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Time of India
11 hours ago
- Politics
- Time of India
The silence that screams: How the NC is failing the very people it once claimed to represent
Mudasir Dar is a social and peace activist based in South Kashmir. He is a Rashtrapati Award recipient in world scouting and has contributed to many local and national publications on a diverse range of topics, including national security, politics, governance, peace, and conflict. LESS ... MORE In the political history of Jammu and Kashmir, there have been many moments that demanded dignity over debate, empathy over ego, and leadership over opportunism. The aftermath of the Pahalgam terror attack was one such moment — a moment where tragedy met humanity, and where the institution of governance was expected to rise above political calculations. It did. But what followed from the political opposition, particularly the National Conference (NC), was a masterclass in how to squander moral capital for the sake of momentary noise. Syed Adil Hussain Shah, a young ponywallah from Hapatnar in South Kashmir, was not a figure of power or prestige. He was an ordinary man whose final act was one of extraordinary courage. When terrorists struck in Pahalgam this April, Adil tried to shield a group of tourists. In doing so, he lost his life. His death could have remained another statistic in a region too familiar with conflict. But something different happened. On June 14, lieutenant governor Manoj Sinha made an uncommon visit to Adils family, stepping well outside routine protocol. He did not stop at offering hollow condolences or posing for cameras. Instead, he used his own discretionary authority to promise Adils widow, Gulnaz Akhter, a government job through the Jammu and Kashmir Rehabilitation Assistance Scheme. It was a generous move, since Gulnaz had yet to meet the formal educational rules for the position. However, the LG, moved by the magnitude of the familys sacrifice and the tragic context, placed human need far ahead of rigid paperwork. It was a moment when governance showed it still had a heartbeat. Yet, rather than rallying behind the gesture or even nodding at its meaning, the National Conference chose to respond with jittery suspicion and cheap party jabs. NC spokesman Tanvir Sadiq fired off a tweet wondering whether the lieutenant governors off-the-cuff promise in south Kashmir was now being undermined by his own office. In both timing and tone, the tweet looked less like a search for clarity and more like a slick, if desperate, bid to grab back a political story that had already slipped through the partys fingers. What the NC fails to realise is that such acts of pettiness are no longer viewed in isolation. They are read as part of a deeper crisis of relevance — a party that once symbolised regional aspiration is now seen as clinging to performative opposition, unable to digest that delivery and governance are now taking precedence over slogans and symbolism. Instead of standing with Adil's grieving family, the NC chose to question the integrity of an administrative act that they themselves failed to undertake when it was their responsibility to lead. After the Pahalgam attack, the NC had issued elaborate statements, condemning the act of terror and pledging support to the victims. But those words vanished into the ether. There was no institutional outreach to the bereaved families, no efforts at rehabilitation, and no show of empathy beyond the camera flash. In the absence of state action from elected representatives, it was the Lieutenant Governor's office — often portrayed by NC as a distant authority — that responded with immediacy, compassion, and discretion. That is the real reason the NC feels so uneasy. For decades, the party shaped almost all local stories about who suffered and what identity meant. Now that those stories are facing practical policies and a calmer, post-partisan kindness, the solid ground they assumed was theirs is cracking. Rather than ask why they've been out-manoeuvred politically and out-brightened morally, they fall back on the easiest move-questions, tweets, and quiet sabotage. It is also not lost on the people of Jammu and Kashmir that the NC, since forming the government after the 2024 elections, has presided over a visible administrative breakdown. From power shortages to water scarcity, from dysfunctional municipal services to recurring protests in Jammu, the people are not seeing the delivery they were promised. These are not abstract policy gaps; these are lived, daily failures. While the NC leadership tweets in outrage, Jammu and Kashmir continues to reel under electricity cuts, Water shortage and unfulfilled promises. The contrast becomes painfully evident when juxtaposed with LG's handling of the Adil Hussain