In the peace of the valley,
where the laughter rose amidst the shine,
the scream echoed.
Blood was shed, as the terror demolished.
Hopes were shattered, and so were the mountain hues.
It was all covered in red, instead of serene blues.
Being Hindu was a crime.
Down in their body, where the bullets climbed.
Children there in fear glistened in the lover's stare.
The mother screamed, "Who took the son away" in her abandoned glare.
Oh, Pahalgam, you shall smile again,
burning those inhuman treachery in the rain.
Oh, Pahalgam, you will bloom soon,
with all of the India together,
just like the good in the full moon.
A Morning Like Any Other, Until It Wasn't
The early morning in Pahalgam breathes a quiet serenity. The crisp air carries the fresh scent of pine needles, mingling with the faint aroma of dew-kissed earth. Tourists' laughter bubbles softly, a gentle melody weaving through the narrow streets as they wander with wonder. Locals, wrapped in warm shawls, open their shops with practiced hands, the soft clinking of metal and wood echoing like a familiar lullaby. Sunlight filters through the tall trees, casting dappled shadows that dance lightly on the cobblestones. It is a morning like any other, tender and alive with promise.
Then, without warning, the calm shatters. Gunfire rips through the morning like a scream tearing the sky apart. The laughter dies, replaced by a sharp, metallic crack that echoes off the mountains. Birds scatter, wings beating frantically against the cold air, their cries lost in the chaos. The scent of pine is overwhelmed by the acrid sting of smoke and fear. The ground trembles beneath hurried footsteps and the once gentle sunlight now feels harsh, unforgiving. The valley holds its breath, caught between grief and disbelief.
Standing silently by the Lidder River, you feel the weight of the valley's grief pressing down. The air, once filled with hope and life, now trembles with sorrow. You hear the distant sobs, the whispered prayers, the heavy silence that follows tragedy. Anger and empathy clash within, grief mingling with a fragile thread of hope. This is not just news; this is a wound that bleeds through the heart of the valley.
The Attack: What Happened
It was a day that began like any other in Pahalgam until the world shifted, violently and forever.
On April 22, 2025, as the afternoon sun painted the Baisaran meadows gold, the valley’s peace was shattered by gunfire. Tourists, families, and children from distant corners of India, one from Nepal-were ambushed near the Lidder River, in a place known for its breathtaking beauty and the promise of escape from the world’s cruelties. The attack unfolded in a crowded marketplace and the nearby meadow, just five kilometers from the heart of Pahalgam, a spot so remote that only ponies and footpaths could reach it.
The gunmen-at least four, according to police fire at close range, targeted groups of tourists as they laughed, shopped, and played. Chaos erupted instantly. The air filled with screams, the sharp crack of rifles, the desperate cries of children. Blood stained the grass. Families clung to each other, some shielding their loved ones, others running for cover among the trees and market stalls. Eyewitnesses recall the horror: children screaming, the elderly collapsing, tourists fleeing in terror, and the echo of gunshots ricocheting off the hills.
By the time the firing stopped, at least 26 people lay dead -25 Indian nationals and one Nepali tourist- making it the deadliest attack on civilians in Kashmir since 2019. Over three dozen more were wounded, many critically, and their vacations transformed into nightmares of pain and loss. Among the dead was eight-year-old Ruhan, whose mother’s wails- “I told him we’d go see snow” -still haunt the valley.
The brutality was intimate and deliberate. Survivors recounted how the attackers singled out non-Muslims, demanding to know their religion before pulling the trigger. Some families, huddled in tents or sharing snacks, were shot at point-blank range. Local Kashmiris, caught in the crossfire, rushed to help-mounting ponies, carrying the wounded on makeshift stretchers, their hands stained with the blood of strangers.
This was not just an attack on people. It was an assault on the soul of Kashmir calculated strike against the fragile hope of peace, the slow return of tourists, and the valley’s yearning to be known for its beauty rather than its wounds. The violence sent shockwaves far beyond the Lidder’s banks. In its aftermath, the region’s fragile calm collapsed: India and Pakistan exchanged harsh words and retaliatory measures, borders closed, treaties were suspended, and the specter of a wider conflict loomed over the mountains.
