The photo shows a man whose face is only a bloody mass, his body covered with welts and marks of torture. It's the last known photograph of Abdul Rashid Wani, a truck driver who was arrested by the Indian army around 4 p.m. on a July afternoon in 1997. He was on his way to the fruit market in Srinagar, the capital of the Indian section of Kashmir. His wife, Shabnam, coaxed the image out of a police officer who offered only vague information about what happened to Abdul Rashid Wani. Whoever the dead man in the photo was, he'd "collaborated with terrorists." Shabnam finally identified the man as her husband after spotting a recognizable scar on his ankle.

In the nearby Srinagar neighborhood of Bemina, Maimoona Bhat sits sunken down on a floor pillow, crying. In front of her lies the identity card of her son Zahoor Ahmat, 28, a mechanic. In August, he and the 23 year-old Gulshin were to be married, but Zahoor Ahmat was shot in February near Magham, 25 kilometers west of Srinagar, as he passed an Indian army checkpoint and didn't immediately stop.

The soldiers mistook him, like Abdul Rashid Wani, for a militant rebel, or at least for one of their supporters -- the sort of mistake that can be deadly here in the picturesque Himalaya valley along the Jhelum River, site of a guerrilla war between the Pakistan-supported Muslim terrorists and Indians that escalated 16 years ago. The war itself, though, has been going much longer: Both India and Pakistan have claimed the region as their own and have been fighting over it since 1947 -- a conflict that has so far cost over 60,000 lives, most of them civilians.

All the parties involved have suffered casualties: The rebels, who want Kashmir to belong to Pakistan and are fighting an endless and hopeless war against India, as well as the Indian security troops, who've lost many of their number and are exhausted from the bloody conflict. The population, though, has suffered the most, and has to fear both sides. They're often bullied by the Indian troops, and rebels regularly use their houses as hideouts.

But things are beginning to change. During his visit to the Indian capital of New Delhi two weeks ago, Pakistan's president, Gen. Pervez Musharraf, said the peace process between the enemy states is "irreversible," and that there has been a fundamental "change of heart" between the two countries and Indian Prime Minister Manmohan Singh says he agrees. One would like to take the statesmen at their word. Both sides have openly agreed that against the background of the new political and economic situation -- above all, since the Sept. 11 attacks -- the Kashmir conflict is counterproductive.

The "Soft Border"

Not everyone, though, has believed them. The recent opening of a bus line between Srinagar in the Indian section of Kashmir and Muzaffarabad in the Pakistani section was dismissed by old hands in the news media as "farce" and "political make-up" before it was opened. There were only a few analysts willing to voice the slightly more optimistic view that it was a "break" in aggression. But, in fact, it could be the beginning of a political solution, especially if it succeeds in opening the divided mountain region not just to families that have been split apart, but also to trade. On the long term, such a development would cost the rebels much of their support.

Following three wars fought over the region and a number of intense diplomatic crises -- including one in the summer of 2002, which, following an attack on the Indian parliament, elevated to a very real risk of nuclear warfare -- both sides can live with the undefined border. Whether or not it will lead to the "ultimate solution" -- or even joint control -- as has been pushed ever since the most recent summit in New Delhi, is still questionable, however.

The slow shift in relations between the two old enemies, who have been observing a cease-fire in Kashmir since 2003, is rooted primarily in pragmatism. India's foreign policy goals no longer focus solely on Pakistan, but have slowly begun to focus on the region's economic giant China. India, a secular democracy with over a billion people, wants to become a superpower in the region, both politically and economically. It is trying, much like Germany, to get a permanent seat in the United Nations Security Council. But for that, the country is going to need the support of the United States. And America's interests in the region include, above all else, stable relations between the two atomic powers.

But Musharraf's about-face, which will eliminate support for hardliners on the front in the future, has put him at odds with militants at home. Too many have died, and too many see the fight to "free" Kashmir as a religious calling, to give up their goal so easily.

Musharraf, though -- despite a recent attack against him by his own military together with Kashmir militants -- seems to be serious. The 61-year-old, who himself came to power in a military putsch, wants to go down in history as the founder of peace between India and Pakistan.

Peace is still a long way off for the people in Kashmir, though. Not a day goes by without a skirmish between the rivals along the Jhelum River. Militants often barricade themselves in a house and the Indian army then smokes them out.

"Don't make such a big deal out of it"

Like in the village of Bangar Bora, a half hour from Srinagar by car. Indian security forces have just blown up the house of day-laborer Mohammed Ismail, 35, because they suspected two guerrilla fighters were hiding out inside, and soldiers now dig out the bloody remains from of a mountain of boards and stone. "We are poor, now what should we do?" sobs Ismail's 20 year-old sister Rafika.

There is hardly a family here who hasn't lost a member during the two generation-long dispute. The so-called martyr cemeteries in the province are filled past capacity, and new additions often can't be buried.

The hard-line approach alone won't win this war, though, and New Delhi changed its strategy a few years ago: Now a state-run human rights organization is supposed to investigate and pursue such encroachments on the population. Recently, though, Gholam Mohammed Malik, the village elder from Dahrana, 60 kilometers south of Srinagar, described to head of the commission, lawyer Ali Mohammed Mir, how soldiers had surrounded and searched the houses of the village at dawn one August day last year, hitting and berating the inhabitants while claiming they were looking for terrorists. Instead of action, he got a simple answer: "Don't make such a big deal out of it."

But the army, too, is trying to revamp its image. The current operation is no longer called by its earlier name, "Catch and Kill," but now goes under the kinder, gentler name of "Operation Goodwill." Posters show soldiers as friends and helpers, and say that the checkpoints offer "emergency telephone service": "We're always here for you." Of late, the army has even been building schools, which are badly needed in the region's villages. Of course, there's a catch: In these schools, the Indian national anthem is to be sung in the morning, and the Indian version of the Kashmir conflict will be taught during history lessons. Kashmiris are viewing this new era of friendliness with a healthy dose of skepticism.

On the Other Side of the Line

Very few foreigners are granted access to the other region of Kashmir, the so-called Free Kashmir of the Pakistani region. The area is administrated by Pakistani officials and thoroughly guarded by the military and secret service, although it's as peaceful here as in Switzerland, and actually looks much the same.

The refugees, though, have stories to tell -- stories of repression, torture and flight. They can only tell them under strict observation. The fragile-looking Mohammed Abdullah Shah, 60, is a former English teacher from Kupwara, and he speaks quietly as he tells how 20 years ago, the Indian army brought him in three times for questioning, tortured him, and finally threatened him with death, which is why he finally fled. Not surprisingly, he says he's for the complete take over of Kashmir by Pakistan. Anyone here who doesn't want to belong to either India or Pakistan, who wishes perhaps for an independent Kashmiri state, is better off not saying it, or at least not in public.