case. While the ruling party was absent, the unelected executive did the work of a public representative. It wasn't political strategy; it was a sense of institutional duty. And that shift — from old-style rhetorical politics to a results-oriented administrative culture — is precisely what is unsettling parties like the NC. Besides, the meaning behind the LG's visit is hard to overlook. A Hindu lieutenant governor from Uttar Pradesh stood in the small house of a Muslim ponywallah from south Kashmir, mourning his death and honouring his bravery. Whether planned or not, that gesture pushed back against long-standing accusations that the Indian state treats Kashmiris as less-than-human. The sight itself, simple yet forceful, mattered far more than a hundred official notes. It was governance using a word people understand: presence. When the NC twists this into a mere party debate, it shrinks a serious moment into just another score-settling exercise. The matter at hand is far bigger than handing one person a government post. It tests our ability as a society to see real sacrifice and honour it without slapping on a political filter first. It asks whether a government can meet public sorrow not with cold distance, but with open arms and genuine inclusion. Let it be recorded with clarity: when Adil Hussain Shah gave his life trying to save tourists in a place too often visited by death, it was not the elected government that stood by his family. It was not the political party that claims to speak for every Kashmiri. It was an act from the Raj Bhavan that affirmed dignity over delay, justice over jargon. In history, what matters is not what is tweeted in frustration but what is done with conviction. And no matter how hard the NC tries to reclaim this moment, the truth remains: they watched. Others acted. And in that truth lies the starkest contrast of all. Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
Time of India
21-05-2025
- Politics
- Time of India
After Pahalgam, presence is patriotism—Kashmir calls, and nation must answer
Mudasir Dar is a social and peace activist based in South Kashmir. He is a Rashtrapati Award recipient in world scouting and has contributed to many local and national publications on a diverse range of topics, including national security, politics, governance, peace, and conflict. LESS ... MORE There are moments when the soul of a land mourns—not only because it is wounded, but because it fears being forgotten. The terror attack in Pahalgam was one such moment. It was not merely an act of barbaric violence; it was a calibrated message designed to fracture bonds, to generate silence, and to revive isolation. In its horror, it targeted not just pilgrims, but the very idea of national integration. It was meant not only to kill, but to separate Kashmir from India's emotional geography once again. But what followed—what continues to unfold in the days after—may be more dangerous than the attack itself. Tourist bookings have plummeted. Hotel cancellations have multiplied. Footsteps that once filled our gardens, markets, and meadows have gone missing. This retreat, if allowed to persist, is not just a humanitarian loss or an economic downturn—it is a strategic gift to Pakistan. We must understand what this truly is: psychological warfare. Pakistan does not merely aim to infiltrate our borders—it seeks to infiltrate our imagination. Its goal is not only to destroy lives, but to dismantle narratives. The Pahalgam attack was not a random strike—it was a sophisticated attempt to unravel a decade of progress, connectivity, and emotional trust between Kashmir and the rest of the nation. And by choosing not to come here now, we risk validating that strategy. Kashmir's tourism is not merely an economic activity—it is a form of cultural integration. It is also a vibrant connection from Srinagar to Surat and from Pulwama to Pune. Every Indian who travels here helps shatter the myth that Kashmir is cut off, dangerous, or hostile. Over 2.35 crore tourists recorded J&K as their travel destination in 2024, the highest recorded number in history. This was not simply a business boom, it was a revival of faith, a reclamation of place and this was the result of the policies of the Indian Government, Particularly the office of LG administration. These visitors, after just one attack, stop that retreat and threaten to undo more than just economic profitability. It risks the social contract between Kashmir and the rest of India, which has been painstakingly pieced together through sustained dialogue, development, and a lot of contact among ordinary citizens. Tourism is not the lifeline of Kashmir's economy, but the region cannot withstand another further emotional ostracism. This is not just a tragedy of economy only but goes much deeper – it is