Now, the scent of pine and the laughter of children are replaced by the heavy silence of mourning. The Lidder River flows on, bearing witness to the valley’s grief and resilience. And as families gather to mourn, Kashmir stands at a crossroads spirit battered, but not yet broken, its hope dimmed, but not extinguished.
Lives Torn Apart
- A Honeymoon That Became a Farewell
Vinay and Himanshi Narwal, newlyweds from Haryana, had chosen Kashmir’s meadows as the beginning of their life together. Just days after their wedding on April 16, they wandered hand in hand through Baisaran’s emerald grass, laughter mingling with the mountain breeze. Then, in a heartbeat, everything changed. As they sat together, gunfire erupted. Vinay, a 26-year-old naval officer, was shot in the head, his dreams ending in his wife’s trembling arms. Himanshi’s screams echoed across the valley-her white scarf stained with his blood, her new life shattered before it could begin. “He always wanted to serve his country,” his grandfather said, voice breaking, “and now he’s gone”. - The Driver Who Became a Shield
Amid the chaos, Bashir Ahmad, a local driver, became a wall between death and his passengers. When the bullets began to fly, Bashir threw himself across the open door of the bus, shielding tourists with his own body. Witnesses recall how he shouted for everyone to get down, his voice steady even as glass shattered and metal screamed. Bashir was hit, but his courage saved lives. Survivors remember his trembling hands and the warmth of his blood as he whispered, “Stay down, I am here.” His sacrifice is now etched into the valley’s memory reminder that even in horror, humanity endures. - A Song Interrupted by Gunfire
On another bus, a group of friends from Gujarat and Maharashtra sang along to a Bollywood tune, their voices rising with the sun. The scent of pine drifted through open windows, and a little girl named Riya clapped her hands to the beat. Suddenly, the music was drowned by the staccato of gunshots. The song stopped mid-chorus. Panic replaced melody. Riya’s mother pulled her to the floor, her heart pounding louder than the gunfire. Later, survivors would say that the silence after the shots was the loudest sound they had ever heard. - A Family’s Dream, Stolen
Manjunath Rao, a realtor from Bengaluru, had brought his wife Pallavi and their son to Kashmir to celebrate the boy’s academic triumphs. They had planned to return home on April 24. Instead, Pallavi found herself holding her husband’s lifeless body, begging the attackers to take her too. “After killing my husband, I asked them to kill me too. One of them said, ‘Nahin marenge, Modi ko boldo’... and walked away,” she recalled, her voice hollow. - A Widow’s Grief in Jaipur
Neeraj Udhwani, 33, had come to Kashmir with his wife to celebrate two years of marriage. He was shot dead in the attack, while his wife, who had stayed at the hotel, survived. Now, back in Jaipur, Neeraj’s mother is inconsolable, and his family is shattered by a loss that feels both senseless and infinite.
These stories are not just headlines-they are the raw wounds of families who came seeking beauty and found only brutality. Each name, each memory, is a thread in the valley’s fabric of grief-a reminder that behind every statistic is a life, a love, and a future stolen in an instant.
The Rescue Effort: Courage Amidst Delay and Isolation
The attack unfolded in the remote Baisaran Valley, about 5 to 7 kilometers from Pahalgam, a place accessible only by foot or horseback along narrow dirt trails. This isolation, chosen deliberately by the attackers, meant there was no immediate security presence of police, paramilitary, or army patrols to deter or respond swiftly. Mobile connectivity was patchy at best, delaying calls for help and leaving victims trapped in a nightmare with no quick rescue in sight.
For nearly 35 to 40 minutes, the terrorists fired relentlessly, fully aware that official help would take at least 45 minutes to an hour to arrive. When the news finally reached district headquarters, the Jammu and Kashmir Police, Indian Army, and paramilitary forces mobilized, but the difficult terrain slowed their approach. Helicopters were pressed into service to evacuate the injured, but the first responders were not uniformed forces were local guides, pony handlers, and villagers who rushed into the chaos without hesitation.
These locals became the lifeline for many, carrying the wounded on ponies and improvised stretchers through the rugged paths to safety. Their hands, stained with the blood of strangers, bore the weight of a rescue that official forces could not immediately provide. The nearest hospital with emergency facilities was in Anantnag, roughly 50 kilometers away, where critically injured victims were taken. Some were later airlifted to military hospitals in Srinagar for advanced care.
