic cheers.
The climax of the performance came when the flags of both countries were lowered at exactly the same time. Had I blinked, I would have missed the brief handshake – a gesture of goodwill – exchanged by the two border guards who had been soloists during the ceremony. To the final flourish of a bugle, the gates close to everyone's satisfaction.
The crowd began to disperse, but my husband and I remained seated, still absorbing the impressions of what we had just witnessed. The history of India and Pakistan is one of prolonged conflict. Yet how it warms your soul and heart to know that every evening the two countries unite for a brief moment, closing the border gates together.
Tony CLARK,
BBC Travel.