a societal issue. Mourning is not enough for Kashmiris. We need to respond to this with a civil disobedience movement anchored in humanity. More than just condemning violence, we need to work towards taking action that shows we welcome peace. I had the privilege of hosting and leading two impactful protests a few hours after the Pahalgam attack, myself, in Pulwama. One of the protests was a large scale street protest which was attended by several youth mobilization groups, traders, and even transport union and civil society groups. The other one was a candle light vigil celebrating and paying homage to the deceased, as well as intentionally inspiring our shared conscience. The most delightful thing about these events is that the main slogans were 'Yeh jo dehshatgardi hai, iske peeche Pakistan hai.' And best believe this is the kind of anger that is simply fueled by emotions. It takes some regained consciousness. For the very first time, Pulwama a district who for so long has been unreasonably labeled returned, partially,.' and in the other sense stood proudly, head crowned and chest forward, for the unity of the nation and started publicly resisting terror. This will require broader effort over a longer timeline than one district in one day. There needs to be a movement for peace that peoples march towards—not ideology-driven but civic conviction. From mosques to markets, schools to shrines, there is a need for Kashmir to become a region of positive assertion. We cannot limit our condemnation to mere words. Let it spill, let it aggressively diffuse into warmth. Let it resonate through welcome. Every local hand reaching out to a tourist should physically advertise how strong the counter-narrative is to the one terrorists tried to impose. The attack in Pahalgam was distinctly sectarian where tourists were asked their religion before being executed. The goal was not just to kill, but to create an appeal for violence and disorder throughout India, sow division across communities, and instigate distrust. The killing and the public outcry from Kashmiris and the rest of Indian society demonstrates immense strength and 'submission.' That violence, and anger is in itself a statement which is bound by greater defiance. And as the nation grieved, the Government of India responded with strategic resolve. Operation Sindoor, the first of its kind operation done against the terrorists in Pakistan after independence, a calibrated precision strike on terrorists and terrorist infrastructure in Pakistan and PoK, it was not just a military action—it was a statement: terror will not be tolerated, and every act of violence will be answered. It was a show of sovereign will. But military strength must now be matched with civic courage. It is here that every Indian must ask themselves: what is my role? Is it enough to express sorrow and light candles? Or do we have a duty to confront terror not only on the battlefield—but on the boulevards of Srinagar and the banks of Dal Lake? Come to Kashmir—not as tourists, but as defenders of a national promise. Your presence here is not a holiday—it is a declaration that the nation will not yield to fear. When you walk through the markets of Pulwama or share a meal in a Ganderbal home, you are not just engaging in travel—you are standing between Kashmir and those who seek to break it apart. Because if you don't come—if you allow fear to triumph over fellowship—you will be doing exactly what Pakistan wants. You will be conceding that terrorism can redraw maps, not only political, but emotional. You will be saying, however inadvertently, that Kashmir is dispensable. The exodus of the Pandit community In the year 1990 went unaddressed by the country with any level of urgency, and neither did it respond during the time where action was most crucial. It was filled not by resolution—but by radicalism. Making that mistake forms of violence and inhumane forms of suppression that create suffering to countless human lives and pain to as many families. Nonetheless, radicalism did take place form such violence inflicts horrendous levels of destruction on civilizations, fostering the birth of new violent factions. Here we take a look at today's situation with the view encapsulated in the above lines. Pakistan's doctrine depends on disconnection. Let us not offer it on a silver platter. Kashmir is speaking. The people are protesting. The youth are rejecting violence. And now, they look to the rest of India and ask: will you stand with us, or will you disappear? Moreover, the results of that withdrawal will not be restricted only to the Valley. It will encourage the adversaries while demoralizing the moderates, and reinforce the delusion that India is a nation where parts can be abandoned under pressure. That delusion is disastrous. The essence of a nation is not held together by flags alone, but rather by the resolve of its people to endure and be present even when it is challenging. This is not a moment for hesitation. It is a moment for defiance. For quiet courage. For everyday nationalism. Come. Be here. Not just for us, but for the India that refuses to be fragmented. Because if we retreat now, we are not just cancelling vacations—we are cancelling our claim, our connection, and ultimately, our conscience. Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