The absence of a security outpost or even a mobile surveillance unit in such a popular tourist destination exposed a glaring vulnerability. Officials have acknowledged that even a basic police patrol booth or mobile van stationed nearby could have deterred the attack or shortened the response time significantly.
In the aftermath, a joint cordon and search operation was launched, and security forces intensified patrols and checkpoints to prevent further attacks. Yet, the rescue effort remains a haunting reminder of how the valley’s breathtaking beauty and rugged isolation can become a deadly trap when protection is absent, and how the courage of ordinary locals became the only shield between life and death on that fateful day.
Unsung Heroes of Pahalgam
When terror tore through Pahalgam, it was not just the echo of gunfire that filled the valley, but also the quiet, determined courage of its people. Amid chaos and fear, ordinary Kashmiris became lifelines for strangers, risking their own lives to save those trapped by violence.
- Syed Adil Hussain Shah: The Pony Handler Who Became a Martyr
Adil, just 28 and the sole breadwinner for his family was guiding tourists when the attack began. Instead of fleeing, he confronted the gunmen, even trying to wrestle a rifle from one of them to protect his guests. He was shot multiple times, sacrificing himself so others might live. Hundreds attended his funeral, including the Chief Minister, honoring him as a symbol of selfless courage and the true spirit of Kashmiriyat. - Nazakat Ahmed Shah: The Guide Who Became a Shield
Nazakat, a young guide, was with Arvind Agarwal’s family from Chhattisgarh when bullets began to fly. Without hesitation, he shielded Arvind, his wife, and their four-year-old daughter, hugging the children close and using his own body as a barrier. Even after witnessing his cousin fall to gunfire, Nazakat’s instinct was to protect, not to run. Survivors credit him with saving their lives, and with restoring their faith in humanity. - Waheed and the Ponywallahs: First Responders Amid Terror
Waheed, head of the local Ponywallah association, rushed to the scene even as others fled. He and a handful of fellow pony handlers became the valley’s first responders, carrying the wounded to safety on horseback and makeshift stretchers, working for over an hour while the threat still loomed. Their hands, stained with the blood of strangers, became the only comfort for many in those desperate moments. - Musafir and Sameer: Drivers Who Became Brothers
For Arathi R Menon, who lost her father in the attack, the support of Musafir and Sameer-two local drivers-was a lifeline. They stayed by her side, helping her family escape, arranging logistics, and offering the kind of comfort only true friends could give in a time of horror.
Echoes of Old Wounds
Kashmir has carried the weight of heartbreak for decades. The 1990s insurgency scarred the valley deeply-thousands killed, families uprooted, the exodus of Kashmiri Pandits, and a generation haunted by violence and loss. The streets of Srinagar, once alive with hope, became ground zero for conflict, and daily life was reduced to survival. The trauma of those years lingered, resurfacing during waves of unrest like 2016 when the killing of a young militant reignited protests and clashes, reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal.
Yet, in recent years, places like Pahalgam had come to symbolize a fragile, hard-won peace. The laughter of tourists returned to the meadows, local businesses slowly rebuilt, and the valley dared to hope that the worst was behind it. Each season of calm felt like a small miracle, a testament to the resilience of people determined to move beyond the shadow of conflict.
This attack, however, struck differently. Pahalgam was not just another dot on the map-it was a sanctuary, a place where trust was being rebuilt, where Kashmiris and visitors alike could believe in the possibility of normalcy. The violence shattered that delicate trust, reopening old wounds that had never fully closed. It was not only an assault on lives, but on the spirit of reconciliation painstakingly nurtured over years. The heartbreak is sharper because it is layered atop old scars, threatening to unravel the slow, hopeful progress that had begun to take root in the valley.
Who Was Behind It: The Investigation So Far
Official investigations have identified militants affiliated with Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) as the prime suspects behind the deadly Pahalgam attack on April 22, 2025. Security forces, including the Jammu and Kashmir Police, Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF), and the Indian Army, launched immediate and extensive combing and cordon operations across the Anantnag district to hunt down the attackers and their network.
