My Heart bleeds for Kashmir

On April 21, 2025, I woke up to a nightmare that still feels unreal. The serene meadows of Baisaran in Pahalgam, Jammu and Kashmir—where I once trekked with a joyful group during the YTM conference three years ago—became a scene of unimaginable horror. Militants, later identified as members of The Resistance Front (TRF), an offshoot of Pakistan-based Lashkar-e-Taiba, opened fire on innocent tourists, killing at least 28 people and injuring over 20. 

Among the victims were 24 Indian tourists from the states of Karnataka, Kerala, Maharashtra, and Uttar Pradesh, two locals, and two foreign nationals from Nepal and the United Arab Emirates. The casualties included a 26-year-old Indian Navy officer, Lieutenant Vinay Narwal, and an Intelligence Bureau official. As I write this, my heart aches, my hands tremble, and I’m consumed by a mix of grief, anger, and shame. This wasn’t just an attack on tourists—it was an attack on our shared dream of a peaceful Kashmir, an act of war that demands a response.

A Personal Connection Shattered:

Three years ago, in the wake of the historic revocation of Article 370 in 2019, I attended the Youth for Transformation (YTM) conference organised by the India Foundation and Ram Madhav ji. Our group was part of the first non-governmental private delegation to visit Kashmir after this monumental change, a moment charged with hope and possibility for the Valley’s integration with India. Our journey began in Pahalgam, where we stayed at the ITC Welcome Hotel, the venue for our conference. Nestled in the stunning Lidder Valley, the hotel’s warm hospitality and breathtaking views set the tone for three unforgettable days. The conference sessions were inspiring, bringing together local people, leaders, and police officers who shared stories of Kashmir’s transformation. They spoke of the dark days of militancy in the 1990s, the sacrifices made to restore peace, and the renewed optimism following the removal of Article 370, which promised development and stability. A police officer recounted the challenges of securing the Valley, while a community leader described how tourism and investment were breathing new life into the region. Their pride was infectious, and their resilience left us in awe. During a break, our group trekked to Baisaran meadow, laughing as we walked the rocky paths, the air crisp and the scenery breathtaking—lush green meadows framed by towering pines, with the Lidder River murmuring in the distance. Locals welcomed us with steaming cups of kahwa and stories of their lives.

On our way back, we stopped in Srinagar and spent a magical evening on Dal Lake. Gliding across the tranquil waters on a shikara, we watched the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and pink, the snow-capped mountains reflecting on the lake’s surface. It was a moment of pure joy, a celebration of Kashmir’s beauty, and of the hope we felt during the conference, especially significant as we witnessed the region’s first steps toward a new era post-Article 370. I left with a promise to return, maybe with my family, to share that magic with them.

My mother, who has never seen Kashmir, was planning to visit next year. For years, she’d hesitated, haunted by stories of violence from the 1990s. But recent years brought hope—3.5 million tourists visited Kashmir in 2024, a sign that the Valley was safe again. “Let’s go next summer,” she said last month, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I want to see the tulip gardens and Dal Lake.” Yesterday, after hearing about the attack, she was livid. “I’ll never go to Kashmir,” she declared, her voice shaking with anger and fear. “And I won’t let anyone in this family go either.” Her words hit me like a punch. How many others feel the same? How many dreams of visiting Kashmir have been shattered in a single afternoon?

The Horror Unfolds:

The attack happened around 2:50 PM in Baisaran meadow, a remote spot accessible only by foot or pony. Eyewitnesses described a chilling scene: four to six gunmen in fatigues emerged from the forest, firing indiscriminately at tourists. Some reports suggest they targeted non-Muslims,  one survivor recalling a militant sparing a woman, saying, “Go tell Modi.” The brutality was staggering—Shubham Dwivedi, a newlywed from Kanpur, was shot in the head during his honeymoon. Three Kerala High Court judges narrowly escaped, but others weren’t so lucky. Visuals from the site showed bodies strewn across the grass, women wailing, and locals rushing to help. It’s an image that is burned into my mind, a grotesque betrayal of the beauty I once witnessed there.

The Resistance Front claimed responsibility, citing anger over alleged “demographic changes” driven by the settlement of “outsiders” after the 2019 revocation of Article 370. Their statement is a twisted justification for murdering innocents—tourists who came to marvel at Kashmir’s beauty, not to claim its land. This wasn’t just a terrorist attack; it was a calculated assault on India’s sovereignty, timed to send a message to the world. On the day of the attack, Prime Minister Narendra Modi was in Saudi Arabia, strengthening ties with a key ally, while U.S. Vice President JD Vance was in India, visiting Jaipur with his family. The coincidence is too stark to ignore. This was an act of war, a deliberate attempt to humiliate India on the global stage and besmirch its rising diplomatic profile.