Time of India
13-05-2025
- Politics
- Time of India
‘Back to 2014?' Omar's vision is a return to bloodshed, shutdowns, and silence
Mudasir Dar is a social and peace activist based in South Kashmir. He is a Rashtrapati Award recipient in world scouting and has contributed to many local and national publications on a diverse range of topics, including national security, politics, governance, peace, and conflict. LESS ... MORE In a startling statement during an English TV interview on May 11, 2025, J&K chief minister Omar Abdullah, declared: 'I want to take Jammu and Kashmir back to where I left it in 2014.' At first blush, the statement might sound like the harmless recollection of a politician seeking relevance in a rapidly changing political landscape. But for those who carry the memory of the years he refers to—for those who lived under the specter of terror, shutdowns, and administrative withdrawal—his words are not just nostalgic. They are deeply troubling. Because 2014 was not a moment of stability. It was a moment of suspended decay. A point in time where the wounds of Kashmir had festered for years under the weight of deliberate political ambiguity, institutional apathy, and a silent surrender to forces that wanted to pull the region away from the constitutional spine of India. It was a time when terror was not just an external threat—it was paraded through the streets, garlanded as resistance, and accommodated as political noise. To romanticize 2014 is to overlook what preceded it—and to ignore what it truly was. Under Omar Abdullah's leadership between 2009 and 2014, Jammu and Kashmir was not a functioning democracy. It was a limping apparatus, trapped in a cycle of violence and voice suppression. Omar came to power in 2009 with the full mandate of administration and the charge of internal security. But his tenure marked not the assertion of authority, but its quiet withdrawal. The year 2009 started with what would become a tragic mark. There was yet again militant attacks, rising casualties, and a complete collapse of social order. Terrorist factions held marches in broad daylight without fear of being arrested. Grenade and IED attacks became a new normal as did armed groups uncontested abductions. Social shutdowns dictated the rhythm of everyday life. What was more concerning, over 385 terror-related incidents occurred alongside 23 IED explosions and 20 abductions that year. The state? All they imposed were isolated curfews, vague utterances, and washed their hands of the situation while handing control to the capital. But the collapse of 2010 marked an even more grotesque failure. As mass protests erupted and civilians clashed with state forces, over 160 lives were lost in a single summer. The administration failed to create any space for dialogue or healing. Instead, it chose to disappear into its own inertia. Omar's public appearances were rare; his interventions—when they occurred—were marked by defensiveness, not direction. It was as if the Valley had been left to burn, while its chief administrator remained politically and emotionally exiled from his own people. By 2012, the landscape had worsened to a practically surreal stage of existence. Even though there was supposedly a decrease in a militant's presence, the places spoke differently. That year witnessed 28 grenade assaults alongside 33 targeted executions, and 245 processions by supporters of terrorist organizations to disorder public peace. What is astonishing is not solely the values, but the acceptance of it all. Rather, they came into full view and brazenly defied the state, who stood frozen, far too impotent to act and, more often than not, guilty of indifference. Terror faction no longer required to hide in the shadows. And then came 2014—the year Omar invokes as a benchmark of peace. It was, in fact, a year of death and despair. Eighty-four security personnel were killed in the line of duty. Forty-two civilians lost their lives to targeted violence. But perhaps the most telling indictment of his government was its response to youth unrest. Over 2,000 young Kashmiris were jailed—many on flimsy charges, some for the first time—and only four were ever granted bail during his six-year tenure. These were not just legal failures; they were acts of institutional