The trotting horses carried novice riders, families, children, and honeymooners up a treacherous, winding path through the breathtaking mountains of Pahalgam.
Each horse was guided by its master — a local ponywallah who had spent the harsh winter tending to his animals, eagerly awaiting the summer and the gift of tourists it brings to the valley.
Gulmarg and Pahalgam, twin jewels of Kashmir’s tourism, have long captured India’s imagination — Gulmarg with its vast meadows, Pahalgam with the river Lidder threading through pine forests.
Among Pahalgam’s treasures is Baisaran, a meadow perched high above a two-kilometre mountain trek, accessed mainly by pony rides — a daily lifeline for hundreds of local families.
But on 22 April, what should have been an ordinary day of laughter and adventure turned into a nightmare.
Gunshots in the mountains
Suddenly, Baisaran echoed with gunshots. This was not random violence. Gun-wielding terrorists had targeted the meadow, isolating tourists on the trail.
They interrogated families about their religion, forced them to recite Kalmas, and once identifying Hindu men, opened fire — murdering nearly 26 innocent civilians.
In an instant, the nostalgia of Bollywood romances gave way to terror. Tourists fled for their lives. Children screamed. Parents shielded them with trembling arms. Vendors pulled down shutters. Café owners bolted doors. Kashmir seemed to fall back into its darkest memories.
Across India, shock turned to fury.
Social media exploded with rage — filmmaker Vivek Agnihotri tweeted “I told you so” about The Kashmir Files, while online trolls hurled accusations at Kashmiris, fueling suspicion and hate.
The hate-mongers had a field day.
But when the dust settled, a different story — quieter but infinitely stronger — began to unfold.
A story not of hatred, but of humanity. A story that, for the first time in decades, showed that despite terror, the future of Kashmir could still be written with hope.
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A different Kashmir on display
As the news of the attack spread, dozens of local Kashmiris ran toward the frightened tourists, not away from them.
Amid the haze of fear, emerged stories of courage and humanity. A shawl seller carried a terrified 14-year-old boy on his shoulders, rushing him to safety. Taxi drivers abandoned their fares to ferry tourists safely back to hotels and homes — refusing payment, offering food and shelter. Café owners hid travelers in kitchens, calming them with cups of kahwa and whispered reassurances.
And the supreme sacrifice of young pony ride operator Syed Adil Hussain Shah, who gave up his life protecting tourists from the Baisaran terrorists, etched itself into the valley’s collective memory.
“Our hearts are shattered. We are crying not for our livelihood but for the lives of our guests,” sobbed an elderly Kashmiri man on national television.
In the same breath, Junaid, a 28-year-old souvenir shop owner who sheltered a Bengali family, said: “They came to see our beauty. We will never let them see only our pain.”
This was not organised. It was not ordered. It was instinct — to protect, not to protest. This is a watershed moment in Kashmir’s modern history.
Another first is Kashmir getting a true fresh start — with the local people speaking their own narrative for the first time. The Pahalgam incident has discarded the performative activists and opportunists into oblivion, and given the mic to the real heroes of Kashmir — its people.
The old personalities (like Shehla Rashid and others from various sides) have become part of the problem — too combative, too cynical, or too self-serving. Today, for the very first time, the story is being told by the real people themselves.
Tourists see a new Kashmir
The tourists, too, responded with unexpected grace.
Instead of anger, they flooded social media with messages of gratitude — not just for surviving the tragedy, but for experiencing the extraordinary humanity of ordinary Kashmiris.
A tourist from Kochi, Arathi R Menon, expressed gratitude toward two local Kashmiris who helped her during the crisis, stating, “I have two brothers in Kashmir now. May Allah protect you both.”
Instead of triggering more fear, the attack exposed a deeper truth:
The average Kashmiri wants peace as much as anyone else — perhaps even more desperately.
Kashmiris were visibly shaken, watching terror unfold again in their land, tattering the delicate threads of hope they had been weaving carefully over the years. In some ways, it mirrored their own suffering — trauma, grief, and helplessness condensed into one brutal moment.
But even through their tears, they held onto hope.
Stakes are now clear
The Pahalgam attack is a brutal reminder that enemies of peace still lurk. They want fear to return. They want divisions to deepen. They want the dream of a stable, proud Kashmir to shatter.
But the spontaneous acts of kindness that day — the hands reaching out, the doors thrown open — showed that Kashmiris are no longer willing to participate in their own tragedy. There was another powerful message in the aftermath: The emotional outbursts of Kashmiris, apologising for violence committed in their name.
The new Kashmir is sending a clear signal — to terrorists, separatists, and hate-mongers alike: “Our shelter and hospitality are no longer for those who bring death. They are for those who bring peace and prosperity to our land.”
The tables have turned. The massacre at Pahalgam is not the beginning of another dark chapter —it is the cornerstone of a New Kashmir.
Silent revolution of Kashmir
Across the valley — from apple farmers in Shopian, to weavers in Baramulla, to teachers in Kupwara — a quiet revolution brews. A hunger for dignity, not dominance. Respect, not revenge. Prosperity, not pity.
Kashmiris now crave economic stability more than slogans, global markets more than martyrdom, and recognition for their resilience rather than suspicion.
“We are not perfect,” said Aaliya, a school principal in Anantnag. “But for the first time in my life, I see children dreaming of jobs, not jail.”
Thanks to the iron hand and firm decisions of the current government, stability has begun to taste real. For the first time in decades, entire generations are witnessing bustling bazaars, tourists laughing in meadows, and opportunities blooming like Srinagar’s famed tulips.
Golden moment
The massacre at Pahalgam is a warning — but also a window. A fragile, beautiful window into a Kashmir that is choosing creation over conflict. The government of India has a historic chance to protect the peace that Kashmiris themselves are defending. To invest in the economic dreams of the valley. And to build bridges, not just deploy battalions.
Let the world remember that after the last bullets faded over Pahalgam’s hills, Kashmiris and tourists stood together.
And for the first time, Kashmir’s story is not being written by the gun — but by the outstretched hand.
Seetu Kohli is an entrepreneur, design curator, and writer passionate about India’s heritage, culture, and contemporary identity. Views are personal.