The attackers, armed with automatic rifles, deliberately targeted tourists, asking for their religion before opening fire, underscoring the calculated and brutal nature of the assault. The houses of several terrorists, including a known Lashkar commander, were destroyed in follow-up operations in Shopian, Kulgam, and Pulwama districts as security forces intensified their crackdown.
While a banned terror outfit, The Resistance Front (TRF) a proxy of Lashkar-e-Taiba-initially claimed responsibility, it later denied involvement, attributing the claim to a cyber intrusion, possibly by Indian intelligence operatives. This denial came amid massive protests across Kashmir condemning the attack and rejecting terrorism.
The local Kashmiri community’s response was unequivocal: widespread condemnation of the attack and protests against terrorism erupted across the valley, signaling that such violence no longer has the support of the people. Shops closed in solidarity, and residents voiced grief and anger, emphasizing their desire for peace and normalcy.
Diplomatically, tensions between India and Pakistan escalated sharply. India accused Pakistan of harboring the handlers of the attackers and took retaliatory measures, including suspending the Indus Waters Treaty and revoking most Pakistani visas. Pakistan’s Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif expressed willingness to participate in a “neutral, transparent, and credible” investigation but also affirmed readiness to defend Pakistan’s sovereignty amid the rising tensions.
Meanwhile, ceasefire violations along the Line of Control have increased, with both Indian and Pakistani troops exchanging fire, though no casualties have been reported so far.
In sum, the investigation points to Lashkar-e-Taiba-linked militants as the perpetrators, with security forces actively pursuing them. The strong local condemnation of the attack highlights a critical shift in the people of Kashmir rejecting violence and standing for peace, even as the region grapples with renewed conflict and geopolitical strain.
Aftermath and Rising Tensions: Cross-Border Firing Along the Line of Control
In the aftermath of the Pahalgam attack, tensions between India and Pakistan have sharply escalated along the Line of Control (LoC). Since April 24, 2025, Pakistani troops have initiated multiple unprovoked small-arms firing incidents across various points along the LoC in Jammu and Kashmir. Indian forces have consistently responded with proportionate retaliatory fire, ensuring the border remains secure without any reported casualties so far.
This exchange of fire marks a significant rise in military tensions between the two nuclear-armed neighbors, fueled by the deadly assault in Pahalgam that claimed 26 civilian lives. The Indian government has taken strong diplomatic and strategic measures, including suspending the Indus Waters Treaty, halting visa services for Pakistani nationals, and withdrawing diplomatic staff. Pakistan, in turn, has suspended bilateral pacts and closed its airspace to Indian aircraft.
Despite the heightened military alert and cross-border firing, there have been no further terrorist attacks targeting civilians reported since the Pahalgam massacre. Security agencies remain on high alert, conducting intensified combing operations and manhunts to apprehend those responsible for the attack and prevent any new threats.
The United Nations and international observers have called for maximum restraint to avoid escalation into a wider conflict, but the exchanges along the LoC continue amid deep mistrust and rising nationalist sentiments on both sides.
In summary, the aftermath of the Pahalgam attack has seen increased ceasefire violations and cross-border firing between Indian and Pakistani troops along the LoC, signaling a dangerous spike in military tensions. However, no new terrorist attacks on civilians have occurred, as security forces remain vigilant to thwart any potential threats.
A Community’s Silent Resistance
In the days after the massacre, the valley’s grief found its voice not in anger, but in gestures that spoke louder than any protest. As dusk fell over Pahalgam, hundreds of locals-men, women, and children along the riverbanks, each carrying a single candle. The flames flickered in the mountain breeze, glowing softly against the darkness, a silent promise that the light of humanity would not be snuffed out by violence. The air was thick with sorrow, but also with a quiet, unyielding resolve.
Shops and businesses in Pahalgam and beyond closed their shutters, not by government order, but by the will of the people. Streets that once bustled with tourists and laughter stood hushed as if the valley itself had paused to mourn. This voluntary shutdown-a complete bandh-was not just a mark of mourning, but a collective act of defiance, a way for Kashmiris to say: we will not let brutality define us.
Perhaps most moving were the scenes at the funerals. Muslim families stood shoulder to shoulder with Hindu mourners, and Hindu neighbors wept at the graves of Muslim victims. In Shivamogga, at the last rites of Manjunath Rao, Kashmiri Muslims who had never met him before traveled miles to pay their respects, their presence a testament to shared pain and solidarity. In Srinagar’s mosques, a minute of silence was observed before prayers, honoring the dead regardless of faith. Across the valley, the lines that violence tried to draw between communities were quietly erased by empathy and shared grief.