abandonment. What Abdullah Omar is seeking to frame as 'normalcy' was, in fact, a return to helplessness, albeit one negotiated in advance. The model of governance which he practiced was not based on resilience, but on appeasement—of the separatist sentiment, of the Jamaat ecosystem, and of a political language which could never bring itself to utter the word 'terrorism' without a qualifying 'but.' There was no narrative to counter radicalization. There was no ideological contestation. There was only survival—political survival—in a system that profited from instability. So, when Abdullah Omar expresses a desire to 'go back,' he is not offering a plan for restoration, but threatening us with regression. He does not talk about going forward defending Kashmir with integration, wealth, and constitutional compassion. He talks about a time when political parties transformed civilians suffering into an election tool, fear was manufactured and controlled, and where Delhi's apathy felt no competition to the moral vacuum emanating from Srinagar. Today, Jammu and Kashmir are on the verge of a different trajectory. For the first time, the region is not defined by the intensity of grievances but rather by the depth of aspirations. Stone pelting is not heroically celebrated anymore. The calendar of shutdowns has been replaced with that of schools. Panchayats are active. There is growth in tourism. Young girls from Tral and Baramulla now pass the UPSC and NEET examinations. This is not a utopia, but has been an irreversible departure from the managed chaos of 2009-2014. What Omar Abdullah is asking for is not a return to order—but a restoration of an older disorder where a political elite ruled unchallenged over an emotionally ghettoized people. But Kashmiris have evolved. The nation has evolved. And history will not forgive those who seek to glorify the ghosts of a failed past. 2014 was not a moment to return to. It was the very precipice from which Kashmir was pulled back—with great cost, immense courage, and irreversible resolve. Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
Time of India
06-05-2025
- Politics
- Time of India
Mehbooba and Mehdi's dangerous rhetoric against army & security forces in the aftermath of Pahalgam
Mudasir Dar is a social and peace activist based in South Kashmir. He is a Rashtrapati Award recipient in world scouting and has contributed to many local and national publications on a diverse range of topics, including national security, politics, governance, peace, and conflict. LESS ... MORE In Kashmir, conflict is not merely fought with guns; it is waged with words, selectively deployed to shift culpability and obscure truth. The recent statements by former chief minister Mehbooba Mufti and Srinagar MP Ruhullah Mehdi in connection with the death of 23-year-old Imtiaz Ahmad Magray in Kulgam reflect this enduring trend—a calculated deployment of grief as political capital and a deliberate distortion of facts at the cost of national security, institutional integrity, and public peace. According to credible reports and video documentation, Magray was not a victim of state atrocity as claimed, but a confessed terror associate who led security forces to two hideouts known to host Pakistani terrorists. During a supervised and videographed operation, he leapt into the Vishaw River—an act captured on camera, not conjured through conjecture. Yet, without awaiting postmortem reports or magisterial inquiry, senior political figures took to social media and public platforms to declare this an extrajudicial killing, spinning a narrative of Army brutality that collapsed under the weight of evidence within hours. It is not just one factual occurrence that is a matter here but rather, the form in which truth has been systematically distorted. Such wild claims are not outliers in a post-truth world where reality has no place, and perception is everything. It is an indication of an underlying mental illness. The purposeful political cleansing of terror-appearing individuals alongside the systematic blurring of counterterrorism as oppression, aid, and victimhood as martyrdom of the state and a peaceful nation's adversaries turns peacemakers. Yet, Ruhullah Mehdi, the sitting MP from Srinagar, issued an official press statement on May 4th, declaring: 'Imtiyaz was picked up by the Security Forces days ago, and today, he was returned to his family lifeless… Arbitrary detentions, custodial killings, and torture are violations of every democratic and legal principle.' He further suggested that this incident is reflective of a broader pattern of abuse and equated counterterrorism with collective punishment—a charge commonly levied by Pakistan-sponsored propagandists. Mehbooba Mufti, former chief minister of Jammu & Kashmir, doubled down on the narrative