A Message of Defiance or Desperation?

I don’t know what message the terrorists hoped to send, but their actions scream desperation. Kashmir has been on a path to recovery, with tourism booming and violence at historic lows. The attackers, backed by Pakistan’s deep-state terrorism, as experts like Lt Gen KJS Dhillon have noted, can’t stomach this progress. They targeted tourists—soft targets—to sow fear and derail the Valley’s revival. By striking when Modi was in Saudi Arabia and Vance was in India, they aimed for global headlines, perhaps to signal that Kashmir remains a flashpoint. Just days earlier, on April 16, 2025, Pakistan’s Army Chief, General Syed Asim Munir, delivered a speech at the Overseas Pakistanis Convention in Islamabad that laid bare this divisive ideology. He declared, “Our forefathers thought we were different from Hindus in every possible aspect of life. Our religion is different, our customs are different, our traditions are different, our thoughts are different, our ambitions are different. That’s where the foundation of the two-nation theory was laid. We are two nations, we are not one nation.” Urging Pakistanis to teach this narrative to their children, Munir also called Kashmir Pakistan’s “jugular vein,” reinforcing the military’s obsession with the region. His words, widely condemned as hate speech, echo the rhetoric of the attackers, who cited Article 370’s revocation as their grievance. This wasn’t just a call to preserve Pakistan’s identity—it was a chilling endorsement of the mindset that fuels attacks like the one on Pahalgam, in stark contrast to the hope I witnessed at the YTM conference, where locals envisioned a united, peaceful Kashmir, but their message backfired. World leaders, from U.S. President Donald Trump to Russian President Vladimir Putin and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, condemned the attack, pledging support for India’s fight against terrorism. Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, in his meeting with Modi, expressed solidarity with India. The world sees this for what it is: a dastardly, cowardly act that only strengthens India’s resolve.

Still, the timing raises questions. Was this meant to embarrass India while its leader was abroad and the American vice president was here? Was it a signal to Pakistan’s backers that their influence in Kashmir persists?

The Emotional Toll:

The attack has left me, and millions of Indians, reeling. I feel a personal betrayal—those meadows where I once walked are now a graveyard. The story of Pallavi, who lost her husband Manjunath, haunts me. She described how terrorists separated men from women, firing at close range. Atul Mone, a railway engineer from Mumbai, and Santosh Jagdale from Pune are among the lives cut short. My mother’s anger mirrors the nation’s—on X, Congress leader Shama Mohammed called for flattening Rawalpindi, while others demand that tourists boycott Kashmir. I understand the rage, but it breaks my heart to think of abandoning Kashmir, punishing all its people for the sins of a few.

My family’s reaction is a microcosm of India’s pain. My sister, who had been researching houseboat stays on Dal Lake, canceled her plans. My father, usually stoic, muttered, “This is why we can’t trust peace in Kashmir.” The shame is palpable—not just at the loss of life but at the sense that we have failed to protect our own. I remember the pride I felt at the YTM conference, being part of that historic delegation, listening to locals and leaders share their hopes of a peaceful Kashmir, and the joy of that evening on Dal Lake, where the beauty of the Valley felt like a shared victory. Munir’s speech, with its stark rejection of Hindu-Muslim coexistence, feels like a direct assault on that vision, a reminder that dark forces are at work to keep Kashmir bleeding. Now, the hope for peace and reconciliation feels fragile, and I’m left wondering: how many decades will it take to rebuild trust?

A Call to Action: 

This attack demands more than condolences. Modi, who cut short his Saudi visit, has vowed justice and chaired a Cabinet Committee on Security meeting upon his return. Home Minister Amit Shah, in Srinagar, is overseeing a manhunt, while the National Investigation Agency is investigating the attack but words and investigations aren’t enough. India must respond decisively—whether through surgical strikes, as was done after Pulwama, or diplomatic pressure on Pakistan’s sponsors. The government must also reassure tourists, with visible security and support for Kashmiris, who have condemned the attack and aided victims.

For me, the path forward is personal too. I refuse to let terrorists steal Kashmir from us. I want to take my mother there someday, to show her the beauty of Dal Lake and the meadows of Pahalgam, to prove that fear won’t win. But for now, I grieve—for the lives lost, for the trust broken, for the paradise bloodstained. This act of war must galvanise us, not divide us. Kashmir is ours, and we will reclaim it, meadow by meadow, heart by heart.