These moments-candles glowing in the night, shutters drawn in unity, hands joined in prayer across faiths-are the valley’s answer to terror. In the face of unspeakable pain, Kashmiris chose dignity over division, compassion over hatred. Their silent resistance is a reminder that even in the shadow of tragedy, hope and humanity endure.
Political Reactions: Words, but What Next?
In the immediate aftermath of the Pahalgam attack, India’s top political leaders responded with strong words and promises of action. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, speaking from Jeddah, condemned the assault as “heinous” and assured the nation that those responsible would be hunted down and brought to justice. He directed Union Home Minister Amit Shah to rush to Jammu and Kashmir to oversee the response personally, emphasizing that “the guilty will not be spared” and vowing to intensify the fight against terrorism.
Home Minister Amit Shah echoed this resolve, expressing deep anguish over the loss of innocent lives and promising the “harshest consequences” for the perpetrators. He convened high-level security meetings, briefed the Prime Minister, and traveled to Srinagar to supervise the security operations on the ground. Shah assured grieving families that the government stood with them and that every possible measure would be taken to ensure justice and prevent such tragedies in the future.
Other senior leaders, including Union Minister JP Nadda, visited the families of victims, expressing solidarity and reiterating the government’s commitment to national security and the safety of all citizens. The opposition, meanwhile, criticized security lapses and called for accountability, but there was a broad consensus across the political spectrum on the need for a strong, unified response.
What’s Happening in Return: Security and Diplomatic Preparations
- Massive Security Operations: Security forces launched immediate joint cordon and search operations across Anantnag and neighboring districts to track down the attackers and their support network. The Indian Army, paramilitary forces, and Jammu and Kashmir Police are combing the upper reaches of the Pir Panjal range, where the militants are believed to have fled.
- High-Level Alert: A high-level security alert remains in place across Jammu and Kashmir, with increased police and military presence at all major tourist destinations, highways, and sensitive areas. Additional checkpoints and patrols have been established to prevent further attacks.
- Evacuation and Support: Emergency services, including helicopters, were deployed to evacuate the critically injured to hospitals in Anantnag and Srinagar. A 24/7 helpdesk has been set up for tourists and their families, and local gurudwaras and community centers have opened their doors to shelter those fleeing the valley in fear.
- Diplomatic and Strategic Measures: The attack has triggered a sharp escalation in diplomatic tensions with Pakistan, including the suspension of the Indus Waters Treaty, visa services for Pakistani nationals, and the withdrawal of diplomatic staff. Cross-border firing along the Line of Control has increased, signaling a rise in military tensions but not another direct attack on civilians yet.
- Community Response: Locals across Kashmir have condemned the attack, organizing candlelight marches, shutting shops in mourning, and offering support to victims’ families, signaling that such violence no longer has the community’s support.
"But for the families who lost their children, for the parents whose lives have been torn apart, what action could ever be enough? Justice may be promised, security may be tightened, but no measure of resolve or retribution can fill the empty beds or silence the aching absence left behind."
The government’s response is swift and sweeping. Yet, for those who mourn, the true cost of terror is a wound that words and promises alone cannot heal.
Tourism and Fear: A Setback Once Again
Kashmir’s tourism, which had just begun to bloom again after the devastating blows of the COVID-19 pandemic and the political upheaval following the abrogation of Article 370 in 2019, now faces another painful setback. After years of uncertainty, the valley had been witnessing a fragile but hopeful resurgence. In 2024 alone, nearly 2.95 million tourists visited Kashmir, breaking previous records and signaling a renewed faith in the region’s promise as a peaceful, breathtaking destination.
Hotels were fully booked, new projects were underway, and international investors were stepping in. The ski slopes of Gulmarg echoed once more with laughter and adrenaline, while local businesses thrived on the influx of visitors. The valley’s economy, long dependent on tourism, was finally catching its breath.
But the attack near the Lidder River on April 22, 2025, has cast a long shadow over this fragile recovery. In the week following the massacre, hotel and homestay bookings dropped by approximately 20%, as fear rippled through potential tourists and their families. The immediate aftermath saw cancellations surge, and many who had planned their trips began reconsidering, wary of returning to a place where violence had so brutally intruded.