through social media, asserting: 'Post the Pahalgam attack, reports of arbitrary detentions, alleged custodial torture & harassment of locals are pouring in from across South Kashmir. Imtiyaz's body was recovered from a stream in Kulgam. His family alleges he was taken by forces two days ago. Demands accountability'. This framing—deliberate and highly emotive—suggests institutional impunity without evidence, and positions Magray as a civilian victim rather than a terror associate caught within the operational complexities of an active conflict zone. What Mehbooba and Mehdi have done is not mere political commentary. It is the conscious insertion of unverified narrative into a volatile environment, drawing dangerous equivalence between the Indian security apparatus and foreign-backed militant violence. This whitewashes terrorism, blurs the line between the guilty and the innocent, and feeds directly into the ecosystem of insurgent propaganda. This is hardly the first such narrative trap. After the Hyderpora incident and many others as well and the most notorious outrage, the killing of Burhan Wani started glorifying him posthumously, resulting in one of the most violent outbreaks the world has seen in recent years. Political capturing of all the wars to extract sympathy exploited Pakistan funded separatist ecosystems using survivors' fury to and opening of a floodgate of violence was enabled because in every single case, the distortion of facts. The reason for the latest disinformation campaign is equally perplexing. It follows closely on the heels of the Pahalgam terror attack by foreign funded Pakistani terrorists who indiscriminately shot helpless tourists. This barbarism on innocent civilians was intended to escalate the sheer violence and terrorism in the region. Amidst such chaos there is usually a semblance of political unity irrespective of party lines. However, in this case, there is no complete unity showcasing instead deep engineered fragmentation of focus away from violence to governance. This change in narrative, completely fabricated as it might be, is not simply irresponsible. In fact, this could spell disaster. During such times of globalization, where global discourse can be transported to different places in an instant, misinformation of such magnitude carries a distinct type of psychological impact. It validates militants across the border, backs TRF sponsored terrorism, and identifies India as the other democracy in the world which is bearing the gob of democracy devoid of any international regard, especially in alarming situations were reputation dictates international collaboration on sensitive issues. This misinformation is not simply reckless; rather, it is a strikingly harmful tactic. In this over-texted world where stories spread within minutes, any politically motivated misinformation is nothing short of propaganda. It galvanizes aggressive forces beyond the border, serves to strengthen the narratives of terrorist proxies like The Resistance Front (TRF), and whittles away Indian democracy's international credibility, which is already strained in contexts where diplomacy constitutes perception management. More dangerously, it corrodes public trust in institutions that are already operating under immense pressure. The Army, paramilitary forces, and intelligence agencies operating in Kashmir are engaged in one of the world's most complex counterinsurgency efforts. Their success depends not just on firepower, but on legitimacy. When mainstream political leaders begin to echo the language of radical proxies—whether wittingly or out of desperation—they contribute to the very insurgency they claim to oppose. Hence, Mehbooba Mufti and Ruhullah are equally guilty, not just synonymously morally but legally too. There is a gap of just a few words between the two leaders. Under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS) law, someone is prosecutable for telling lies that threaten public peace or disrupt counter-terror activities. Speech that is free is not compensated with the right to create martyrdom or in this case manufactured martyrdom. A person sitting at a prominent political seat who uses acts of violence with the view to harm the state of a region suffering indicative pain does not soothe the state. This is ultimately, and quite simply, a truth about a deficit of political legitimacy. With the traditional support bases, which is a specific area or group that a politician will often use to gain votes from, there are many leaders who get cut off the modern narratives. Certain leaders turn to moralization of indifference or the true lies inversion. Self-victimization is the font where relevancy is needed however, collision between relevant and irrelevant goes. Irrespective of all demonic tactics utilized, these