When the Nation Wept, Her Daughters Rose

On the 22nd day of April 2025, the conscience of India was pierced by one of the most brutal acts of terror in recent memory. The Kashmir Valley, long celebrated as a confluence of civilizations, a resting place of mystics, a muse of poets, and a symbol of India’s sublime syncretism, bore witness to an unspeakable tragedy in the serene meadows of Baisaran, nestled seven kilometres from the town of Pahalgam.

Twenty-eight lives were extinguished. Of them, 25 were Hindus, one a Christian man from Madhya Pradesh who was killed for failing to recite the Kalma, and one—a brave soul—was a Muslim pony operator, Syed Adil Hussain Shah, who gave his life shielding innocent tourists. Twenty others were grievously injured. The terrorists, in an act of medieval savagery, separated tourists by their religion and executed the Hindus after confirming their identity. It was not just an assault on bodies—it was an assault on the very idea of India.

Let there be no doubt, no ambiguity, no equivocation: this was an act of communal cleansing, meticulously planned to provoke the deepest fault lines of our republic.

But what followed was even more corrosive than the bullets that tore through innocent flesh. For while terrorism may ravage lives, communal hatred rots the soul of a nation. A segment of our media, forsaking its sacred duty, chose sensationalism over sobriety, discord over dignity. Their rhetoric could well have been drafted in the conference rooms of the ISI or the shadowy war rooms of Rawalpindi. With glee and venom, they sought to pit Indian against Indian, to resurrect the two-nation theory that we buried in 1947.

We saw this hatred spill into our homes, into WhatsApp groups, into conversations that once brimmed with the ease of friendship. Our Muslim brethren—men and women who have lived and breathed this land, who have sung its songs and tilled its soil—were suddenly cast as “the other.” We, like many others, found ourselves defending strangers, not because we knew them, but because we knew our India.

But nothing tore through our being as did the vilification of Himanshi Narwal, the widow of Vinay Narwal, a young man slain in the attack. Her only “crime” was a rare and luminous courage. On what would have been her husband’s 27th birthday, she organized a blood donation camp and appealed for peace. “People going against Muslims or Kashmiris—we don’t want this. We want peace and only peace,” she said.

What followed was a shameful saga of online abuse. She was slut-shamed. Her grief was questioned. Her decency mocked. Arathi R. Menon, another daughter of grief, faced similar scorn—for speaking with composure, for praising the Kashmiri men who helped her. Our society, armed with smartphones and devoid of empathy, turned its cruelty towards the already bereaved. It was not a lynch mob, but it might as well have been.

This, we submit to you, is not the India of the freedom struggle. Not the India envisioned by Gandhi, by Patel, by Azad, by Nehru. Our Constitution, forged in the crucible of history and soaked in the tears of partition, does not grant us the right to hate, but the duty to uphold fraternity.

And yet, as the nation reeled, a silent institutional silence hung in the air. No Union Minister condemned the abuse. No police complaint was registered. The message was loud and damning: women must grieve silently, and any attempt at moral clarity shall be punished.

Then came the dawn of 7th May—and with it, Operation Sindoor.

It was not just a military reply; it was a moral reckoning. We watched, with tears in our eyes and pride in our chests, as Col. Sofiya Qureshi and Wing Commander Vyomika Singh stood shoulder to shoulder with Foreign Secretary Vikram Misri at the press conference. Two Indian women—one Hindu, one Muslim—united in valour, speaking of the operation that brought justice not just to the dead, but dignity to the living. Their presence was a quiet rebuke to those who doubted India’s women, and a thunderous answer to those who sought to divide her citizens by faith.

Let the world know: this is India. Our response to terror is not just retribution—it is reaffirmation of our unity.

To those who critique the name “Operation Sindoor,” we offer this: Yes, sindoor is steeped in patriarchy, but it is also a symbol reclaimed. In mythology, it marked the strength of Parvati; in modern India, it represents choice. Those young brides who were slain were robbed of that choice, and so Operation Sindoor is not just a tribute—it is a restoration.

And yet, this battle was not only fought on snowy peaks or forested valleys. It was also waged online. One man deserves special mention: Zubair, known as Zoo_Bear on X, who single-handedly dismantled the propaganda and falsehoods flooding social media. Since 2014, he has been a beacon of journalistic integrity, and in this moment of national trial, he stood tall, armed not with bullets but with facts.

To the Guardians Who Did Not Flinch
Our Indian Forces and Statesmen

When grief screamed for vengeance and hatred prowled the discourse, the Indian Armed Forces stood not just as warriors, but as the conscience of a nation. Operation Sindoor was executed with restraint, precision, and moral clarity.

Col. Qureshi and Wing Cmdr. Singh—standing shoulder to shoulder—delivered not just a briefing but a proclamation. To Pakistan and the hate-mongers within, they declared: this is India. Our sword does not strike by faith. Our resolve does not fracture under fear.

And then came Foreign Secretary Vikram Misri—not with fury, but with fact. Calm and devastatingly precise, he named the enemy—not a religion, but the machinery of terror. His words did not thunder, yet they were thunderous. Bureaucracy, in that moment, became bravery.

Together, our forces and statesmen restored what terror had tried to rupture. They reminded us that patriotism is not noise—it is discipline. Not rage—but resolve. Not vendetta—but justice.

Let it be remembered: When India stood at the brink, it was not hate, but harmony that answered. And it wore the uniform of India.

To the Muslims of India— your grace in the face of suspicion ennobles us all. You have followed the Mahatma’s path, choosing peace over provocation. You are not a part of India—you are India.

And to the women of India—you have our eternal reverence. You are the keepers of our conscience, the quiet architects of our civilization. In every act of dignity, every cry for justice, every refusal to hate, you embody the idea of India better than any slogan or statue ever could. You do not merely mourn—you rebuild.

Let us then declare a pledge—not merely to endure, but to rebuild;
Not just to remember, but to renew the promise of our Republic.

A Pledge by the Women of India

We, the Women of India,
Descendants of Sita’s fire and Rani Lakshmi Bai’s sword,
Guided by the courage of Razia Sultana and Begum Rokeya,
Inspired by the service of Sister Nivedita and Mother Teresa,
Fortified by the strength of Mata Sahib Kaur and Rani Jindan Kaur,
Walking in the footsteps of Rani Gaidinliu, Malati Mem, Sarojini Naidu, Aruna Asaf Ali, Ammu Swaminathan, and Bhikaji Cama,
Do solemnly pledge ourselves to the service of our Republic and her sacred ideals.

To uphold justice—not as favour, but as right.
To defend liberty—not just of action, but of thought.
To protect equality—not just in law, but in life.
To enshrine fraternity—not merely among faiths, but between hearts.

We shall not allow the tears of our sisters to be mocked,
Nor the faith of our brothers to be maligned.
We shall confront hatred with courage,
And cruelty with compassion.

We pledge to be sentinels of secularism,
Custodians of culture,
Bearers of peace,
And warriors of truth.

And when history turns to this chapter,
Let it be said:
The women of India stood tall,
Held the line,
And saved the soul of the nation.