It was autumn. The forest was heart-stoppingly beautiful in the way only a Himalayan forest can be. The Chinar trees had begun to turn color. The meadows were a coppery gold. If you were lucky you might spot a black bear or a leopard or Dachigam's famous deer, the hangul.
The trouble with being in Dachigam (Jammu and Kashmir) was that it had the effect of unsettling one's resolve. It underlined the futility of it all. It made one feel that Kashmir really belonged to those creatures. That none of us who were fighting over it - Kashmiris, Indians, Pakistanis, or for that matter Pahadis, Gujjars, Dogras, Pashtuns, Shins, Ladakhis, Baltis, Gilgitis, Purikis, Wakhis, Yashkuns, Tibetans, Mongols, Tatars, Mon, Khowars - none of us, neither saint nor soldier, had the right to claim the truly heavenly beauty of that place for ourselves.
Arundhati Roy, from The Ministry of Utmost Happiness