are not just destructive to peace, . But such tactics are deeply corrosive—not just to peace, but to the very idea of democratic politics in conflict zones. Kashmir today stands at an inflection point. After years of bloodshed, there was finally a semblance of normalcy before this Pahalgam Attack .Youth were returning to classrooms, not training camps. Tourism was reviving. Elections, once boycotted, were now celebrated as participatory milestones. But all of this progress remains fragile. It can be undone not just by bullets, but by words—as was seen in the Pahalgam attack ,how some statements of the political leaders manufactered this bloodshed ,words that delegitimised the state, that gave cover to terror, and that turned the battle for peace into a battlefield of perception. Let us be clear: to question the state is democratic. To mislead the public is not. To mourn a death is human. To manufacture martyrdom is not. And to stand for human rights is noble—but only if one also condemns the killers of humans, not just the keepers of order. It is time we stop letting terrorists write our headlines, and stop allowing political opportunists to become their editors. Let the facts breathe. Let the law function. And above all, let us not allow Kashmir to bleed again—not through gunfire, but through narrative betrayal. Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
Time of India
23-04-2025
- Politics
- Time of India
Blood in the valley: How Pakistan's strategic jihad betrayed Kashmiriyat again
Mudasir Dar is a social and peace activist based in South Kashmir. He is a Rashtrapati Award recipient in world scouting and has contributed to many local and national publications on a diverse range of topics, including national security, politics, governance, peace, and conflict. LESS ... MORE The serene atmosphere in Pahalgam on April 22nd 2025 was transformed into a dreadful nightmare when a gruesome act of violence occurred. Mass killing of innocent families was orchestrated which resulting in the death of twenty-eight tourists—men, women, and children, in a calculated manner. It is chilling to note that this unthinkable and repugnant act was done simply because the victims held the misconception that Kashmir was regaining stability and the alluring valley that was ruthlessly conflicted was soothing and recovering. The massacre wasn't executed merely for the sake of killing. It was done to propagate specific ideology—a violent agenda containing pseudo-religious reasoning. This was not created within the woods of Kashmir, rather in the battle strategizing rooms of Rawalpindi. With this strategy, the bloody actuality becomes even clearer. For instance, the core of it all is exposed when looking extremally close to the heart of Pakistan's army, Asim Munir. The man seems to be the only living human without empathy—who combines spirituality and militaristic sovereignty and inverse of love. Seeing this brutality as an outbreak divorced from the context of history is to misinterpret history profoundly. Pahalgam is all too familiar with the pain that comes with bleeding wounds. Terrorists had once attacked pilgrims near Pahalgam, leaving 32 dead in 2000. In 2002, yet another attack was launched on yatris in Anantnag. And the common thread? Civilians. Non-perpetrators. Peace ful and pluralistic Indians alongside tourists – the very essence of India's composite nationalism. This pain, both strategically and symbolically orchestrated, is planned. It exists within an extensive strategic plan – a continuum of Pakistan's hybrid warfare doctrine which intertwines religion with insurgency, jihad with borders, and creates a false narrative of rebellion where there, in truth, is none. This latest attack must be seen as doctrinal terrorism, especially because it happened just days following General Munir's incendiary speech at the Overseas Pakistani Convention. When a serving general quotes martyrdom, the defense of Kalima, and the metaphysical imperative to wage 'sacred struggle,' it is none of those things—it is operational signaling. In Pakistan, military grammar constructs jihad not only as personal; it is also policy. There is a Munir focus, steeped in scholarly Quranic remnants and the synthesis of Zia-ul-Haq Islam, which seems to fuel history's myopic fury. It also seems to bring additional post-theological zealotry to Pakistan's already militarized institutions. The notion of Pakistan being viewed as a 'strategic depth' for qualifying Islamic resurgence is now being reanimated.' In this captivating vision, the valley is not simply region—it is drenched in a prophesied narrative that reframes capital punishment: 'liberation' or ruthless reckoning. Yet, the most profound scar is reserved for those unassuming travelers. They set foot on the Kashmiri land as tourists, aiming