Kashmir: How ‘a heaven on earth’ turned into ‘hell’

Pahalgam, one of Kashmir's most popular tourist spots, turned into a scene of horror on Tuesday, 22 April. Armed men opened fire on civilians, killing twenty-six and injuring seventeen more.

The attack was claimed by The Resistance Force (TRF), a relatively new but increasingly prominent militant group that has been active in the region for the past few years. Their brazen tactics — recording ambushes on Indian troops and uploading the footage online are a modern extension of an old conflict.

Though India has not officially named Pakistan as complicit in this attack, the weight of history looms large. Tensions between the two nuclear-armed neighbours have escalated sharply, and the spectre of retaliation once again haunts the valley.

Kashmir's transformation from a "heaven on earth" to a near-permanent conflict zone has been centuries in the making, but the modern dispute began in 1947, when the subcontinent was divided into India and Pakistan.

The princely state of Jammu and Kashmir, ruled by Maharaja Hari Singh, initially wanted independence. But under threat from tribal invaders from Pakistan, he chose to accede to India. That accession led to the first Indo-Pak war and the eventual establishment of the Line of Control, which still slices the region in two.

The United Nations recommended a plebiscite to determine Kashmir's fate, but this was never conducted. Instead, decades of military build-up, proxy wars, and bloodshed followed. For most Kashmiris, peace has been elusive; for many, freedom is still a dream deferred.

Modi's gamble and its fallout

In 2019, the Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi took a step that would mark a seismic shift in the region's governance. The Indian government abrogated Article 370 of its Constitution, stripping Jammu and Kashmir of its semi-autonomous status.

Article 370 was a clause in the constitution which gave Jammu and Kashmir a significant autonomy, including its own constitution, a separate flag, and independence over all matters except foreign affairs, defence and communications.

The abrogation of the article necessarily downgraded the region to a union territory and placed it under direct rule from New Delhi. Supporters argued that this move would bring development and integration. Critics, including prominent Kashmiri leaders like Mehbooba Mufti, called it colonial in nature — an attempt to disempower the region's Muslim majority and alter its demographic character.

The immediate aftermath was a communications blackout, a flood of military personnel, and widespread detentions. Since then, while violence dipped for a while, peace has remained precarious. The recent attack on civilians proves that the flames of militancy were never truly extinguished.

The human cost

The story of Kashmir goes beyond mere geopolitical rivalry — it is a human tragedy.

An entire generation has grown up in the shadow of curfews, checkpoints, and gunfights. Many young people are caught in a cycle of unemployment, disillusionment, and political repression, which makes them vulnerable to radicalisation.

The death of Burhan Wani, a 22-year-old militant commander, in 2016 sparked mass protests and became a flashpoint for a new wave of militancy. Thousands attended his funeral. He had become a symbol — rightly or wrongly — of resistance.

Though India has not officially named Pakistan as complicit in this attack, the weight of history looms large. Tensions between the two nuclear-armed neighbours have escalated sharply, and the spectre of retaliation once again haunts the valley.

Civilians are often the worst affected. According to figures from recent years, hundreds of lives continue to be lost annually. From school closures and economic disruptions to the trauma of seeing loved ones disappear, the costs are borne disproportionately by the ordinary people who call this contested land home.

The regional domino

Kashmir is not just a bilateral issue between India and Pakistan. It also involves China, which has stakes in Ladakh — a region carved out of Jammu and Kashmir in the 2019 reorganisation.

As India tightens its grip on the territory, both Beijing and Islamabad have expressed strong objections. The international community, however, has largely remained silent or indifferent, often prioritising strategic alliances over humanitarian concerns.

The US, for example, has offered to mediate in the past, but India has consistently rejected such overtures, insisting that Kashmir is an internal matter. Meanwhile, Pakistan's diplomatic efforts at the United Nations have yielded little more than rhetorical support.

The suspension of the Indus Water Treaty — a rare and long-standing symbol of India-Pakistan cooperation — signals how deeply entrenched the current animosity is.

Yet, history has shown that even the darkest times in Kashmir have occasionally given way to moments of dialogue. The 2003 ceasefire, the 2014 handshake between Modi and Nawaz Sharif, and the brief backchannel diplomacy in the mid-2000s all hint at what could have been.

Today, the possibility of peace feels more remote than ever. With rising radical nationalism in India and deep-rooted grievances in Pakistan, the political will to resolve the Kashmir issue through dialogue appears absent. Instead, there is growing rhetoric of retaliation and dominance.