When the calendar becomes a battleground

Col Ajay K Raina (Retd)

ajaykrraina@gmail.com

The uproar in the Jammu and Kashmir Legislative Assembly over public holidays has little to do with holidays. The real argument is about whose history deserves official recognition, whose political memory should occupy institutional space, and whether Jammu and the Kashmir Valley can continue to be governed as though their historical experiences and political aspirations are interchangeable.

On September 22, 2026, National Conference MLA Abdul Majeed Larmi demanded restoration of public holidays marking Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah's birth anniversary on December 5 and death anniversary on September 8. He also sought restoration of the July 13 Martyrs' Day holiday. More significantly, he argued that if the holiday for Sheikh Abdullah's birth anniversary was not restored, the September 23 holiday marking Maharaja Hari Singh's birth anniversary should be withdrawn. PDP MLA Waheed Para supported the demand for restoring the Sheikh's holiday and also raised the issue of July 13. The ensuing protests by BJP members led to a walkout.

There is nothing inherently objectionable about Jammu attaching importance to Maharaja Hari Singh. Equally, there is nothing unusual about recognising Sheikh Abdullah. The difficulty begins when recognition becomes a zero-sum exercise: restore one holiday and remove another; honour one historical personality by diminishing another. That approach merely converts history into another arena of regional competition.

For Jammu, Maharaja Hari Singh represents considerably more than the last ruler of the Dogra dynasty. He is associated with the Dogra political and administrative legacy and with Jammu's place in the history of the erstwhile state. Most importantly, his signing of the Instrument of Accession in October 1947 occupies a central place in Jammu's understanding of its relationship with India. In the Valley, Sheikh Abdullah occupies an equally prominent place in political memory. He emerged as the principal political leader of Kashmir's Muslim population, spearheaded the movement against the Maharaja and subsequently dominated the political landscape of J&K for decades. His supporters therefore regard his political legacy as deserving institutional recognition.

Both histories exist. The question is whether the Government should be asked to choose between them.

The controversy becomes even more complicated when July 13, 1931, enters the discussion. The conventional Valley narrative remembers the 22 people killed outside Srinagar Central Jail that day as martyrs of the struggle against Dogra rule. However, another historical account cannot be dismissed. After the disturbances, a committee headed by Chief Justice Sir Barjor Dalal addressed not only the firing outside the Central Jail but also the disturbances that preceded and followed it. The report recorded that the crowd had attempted to force its way into the jail and that the authorities treated the gathering as an unlawful assembly. It also recorded looting in Maharajganj and Vicharnag, including damage to Hindu shops and property. The deaths occurred in the course of the authorities' effort to disperse the crowd. This alternative account does not erase the deaths of those 22 people. Nor does it establish that every subsequent interpretation of the episode is necessarily correct. What it demonstrates is that July 13 has never possessed a single uncontested historical meaning.

For one section of society, it symbolises resistance to a ruler. For another, it is inseparable from the violence and communal disturbances that followed the firing and from the subsequent targeting of Hindu-owned property. That distinction matters. A historical commemoration should encourage examination of the entire episode, rather than reduce a complex sequence of events to a single political slogan.

The same standard should apply when the legacy of Sheikh Abdullah is invoked. There is a documented episode from September 1948 that remains particularly relevant. Sheikh Abdullah gave an interview to foreign correspondents in which he discussed the possibility of an independent Kashmir. The proposal envisaged Kashmir outside the sovereignty of either India or Pakistan. The episode attracted considerable attention within the Indian political establishment. That episode does not negate Abdullah's contribution to Kashmir's political development. But if his legacy is to be officially commemorated, there is little merit in presenting it as an uncomplicated historical narrative. The same principle applies to Maharaja Hari Singh and every other major figure in J&K's history.

History is rarely so tidy.

The holiday controversy exposes a larger issue: the persistent difficulty of accommodating Jammu and the Kashmir Valley within a single political framework. The two regions share a constitutional and administrative history, but their political experiences have differed markedly. Their relationship with the Dogra monarchy developed differently. Their responses to the events of 1947 were different. Their principal political movements were different. Their historical heroes are often different. Their collective memories of the same events can be almost diametrically opposed. And these differences have not disappeared with time; they have rather been consolidated over decades.

Questions of political representation, employment, development, tourism, administrative priorities and institutional influence repeatedly acquire a regional dimension. The argument over holidays is simply a more visible manifestation because historical symbols are emotionally charged and easy to understand. It implies that the assumption that both regions have identical political priorities deserves closer examination. This is particularly important because political symbolism has consequences. When one side perceives the recognition of a historical personality as an attack on its identity, and the other perceives the rejection of another commemoration as an attack on its own history, the dispute quickly moves beyond the original issue. A holiday then becomes a proxy for a much larger political argument.

That is why Delhi needs to look beyond the annual calendar.

Jammu does not share Kashmir's historical memory, and Kashmir does not share Jammu's political priorities. Recognising that difference need not imply hostility between the two regions. On the contrary, acknowledging regional distinctiveness could provide the basis for a more honest political conversation. The alternatives are a matter for democratic debate. They could include separate political entities within India's constitutional framework. Failure to take a de novo look at the issues will only create more bad blood between the two regions.

In any case, we should avoid the current pattern in which every historical disagreement becomes another Jammu-versus-Kashmir confrontation. Maharaja Hari Singh belongs to the history of J&K. So does Sheikh Abdullah. July 13, 1931, belongs to that history too, including both the narrative of those who regard the dead as martyrs and the alternative account recorded by the Barjor Dalal inquiry. The accession of 1947 is equally part of that history. A mature political society does not need to erase one chapter to acknowledge another.

The real lesson from the Assembly confrontation is therefore not that one holiday should replace another. It is that Jammu and the Kashmir Valley carry different historical memories, political experiences and developmental aspirations, and these differences cannot be wished away by administrative uniformity. It also calls for a serious study to distil the merits and demerits of having two political entities, since Jammu can't be burdened with the task of keeping Kashmir with Bharat; that being the responsibility of Delhi and its tools of power and administration.

If Delhi continues to treat every such disagreement as an isolated political quarrel, the arguments will return in another form: over holidays today, representation tomorrow, and institutional arrangements thereafter. The calendar has merely exposed the fault line. The larger question is whether Jammu and Kashmir's existing political structure can accommodate two regions that have never experienced their shared history in quite the same way. Or whether there is merit in letting two regions chart their own courses, nourish their own histories and decide their own priorities independent of each other.

The author is the Chairman of Jammu State People's Movement (JSPM)