to witness saffron blossoms, under gaping through pine-covered ridges, and partaking in kehwa sipping under the Chinar trees, all devoid of the welcoming bullets and fire. In this region, it would quintessentially morally wrong to harm a guest, but alas, this guest was targeted in the name of hospitality. In enabling them to attack not just the Indian government, but Kashmir's moral fulcrum, showed the lengths those perpetrators will go to rip apart universal kindness. Rather, they did not impersonate ordinary lunatics, but hostile ones. Kashmiriyat was singlemindedly put to rest, torn to shreds, without discrimination, burning chronicles of civility and kindness in their wake. This transforms the attack from tragic to symbolic. The Jihadist machinery in Pakistan has systematically attacked the threads of Kashmir's connectivity with India, especially those that oppose their story. Whether it's a Kashmiri shopkeeper aiding tourists during an Amarnath Yatra or a Hindu pilgrim being sheltered by a Muslim villager, these tales inflict greater harm to Pakistan than any tank or troop ever could. Let's not fool ourselves. The Pahalgam attack is just the latest chapter in a long, violent strategy that began in 1947, when Pakistan sent armed raiders into Kashmir to seize it by force before it could lawfully join India. What we saw in 1948, 1965, 1971, and again in Kargil in 1999 weren't just failed wars—they were repeated failures to accept reality and abandon a dangerous fantasy. During the '90s this fascination was given a makeover and rebranded as 'bleeding India with a thousand cuts' in the era of Zia and then Musharraf. LEJ and JEM were not stray entities; they had a nurtured state sponsored ideology of arms, theology, and political legitimacy. They wiped out both Hindus and Muslims. They expelled the Pandits. They torched educational institutions. They stifled literary poets. What they sought was not freedom, it was terror induced purity. While the ideology may have changed, its root purpose remains the same: turn Kashmir into a region that cannot be inhabited, governed, or restored, not for the people of Kashmir, but for the concept of India. This ideologgy seems to be waning today. A new discourse has developed, though not without its problems; certainly, it is sharper in aim and focus. After assembly elections, there is a 'trickle down' effect of investment and participation from the grassroots level. Young men from erstwhile 'no-go' villages like Lelhar and Karimabad are organizing Tiranga rallies. Hijab-clad girls are becoming IAS officers. This is the change which Pakistan truly fears. Because the success of Kashmir is wholly inconsistent with the Two Nation Theory – Pakistan's founding fable – and renders it useless. Every Kashmiri Muslim thriving within the Indian democracy serves as a direct danger to the ideological backbone of the Islamic Republic. And every tourist who dares to feel safe spending time in Kashmir is an affront to the terror narrative. This is why the attack happened. Not because of strength, but out of desperation. That was Pakistan's strategic scream amid its fraying fantasy. India should mourn, yes, but with a resolve. These twenty-eight lives cannot just be numbers—these must be emblems of a profound awakening. This is the moment to be diplomatically daring. We cannot simply scrutinize busts as here say; we must reveal Munir's declarations for what they are—acts of sponsored extremism—on international stages. The glare of scrutiny, particularly from Western nations who financially support Pakistan's stricken economy while masquerading as peacemakers, needs to witness the consequences of their complacency. However, we must also protect the heart of Kashmir. Refrain from directing any form of retribution toward the helpless Kashmiris who, like the deceased, are victims of terrorism. Let the narrative of healing, unity, and resistance be forged adorned with positive hues. If we chose to be hateful in our mourning, we grant them the power they want—the power to manipulate our actions. The Baisaran will shine again, and the Chinars will bloom again too. But even then, the wound of Pahalgam will not fade too soon…and nor should it. Let it remind us of the costs of ideological appeasement. Let it strengthen our resolve against those who wish to carve this land into pieces with the help of rifles and religion. And let it be heard across every valley and village that Kashmir's destiny does not rest in dictatorial theocracy—but in democracy, dignity, and peace. Let the blood that was spilled in Pahalgam nourish the tree of hope. Let the world be informed, 'Kashmiris have chosen life,' and, 'India will defend that decision—through history, justice, and when needed, war.' Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