This decline threatens not only the livelihoods of hoteliers, guides, and shopkeepers but also the very fabric of the valley’s slow healing. Tourism is Kashmir’s lifeline-fueling jobs, sustaining communities, and offering a glimpse of normalcy amid decades of conflict. The Economic Survey of Jammu and Kashmir highlighted tourism as a key driver of growth, with visitor arrivals rising steadily from 18.5 million in 2022 to over 20 million in 2023, reflecting local and domestic interest.
Now, as the valley mourns, the fear lingers like a cold wind through the pine forests. The scars of the attack will not fade quickly, and the road to rebuilding trust with tourists is steep and uncertain. For a region that had just begun to reclaim its joy and promise, this is a painful reminder of how fragile peace can be-and how deeply intertwined it is with the hopes of every family who depends on the valley’s beauty to survive.
The question remains: can Kashmir’s tourism bounce back once more, or will this latest wound deepen the valley’s long struggle between fear and hope?
Beyond Headlines: The Healing That Kashmir Needs
Healing in Kashmir cannot be measured by military victories or the tightening of security cordons. True healing is quieter, more intimate mother’s sigh of relief as her child returns home from school, the laughter of children echoing by the riverside without fear, the gentle return of trust between neighbors once divided by suspicion and grief.
For decades, Kashmir has lived with wounds that run deeper than the headlines can capture. The valley is not just a place of conflict, but of collective trauma where nearly everyone carries the weight of loss, fear, and uncertainty. Psychiatric clinics overflow with those suffering panic attacks, nightmares, and the invisible scars of violence. The grief is not abstract; it is heartbreak in the eyes of a widow, the silence of a father who cannot speak of his missing son and the restless wandering of a man who found his brother’s body by the river.
Restoring peace here means more than the absence of gunfire. It means restoring childhoods so mothers no longer have to beg their children to stay indoors, so fathers can dream of futures for their sons and daughters that do not end in tragedy. It means rebuilding the social fabric torn by decades of distrust, so that communities can once again gather in faith, in festivals, and in ordinary joys.
Healing, too, must reach beyond medicine and counseling. It is found in the rituals of faith, in the embrace of extended families, in the resilience of a culture that refuses to surrender its humanity to conflict. Spirituality, tradition, and community are buffers against trauma-binding people to a peaceful past and offering hope for a gentler tomorrow.
But the question lingers, heavy and unresolved:
How many times can a heart break before it stops dreaming?
For the families who have buried their children, for the generation that has grown up knowing only the language of loss, no government action or military operation can ever be enough. Healing is not a single act, but a long, patient journey that promises that one day, the valley’s children will play by the Lidder River again, and mothers will watch with hope, not fear.
A Silent Prayer for Pahalgam
Let us close our eyes for a moment and remember Pahalgam not as a fortress of grief, but as it once was a valley awash in sunlight, laughter spilling from meadows, and music rising with the river’s song. Imagine children racing along the banks, their shouts mingling with the calls of pony wallahs, the scent of pine and fresh bread drifting through the morning air. Picture families-tourists and locals alike gathered beneath the towering chinars, sharing stories and dreams, unburdened by fear.
Now, the silence that hangs over Pahalgam is heavy, punctuated only by the distant echo of sirens and the measured steps of soldiers. Yet beneath this hush, something endures: the memory of joy, the longing for peace, and the quiet strength of a community that refuses to surrender to darkness.
This is not the end of Pahalgam’s story. The valley has known heartbreak before, and each time, its people have gathered the scattered pieces of hope and stitched them together with courage and compassion. Candlelight vigils, shuttered shops in mourning, hands joined across faiths-these are the valley’s silent prayers, whispered not just for the dead, but for the living, for the children yet to play by the Lidder, for the laughter that will one day return.
Let us hold on to that vision. Let us remember, and let us hope. Pahalgam’s strength lies not only in its mountains but in the hearts of its people and in the belief that, even after the longest night, the valley will wake to music and sunlight once more.
“From the deepest wounds, the strongest roots will grow-
And in Pahalgam’s heart, hope will forever flow.”