I Ahmad Wani
In the early hours of May 7, 2025, the skies over Pakistan and Pakistan-occupied Jammu and Kashmir (PoJK) roared with the might of India’s Operation Sindoor. Launched in response to the barbaric Pahalgam terror attack on April 22, which claimed 26 lives, the operation struck nine terrorist facilities with surgical precision, eliminating 80–90 terrorists, including key aides of Jaish-e-Mohammed (JeM) chief Masood Azhar. Codenamed by Prime Minister Narendra Modi, Operation Sindoor—named after the vermilion powder symbolizing marital bonds—carried a poignant message: India would avenge the desecration of its daughters’ and sisters’ sacred sindoor. Yet, in the Kashmir Valley, the airstrikes have woven a complex tapestry of emotions, blending vengeance, fear, and cautious hope, reminiscent of the Valley’s turbulent history with militancy since 1989.
The Pahalgam attack, orchestrated by Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) and its affiliate The Resistance Front (TRF), was a chilling echo of the early militancy that gripped Kashmir in the late 1980s. Back then, the Jammu and Kashmir Liberation Front (JKLF) intensified violence, with over 100 officials killed in six months in 1989, paralyzing the state’s administrative and intelligence apparatus. The kidnapping of Mufti Mohammad Sayeed’s daughter led to mass celebrations, signaling a growing separatist fervor. Similarly, the Pahalgam attack targeted Hindu tourists, singling out men by religion and executing them in front of their families, leaving widows like Himanshi Narwal to mourn. The brutality, coupled with TRF’s claim of opposing “demographic changes” post-Article 370’s revocation, reignited fears of a return to those dark days when militancy uprooted lives and forced the exodus of Kashmiri Pandits.
At Srinagar’s Ghanta Ghar, a large crowd gathered post-airstrikes, reflecting a shift unseen in Kashmir’s 36-year insurgency. Shabir, a local vendor, spoke of an emotional connection with India, a sentiment echoed by posts on X where Kashmiris chanted, “Hum Hindustani Hain, Hindustan Hamara Hai,” after Friday prayers. This unity was striking, given the Valley’s history of alienation, fueled by political disenfranchisement and Pakistan’s logistical support for jihadist groups since the 1980s. Farooq Abdullah noted, “For the first time in 35 years, Kashmir has risen against the Pahalgam attack,” signaling a potential turning point.
Yet, beneath the celebrations, fear lingers. Aqib, a 20-year-old student, confessed he couldn’t sleep, haunted by the specter of Pakistani retaliation. His anxiety mirrors the psychological distress documented in a 2005 Médecins Sans Frontières survey, which found one-third of Kashmiris suffering from distress due to ongoing violence, with “not feeling safe” doubling the odds of mental health issues. The airstrikes, while precise, prompted Pakistan to close its airspace and authorize retaliation, with unverified claims of downing five Indian jets. Heavy shelling along the Line of Control killed eight Indians, heightening local fears of escalation.
A large section of Kashmiris, while welcoming the strikes, grapple with this duality. Many see Operation Sindoor as a necessary deterrent, echoing India’s 2016 surgical strikes and 2019 Balakot airstrikes, which targeted militant camps after the Uri and Pulwama attacks. A professor at Kashmir University, speaking anonymously, praised the operation’s focus on terror infrastructure but feared Pakistan’s response could destabilize the region, as seen in the 2019 air skirmishes when an Indian pilot was briefly captured. The operation’s success in neutralizing key JeM and LeT facilities, like Markaz Subhan Allah in Bahawalpur and Markaz Taiba in Muridke, bolstered confidence in India’s resolve. However, the intellectual elite worry about the cycle of violence, recalling how Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) capitalized on Kashmiri discontent in the 1990s to fuel insurgency.
For common Kashmiris, the airstrikes were a visceral response to the Pahalgam attack’s economic and emotional toll. Tourism, a lifeline for the Valley with 3.5 million visitors in 2024, plummeted as over 50 tourist destinations were shut post-attack. Mohammad Shafi Dar, a daily wage worker whose home was demolished in a security crackdown, lamented, “We lost everything,” highlighting the civilian cost of counter-insurgency measures. A youth at Ghanta Ghar confided that India’s inaction might have pushed him toward militancy, fearing a weak nation could not protect them. This sentiment reflects the early militancy era, when local youths, feeling abandoned, joined groups like Hizbul Mujahideen.
The emotional weight of loss permeates Kashmir. A senior citizen at Ghanta Ghar, speaking in a hushed tone, expressed grim satisfaction that Hafiz Saeed, LeT’s founder, survived to witness his family’s pain, as his own son was a “collateral damage” victim of terrorism. His words, laced with irony, underscore the human cost of the conflict, with 41,000 deaths—14,000 civilians—since 1989. He hoped the strikes would deter new terrorists, longing for the pre-1988 era when Lal Chowk was free of armed civilians. Sangita Ganbote, a Pahalgam widow, found solace in the operation’s name, saying, “It honors every woman who lost her husband.”
Operation Sindoor’s cultural resonance, symbolized by a bowl of sindoor in the Army’s announcement, bridges past and present. It recalls the 1990s, when Kashmiri Pandits fled amid targeted killings, and post-2019 unrest after Article 370’s revocation, which sparked TRF’s rise. The operation’s restraint—avoiding Pakistani military targets—earned praise from allies like the US and UK, but Pakistan’s denial of civilian deaths and aggressive rhetoric threaten further unrest.
As Kashmir navigates this emotional crossroads, the Valley stands at a pivotal moment. The airstrikes have galvanized a rare unity, with slogans of “Bharat Mata ki Jai” trending online. Yet, the fear of retaliation and memories of early militancy’s chaos temper celebrations. Omar Abdullah’s plea to avoid “collateral damage” to innocents resonates, as does Mirza Waheed’s warning that crackdowns could alienate Kashmiris further. Operation Sindoor has struck a blow against terrorism, but its legacy depends on whether it fosters lasting peace or reignites the cycle of violence that has scarred Kashmir for decades. For now, the Valley holds its breath, yearning for a future where sindoor signifies love, not vengeance.
Jai Hind
