By Dipak Kurmi
On the evening of April 22, 2025, a brutal massacre unfolded amidst the serene meadows of Baisaran in Pahalgam, claiming the lives of 25 unsuspecting tourists and a local pony operator. Barely had the news broken when a palpable wave of grief and anger swept through Kashmir. In Srinagar’s Maisuma Bazaar — historically associated with intense political protests — a young shopkeeper, Riaz Bhatt, mobilised a spontaneous crowd, calling for a candlelight march at the iconic Lal Chowk. In a valley that has witnessed decades of bloodshed, this massacre felt different. It wasn’t just another tragic headline; it was a visceral blow to the collective soul of Kashmir.
“Kashmir could not have remained silent this time,” said Riaz. His sentiments reflected a rare, genuine, and unified outcry. The massacre at Baisaran wasn’t merely another statistic in Kashmir’s long chronicle of violence; it was a profound violation that shook the Valley to its core. Streets that had once echoed with separatist slogans now bore witness to silent candlelight vigils, voluntary shutdowns, and heartfelt prayers. From Srinagar to Kupwara and Budgam, Kashmiris – ordinary citizens, political leaders, traders – stood united in mourning.
Mirwaiz Umar Farooq, a key figure in the Hurriyat Conference, aptly captured the mood: “The brutality of the act targeting innocent civilians was so shocking, so inhuman, that it touched every heart.” Sheikh Ashiq of the Awami Ittehad Party echoed this emotion, noting how even households that had weathered decades of turmoil now wept collectively, mourning the loss as if it were their own.
The emotional outpouring was notably distinct from the politically-charged protests of the past. This time, the people’s grief was spontaneous and personal, untethered from politics or ideology. The massacre rekindled painful memories from past tragedies. In the Sikh village of Chittisinghpora, just 50 km away from Pahalgam, Nanak Singh, a survivor of the horrific 2000 killings where 35 Sikhs were gunned down, found himself trapped in a haunting déjà vu. “We couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. It was as if we were witnessing again what had happened that fateful night,” he lamented, his voice breaking under the weight of memory.
Joginder Singh, another resident of Chittisinghpora, bitterly noted how little respect the perpetrators of such atrocities had for human life. As with Chittisinghpora, so now with Baisaran: the victims were innocents, caught in the crosshairs of an ideology that respected neither innocence nor humanity.
Beyond the immediate grief and mourning, the massacre has cast a long and dark shadow over Kashmir’s fledgling tourism resurgence. The Valley had been experiencing an unprecedented boom. In 2024 alone, a record 2.36 crore tourists, including foreign visitors and pilgrims to Amarnath and Vaishno Devi, flocked to the Union Territory. The Centre’s aggressive tourism promotion drive post the abrogation of Article 370 had started yielding tangible results: bustling markets, full hotels, and thriving local businesses.
However, within hours of the attack, Kashmir’s flourishing tourist season came to a screeching halt. Images and videos of the carnage went viral, painting a picture of terror that no public relations campaign could easily erase. “Today, it is the time of social media. Everything spreads fast. What we saw was just barbarism,” said Mushtaq Pahalgami, head of the Pahalgam Hotel and Guest House Owners Association.
Where once Pahalgam teemed with tourists, today it wears a desolate look. Pony ride operators like Ishfaq, who until days ago were too busy to sit down for a meal, now loiter aimlessly, their livelihoods shattered overnight. Dal Lake in Srinagar, usually brimming with colourful shikaras ferrying excited visitors, is now eerily silent. Boatman Aijaz Ahmed bemoaned, “For the last two days, I haven’t got a single customer. Everything seems to be finished.”
Even the famed Tulip Gardens, a major seasonal attraction, stand deserted. Gulmarg, Sonmarg, and other picturesque locales that once buzzed with activity are now ghost towns. A few tourists, like Rashmi Sonwalkar from Pune, who decided to stay on, are haunted by apprehension. “We dropped Pahalgam from our itinerary. Fear is difficult to overcome,” she admitted.
Tourism stakeholders are struggling to cope. Rauf Tramboo, president of the Travel Agents Association of Kashmir, admitted that the tourist season for April and May has been effectively lost. Yet he remains cautiously optimistic for a recovery by June — provided, of course, that the confidence of tourists can be restored.
In a bid to counter the negative narrative and rekindle hope, the Kashmir Chamber of Commerce and Industry is finalising an outreach campaign. “Our teams will meet families of the victims across the country and convey that Kashmir mourns with them,” said Faiz Ahmed Bakshi, the body’s secretary general. “We will also urge tourists to return — it’s their land as much as it’s ours.”
But the road to recovery will not be easy. Many in Kashmir are deeply concerned about how the mainstream media’s portrayal of the incident might further alienate Kashmiris across the country. “This has never happened before. The whole of Kashmir has condemned the attack. Yet, some media houses are fuelling fear. They should help bridge divides, not widen them,” lamented Srinagar-based tour operator Farooq Ahmad Kathoo.
The safety of Kashmiris outside the state is also a growing concern. “If we want our children, studying and working in other parts of the country, to be safe, we must resist narratives that portray Kashmiris negatively,” said Tramboo, highlighting how the fallout of the tragedy extends far beyond tourism.
Adding to the confusion and public anger is the lack of clarity regarding potential security lapses. Reports suggest that Baisaran was opened for tourists on April 20 without adequate security arrangements or prior intimation to the forces. This has raised troubling questions about administrative oversight, especially in an area that has seen intermittent militant activity in the past.
The massacre and its aftermath have brought Kashmir to yet another crossroads. For a region so often caught between violence and hope, between despair and resilience, this latest tragedy is a harsh reminder of its fragile stability. Just as Kashmir had begun to shed its image as a conflict zone and rebrand itself as a tourist paradise, the Pahalgam massacre yanked it back into an all-too-familiar cycle of fear and uncertainty.
Yet, amid the grief and loss, there is also resilience. The spontaneous protests, the widespread shutdowns, the heartfelt condemnation across religious and political divides — all are testament to a people who refuse to be defined by violence. Kashmir’s spirit, though battered, remains unbroken.
It is now up to the leadership — in Delhi, in Srinagar, and across civil society — to ensure that the Valley’s aspirations for peace, prosperity, and normalcy are not extinguished by the actions of a few. The tragedy of Pahalgam must not be allowed to define Kashmir’s future. Instead, it must serve as a rallying cry for a renewed commitment to humanity, unity, and lasting peace.
(The writer can be reached at dipakkurmiglpltd@gmail.com)
