As Operation Sindoor Unfolds, Kashmir Has Responded With a Unity That The World Cannot Ignore
In Kashmir, there is fear about the constant shelling and drone attacks by Pakistan after the current spate of heightened hostilities. Equally, there is relief and even pride following Operation Sindoor.
From Kupwara to Kulgam, from the hills of Tral to the banks of Dal Lake, Kashmiris have consistently reacted with disgust to the events of April 22 when innocent tourists in Pahalgam were targeted. For the first time in decades, the anger in the valley is not directed at New Delhi, but at the endless parade of masked men from across the border who claim to fight for Kashmiris but have brought only death and division.
“Pakistan sends killers, not saviours,” said Jameela Khatoon, a mother of two from Bandipora. “They come with guns and vanish into the night, and it is we who are left to bury the bodies and carry the shame.”
Operation Sindoor, A Statement: This Union Will Be Defended
The symbolism of Operation Sindoor is just as potent as its strategy. The name—Sindoor—evokes the sacred red worn by married Hindu women, a mark of protection, union, and dignity. This isn’t just a strike. It is a statement: this union will be defended.
In naming it so, India isn’t just targeting terror camps. India is reinforcing its contract with every citizen—Kashmiri or Keralite, Muslim or Christian—that their lives are not expendable.
Kashmiris love to be scholarly and erudite. Scholars studying at Kashmir University were heard discussing that in this moment, India has fully embraced Thomas Hobbes’ vision of the sovereign: not merely a figurehead, but a Leviathan capable of decisive, moral violence in defence of order. Hobbes warned that where authority collapses, terror thrives. India shall not allow that collapse. Not again.
Operation Sindoor Is Not A Revenge; It Is An Answer
In the silence that followed the massacre in Pahalgam, India has watched with clenched fists and measured breath. The grief is vast, but so is the rage. This is not a rage of chaos, but one with a spine. It was a stillness before a storm—a calculated pause before action. The nation mourned, yes, but beneath that mourning burned a singular certainty: “Never again.” Within hours, flags were lowered, emergency meetings convened, and dossiers were opened with grim intent. The patience of a sovereign had reached its end.
And then, on May 7, a different kind of dawn broke: Operation Sindoor. It was not a knee-jerk reaction, but a cold, deliberate act of statecraft. It did not come from the throat, but from the gut—from that place where the state holds its deepest duty to protect.
Jet engines thundered across the sky like ancient war drums, releasing precision airstrikes that tore through the darkness over Bhawalpur, Muridke, and Muzaffarabad. These weren’t random coordinates—they were chosen with the care of surgeons and the fury of soldiers. These were cities whispered in agony by the survivors of Pulwama, Uri, and now Pahalgam—cities that had for too long served as the nursery for murderers masquerading as messiahs.
India’s message to Pakistan, and the world, is unmistakable: “You brought your war. We brought our answer.”
In these strikes, India delivered not vengeance, but verdicts. “We’ve buried too many sons,” said Nisar Ahmad, a farmer from Shopian. “This wasn’t revenge. This was an answer. And for once, it was loud enough that Islamabad had to listen,” he added.
Yet, from across the border, came the familiar hypocrisy. Predictable voices from Islamabad and Rawalpindi labeled the strikes “cowardly,” willfully ignoring the graves that necessitated them. They claimed civilian deaths near a mosque in Muzaffarabad. But Indian intelligence had long confirmed what many locals had already suspected: what they called civilian deaths happened at a front for a Lashkar-e-Taiba training module.
“They weren’t praying in there,” scoffed Fayaz Lone, a kaandur (baker of Kashmiri breads) in Baramulla. “They were plotting. And now they’ve paid.” And indeed, India made no apologies. The age of strategic restraint, of carefully worded condemnations and UN briefings, was over. As retired General Vir Pratap Singh put it bluntly: “If the room you teach in is the same room where rifles are hidden, it’s not a school. It’s a war room.”
India has learned from decades of betrayal. Kargil, Mumbai, Pathankot, Pulwama—the list is long, and the cost, unbearable. This time, the response is neither symbolic nor delayed. It was targeted, immediate, and unapologetically final.
