When my boat strayed into Pakistan

Bharat Majethia was jailed for three years in Karachi when his fishing vessel crossed the international maritime boundary. Back in his village in Gujarat, the 32-year-old tells his story to DH.

It must have been 10.30 am when we heard the whirr of a helicopter above us. Before I could realise why it was flying so low, the walkie-talkie in my hand came to life with a crackle, “The Pakistani navy is closing in. Come back, come back!”

About 70 to 80 Indian fishing boats, sailing in the Arabian Sea, reversed double quick. I could not understand what the panic was about, but a sailor on our boat, with more experience than my 32-year-old self, knew. I had steered far from Indian shores and had crossed over into Pakistani waters.

Bharat Majethia hails from a fishing family.

The belt snaps

As the captain of our single-mast sailing vessel (dhow), I instructed my crew to pull the fishing net back, fire up the engine, and head back. Fear got the better of my crew of five. They tried to rev up the boat with all the power the engine could muster. The belt on the engine’s water pump snapped. We watched other boats disappear towards the Indian waters while the Pakistan personnel, riding speed boats, caught up with us.

I had only heard of such encounters. I had never imagined it would happen to me. “Don’t speed away. Surrender!” was the message from their loudspeakers. They fired four or five rounds in the air as an added warning. They flanked us and jumped into our boat. They then ordered my crew to line up in a corner and commanded me to sail towards Pakistan.

But in a last-ditch attempt to escape, I steered the wheel towards India instead. This took a bad turn. They slapped me and rained blows on me. I winced in pain. We were told not to talk or flee or we would be killed. We gave up. We sailed all day until the dead of night to reach Pakistan, with guns pointed at us. This was on September 15, 2020.

As we alighted on the shores of Karachi, the navy seized our belongings – our boat and 12 to 13 tonnes of fish worth Rs 15 lakh. We went through several procedures, including the inspection of our fishing ID passes. We were taken to a police lock-up and given roti and shaak (sabzi). I didn’t have any appetite. I was disoriented.

A week after our capture, at least 60 other Indian fishermen were packed into our cell. The Covid-19 pandemic was raging in Pakistan and we spent nearly 10 days in the lock-up to rule out infection. We would soon be moved to Landhi Jail in Karachi and it would turn out to be the most distressing time of my life.

Were we forgotten?

The capture of Indian fishermen by the Pakistani authorities is not uncommon, nor is their release. The fishermen are usually sent back in four to eight months as a goodwill gesture. But my crew and I spent three years in captivity, the longest case I am aware of. Many fishermen from my state of Gujarat were brought into Landhi jail much later but set free much before us. I feared we had been forgotten.

We were not allowed to talk to Pakistani prisoners who had a better rapport with the jail authorities. But a few inmates, not from my crew, took a chance. They would borrow pen and paper to write letters to their families in India and request them to be slipped to the ‘other side’. Our case was taken up after some released fishermen reached Gujarat and informed an association working for the fishing community.

Why risk it?

Do Indian fishermen cross over mistakenly or knowingly? It’s both and more.

I live in Dandi (not the destination fof Mahatma Gandhi’s Salt March). It is a village 90 km from the Veraval port in Gir Somnath district. Veraval is known as the fishing hub of Gujarat. It was in the middle of August in 2020 when three of my relatives, two men from neighbouring villages and I left for the Veraval port. We had got a contract to operate a fishing vessel called Divya Sagar. I would receive Rs 20,000 a month in salary.

For the first two weeks at the port, we were busy cleaning fishing nets, painting our boat and preparing it for the long haul. We then loaded it with 4,000 litres of diesel, 150 ice ladhi (blocks), and food supplies to last us a month. We set sail after taking blessings from Somnath Dada (Shiva) at the famous Somnath temple on the coastline.

The first few days passed peacefully. We caught fish — ‘Rani machli’ is the most sought-after variety here. I watched the Gujarati movie 'Hellaro' on the boat when I had time on my hands. I cooked fish curry and biryani, which my crew enjoyed. By the second week, we had forayed deep into the sea with 70-80 other fishing vessels.

Once you are deep in the Arabian Sea, especially when the wind picks up, it is hard to realise if your boat has crossed the international maritime boundary line between India and Pakistan. It is an invisible line. We carry instruments fitted with GPS but when all you can see is a vast ocean and the horizon, there is little sense of direction.

What drives fishermen to venture into the deep sea is the amount of fish we can catch quickly, and also the availability of varieties in great demand for export. If you fish for a month close to the Indian seashore, you can make a maximum of Rs 10,000. But in the deep waters, the earnings double easily.

I come from a fishing village. Fishing is the only skill men in my village know. After the death of my father, I didn’t have any option but to take risks and earn more for my family. I live with my wife, three children, mother and two younger siblings. Contract fishermen like me live away from home for long periods. The fishing season lasts from September to June and a fishing expedition can go up to three weeks. Let’s say we return only when our fuel stock is depleted or the storage area can’t take any more fish.

