VOICE FROM KASHMIR
There are days when the silence of the mountains becomes unbearably heavy, when even the most peaceful landscapes can no longer shield us from the darkness that creeps into our valleys. April 22, 2025, has become one such day for Kashmir. A day when blood was spilled in the meadows of Pahalgam. A day that has left every Kashmiri with a fractured heart, struggling to find words for an act so brutal, so senseless, that it shakes the very foundation of who we are. I write this with my heart clenched in pain and my soul burdened by sorrow.
Today, innocent lives-guests in our home were gunned down in cold blood. Tourists, who had come to breathe the crisp air of our hills, to find peace in our pine forests and streams, were met not with the famed Kashmiri hospitality, but with a terror that no human deserves to witness. And I want to say, with every ounce of clarity and conviction: this is not who we are.
This barbaric attack is not just an assault on the innocent it is an assault on Kashmir itself. It is an insult to our centuries-old traditions of warmth and welcome. It is an act of betrayal, not by the people of this land, but by those who want to distort our image and exploit our pain for their own evil purposes. We Kashmiris are in mourning. And we are furious.
Because every time something like this happens, we are left to explain ourselves. To defend the identity we hold so dear. We are made to carry a shame that does not belong to us. But let me say it again, without ambiguity: we do not condone this. We do not support this. And we absolutely denounce this horrific, cowardly violence. The gun that fired on those tourists was not held by Kashmir, it was held against it.
The people of Kashmir are not silent in this moment. We are grieving. We are outraged. We are ashamed that something so monstrous could happen in a place we call home. And we are begging the world not to see us through the lens of this horror, because this is not the truth of our people. Our mothers do not raise killers. Our fathers do not teach hatred. Our mosques do not preach murder. The faith that runs through this valley, the Islam we know and practice every day, is a faith of mercy, of peace, of justice. The Holy Qur’an makes it unequivocally clear: taking a single innocent life is like taking the life of all of humanity. There is no glory in this. No justification. No victory. Only shame.
To those who orchestrated this violence I do not know what you hoped to achieve. But I know what you’ve done. You’ve devastated families. You’ve left children orphaned. You’ve broken hearts across this land. And you’ve tried to corrupt a place that has fought for generations to preserve its dignity and decency. But know this: you will not succeed. You will not rewrite our story. You will not steal our voice.
Kashmir is not your playground. It is not your battlefield. And it is certainly not your weapon. We Kashmiris believe in mehmaan nawazii-the deep cultural tradition of honoring guests as if they were a blessing from God. We don’t just welcome outsiders; we embrace them. We offer our food, our stories, our homes, and above all, our respect. And that is why this attack hurts us profoundly. It is not just a crime it is a desecration of everything we believe in. I want the families of the victims to know this: your pain is not yours alone. It is ours. We mourn with you. We cry for your loss. And we wish we could undo the horror that brought this tragedy upon you. You came to Kashmir looking for peace. We failed to protect you. And for that, we are deeply, unforgivably sorry.
To the injured-we pray for your swift and complete recovery. May you find healing not only in body but in spirit. May you one day return to these hills and see a different Kashmir the one we know, the one that loves, that sings, that shelters. To the rest of the world: do not paint us with the brush of this tragedy. Look deeper. Listen to our voices. Hear our condemnation. Know our pain. And understand that the people of Kashmir are not the perpetrators of this crime we are among its victims.
This land has seen too much blood. Too many mothers have wept. Too many sons have died. We yearn for peace not as a political slogan, but as a desperate, human plea. All we want is to live, to love, and to be allowed to heal. Is that too much to ask?
Today, as the sun sets behind the peaks of Pahalgam, it does so over a Valley in mourning. But also over a people still standing bruised, but unbroken. Grieving, but not silent.
And so, I say again: this violence was not in our name. It never was. And it never will be.
From a Kashmiri, with a heart heavy, with sorrow and a voice determined to speak truth.