‘The World Saw What We Have Seen For Years’
Kashmir, too often painted in the global press as hostile and divided, responded with a unity the world could not ignore. “They used to say we were angry at India,” said Mohammad Yusuf, a tailor in Anantnag. “But anger is a complicated thing. I am angry—but at the men with guns who cross from Pakistan and call it jihad. At least now, India is doing something about it.”
From villages high in the Pir Panjal to neighborhoods around Srinagar, the sentiment echoed loud and clear: Pakistan does not speak for us.
Where once whispers of rebellion were heard, now there were voices of resolve, speaking in measured tones but with unmistakable clarity. “They claim to fight for Kashmir,” said Sabah Mir, a college student from Ganderbal. “But all they bring is blood. All we want is peace. India’s strike was not against Kashmir. It was for Kashmir.”
In those nine strikes, India demonstrated not just military superiority, but moral clarity. Niccolò Machiavelli once argued that a state must appear strong. In Operation Sindoor, India is not just strong, it is right. It didn’t carpet-bomb cities. It didn’t lash out blindly. It struck precisely—nine targets, nine verdicts.
For decades, international discourse around Kashmir had been distorted by false equivalence—”India says this, Pakistan says that.” That balance shattered on April 22, when the attack in Pahalgam occurred. Caught on video, the slaughter was unmistakable. No slogans. No political posturing. Just unarmed civilians, gunned down with robotic detachment.
“That video changed everything,” said Tanveer Shah, a school principal in Pulwama. “The world saw what we have seen for years—that this is not a freedom struggle. This is a death cult.”
Across Kashmir, Reclamation Has Begun
Amid this darkness, a shift has begun. Frantz Fanon, who chronicled the trauma of colonialism, wrote that the oppressed must reclaim their narrative. And across Kashmir, that reclamation has begun—not through guns, but through clarity. In standing against Pakistan-sponsored terror, many Kashmiris are finally finding their voice—not as subjects of war, but as agents of peace.
“Our fight is not with Delhi,” said Iqra Nabi, a medical intern in Sopore. “Our fight is with those who turn our weddings into funerals and our children into targets. If Pakistan loved us, it would leave us alone.” Amid the fallen was Syed Adil Hussain Shah, a pony ride operator in Pahalgam, known for his laughter and easy smile. He died defending a group of tourists—Hindus, Sikhs, and Christians alike—lunging at the gunmen with a wooden stick. “These are my guests,” he shouted, according to witnesses. “You’ll have to kill me first.” They did.
And in doing so, they silenced the myth of a valley torn apart by religion. His mother, Fatima Begum, did not cry when she spoke to the press. “He was not a martyr for Islam or India or Kashmir,” she said. “He was a martyr for humanity.” His blood now waters the soil of a valley too often misunderstood.
Syed Adil Hussain Shah’s story, retold in schools and sung in local songs, is fast becoming the symbol of a new Kashmir—a Kashmir tired of being used, finally ready to choose peace over proxy war. In the last few years, that peace felt possible and real. Markets stayed open. Children walked to school without looking over their shoulders. The whispers of Pakistan’s so-called “freedom fighters” faded into irrelevance, drowned out by the steady, stubborn rhythm of life resuming.
Operation Sindoor Restores Balance
India, through Operation Sindoor, did not just retaliate—it restored balance. It reminded the world what sovereignty looks like when it carries both the sword and the scalpel. It showed that strength and morality are not mutually exclusive. “Finally,” said Arifa Qadri, a schoolteacher in Budgam, “we are not just seen as victims. We are seen as citizens. And India is acting like our country—not just in words, but in war.” As the smoke settles across the Line of Control, and candles are lit across the country—from the snow-capped peaks of Sonamarg to the streets of Surat—a quiet resolve grips the land. India will mourn, but it will not kneel. It will feel, but it will not falter. And if terror dares to knock again, it will find not just walls of defence, but hearts of fire. India’s message to Pakistan, and the world, is unmistakable: “You brought your war. We brought our answer.”
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