The Gujarat state government gives Rs 300 a day to the family of any fisherman who ends up in a Pakistan jail. Knowing that their families are compensated, and they will be released in four to five months, many fishermen don’t mind taking the risk.

I had gone into the deep sea and returned safely not once but in five fishing seasons previously. I got unlucky that day.

‘Plastic bottles’

The initial days at Landhi Jail were hard. I would miss my son Jasmit who was only 15 days old when I was arrested. I am close to my mother. Before my capture, I used to call her after wrapping up work every day. Without her, the evenings were punishing. 

But as days and months wore on, I started pulling myself together. I had heard of Indian prisoners dying in Pakistan of old age or torture. But stories of Indians walking free outnumbered these greatly and gave me hope.

We were expected to wake up by 6 am and sit in pairs for counting. After bathing, we were given rotis and a cup of tea for breakfast. The food was not different from what I ate in India – rice, roti, dal, seasonal sabzis, and sometimes, meat dishes. But they were made and served indifferently – the rotis were cold, the sabzis bland, and the chicken half-cooked and sometimes blood-stained. Instead of rejecting the meat fare, we would wash the chicken with water and cook it over a heap of burning plastic bottles. Some Pakistani prisoners had a gas stove. We were not even given firewood.

I was glad I did not fall sick during my imprisonment. If we complained of headache or diarrhoea, the jailers would bring us pills with no wrapping. We had to trust them blindly and swallow the pills. Two prisoners were taken to a dispensary inside the jail and then a hospital outside when they complained of uneasiness. They never came back. They had died.

The jail was divided into several blocks, called circles. We were lodged in a circle inhabited by fellow Indians. We were not allowed to talk to our Pakistani counterparts. Our interactions would be limited to buying soaps, beedis and clothes from the shops they ran inside jail.

Jails have their own economy and that is where I found a certain amount of freedom and distraction. I learnt to make keyrings with beads so I could earn money and buy the bare essentials for myself. I would style these keyrings after different fish, guitars, flowers, and hearts. On one, I beaded my own name ‘Bharat’. Selling did not come easy. On several occasions, I was beaten up only because I approached Pakistani prisoners to sell my artefacts. Many Indians chose not to work as they were treated harshly like this.

However, some Pakistani prisoners, even hardened criminals, used to protect us. They were interested in knowing what our villages looked like and what life was back home. They enquired animatedly about cricket and politics. But we could not share much – we could not be seen mingling with them.

Return for Diwali 

I felt free only after I reached my village last month. Nothing comes close to that feeling – not when I was escorted out of Landhi jail after three years, not when I lined up at the India-Pakistan border at Wagah to receive an emergency passport, not when I boarded a train to Vadodara, not when I caught a bus to Veraval, not even when my family came to pick me up in a four-wheeler.

I felt free and lucky to be alive only after I got home on the night of November 12. I took my mother’s blessings first. And what a night it was. It was Diwali. The streets leading to my home were lit up. Every other person in my village, which has about 250 houses, had flocked to see my homecoming. I didn’t eat anything that night. I was overwhelmed, I guess. I stayed up until 2 am, talking to my family and friends. They filled me in on everything I had missed in three years. My village now had more pucca houses. Our streets looked new. Children in my village had grown — I could barely recognise some of them.

I have three children — Milan, Vaishali and Jasmit, the last of whom was just days old when I was incarcerated. During my absence, my wife Lakshmi would show my photos to Jasmit and say, “He is your father. He is in Pakistan. He will come back one day.” That night, when I was rejoicing at my homecoming, Jasmit refused to come to me.

My children survived in my absence because of the grit of my wife and mother. They worked as daily wagers on farms and subsisted on the government grant of Rs 300 a day.

I own four bighas of land. I grow bajra (pearl millet). The yield is barely enough for us. There is a scarcity of water for irrigation in our region, so I can’t depend on farming as a source of livelihood. I have no option but to go back to fishing. But I need some time. Three years of confinement has weakened my muscles. I can’t walk properly. I will resume fishing once I am fit again.

Some Indian fishermen, I have heard, have crossed over and been captured twice. But I now know my border. Never again will I venture into the deep sea, straying far from the Indian shore. The government doesn’t compensate families of fishermen who cross over more than once.

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‘100 dead in 20 years'

Nearly 3,000 Indian fishermen have been caught in Pakistani waters in the past year. According to Ramesh Vansh, president of Sagarputra Samajik Seva Trust, which works for the welfare of fishermen, about 100 Indians have died in captivity over the past two decades and 184 are still languishing in Pakistani jails. On the contrary, fewer Pakistanis have been caught in Indian waters.

Few Indian fishermen have also been captured by terrorists taking the Arabian Sea route, including Ajmal Kasab who executed the 26/11 terror attack on Mumbai in 2008.

The government data says about 250 villages along the 1,600 km coastline of Gujarat are dependent on fishing. Gujarat is the leading producer of marine fish in India.