In Kashmir's darkest hour, light came from its people

Never in living memory has Kashmir reacted to an act of terror as it did on 23 April, wrote longtime observer and Srinagar-based journalist Muzaffar Raina, registering the public shock, shame, remorse, anger — and condemnation of the attack on tourists at Baisaran Valley in Pahalgam the previous day. There was also a palpable sense of apprehension about a possible crackdown by security forces.

The most poignant yet heartwarming reaction to the terror attack has come not from official statements or political leaders but the streets — from the people of Kashmir.

As another journalist Marvi Sirmed aptly put it: ‘Do not let hate drown out solidarity. Our grief must unite us, .’ For the first time in over 30 years, the entire Valley observed a the day after the attack — a resonant gesture of collective grief and defiance against terrorism. Shops, businesses and schools remained closed, not out of fear but as a heartfelt tribute to the victims and as an affirmation that Kashmiris stood for peace.

What made the shutdown even more remarkable was its origin — it wasn’t by political diktat but a spontaneous response to calls from civil society groups, trade and , and even religious and separatist leaders, including Hurriyat chief Mirwaiz Umar Farooq. Mainstream political parties such as the National Conference and the PDP (Peoples Democratic Party) lent their support—a rare alignment not seen in decades.

Ordinary citizens from every background took to the streets in protest. Candlelight vigils were held across cities and towns, drawing participants from all walks of life. The message was unambiguous: ‘Kashmir stands against terrorism.’ Slogans like ‘’ and ‘Terrorism is not acceptable’ echoed through the Valley, marking a profound shift in public sentiment. Announcements condemning the “cowardly attack” on tourists rang out of some mosques as well.

Mohd Yousuf Gorsi, chairman of the District Development Council in Anantnag, captured the prevailing mood: “This tragedy has shaken us to the core. The people are grieving, and their message is clear — terrorism is a betrayal of our humanity.” In a sombre act of mourning, leading newspapers such as Greater Kashmir, Rising Kashmir, Kashmir Uzma, Aftab and Taameel Irshad printed their front pages in black.

Amid the horror of the Baisaran Valley attack, powerful yet underreported stories have emerged of the bravery and humanity of ordinary folk in Kashmir — stories that stand in stark contrast to the divisive narratives being peddled and fanned in other parts of the country. One such act of heroism came from Syed Adil Hussain Shah, a local ponywallah who regularly ferried tourists to the scenic meadow. As gunshots rang out in a less-accessible patch of the meadow, Adil tried to confront one of the attackers to protect the tourists in his care.

He was killed in the process. His bravery has become a symbol of the selflessness and integrity of ordinary Kashmiris. One survivor later remarked, “Kashmiris cannot do this [attack tourists]. The government must answer — where were the security personnel, half a million of them, when this happened?” There are other moving stories. Of a driver named Aadil, who sheltered a group of stranded tourists at home till official help could reach them. Of Nazakat Ali, a woollen clothes trader, who guided four stranded families — 11 people including three children — to safety during the attack.

These families, on vacation in the Valley, found an unlikely guardian angel in Nazakat, whose quick thinking and courage saved lives when the terrorists struck. Testimonies from tourists who remained in Kashmir after the attack are powerful affirmations of the solidarity and compassion shown by locals.

Among them are two women from Maharashtra who, despite initial pressure to leave, chose to stay. “We’re not scared,” one of them said. “We trust the local residents here. They’ve earned our trust. Our driver, who has been with us from the beginning, never asked our religion before dropping us at our hotel. After the attack, he didn’t think of his own safety — he prioritised ours.”

Another tourist, a Hindu woman, recalled her experience: “When the attack happened, we were scared. But then our brother — the driver— reassured us. He said he’d give his life before letting any harm come to us. This is true brotherhood. May India always prosper with such unity.” Acts of kindness extended far beyond words. Locals rushed to carry the injured to safety.

The Jammu & Kashmir Radio Taxi Association offered free rides to tourists heading to the airport after reports of inflated airline fares. Waheed, the head of the Pahalgam Ponywallah Association, reflected on his instinctive response during the attack: “All I thought about were the injured. I focused on saving them. I brought them all back.”

A photo shared by Kashmiri activist Inam-un-Nabi showed a local man carrying an injured tourist to safety. ‘This is the real Kashmir,’ he wrote.

‘Not defined by violence, but by compassion, courage, and love.’ The widespread civilian response — both collective and personal — has been described by some observers as a watershed moment.

Writing in the Indian Express, economist and politician Haseeb Drabu called the Pahalgam incident not just an attack on the state but ‘a profound violation of Kashmir’s societal values of hospitality and humanity’. ‘Kashmir can survive without tourism revenue,’ he writes, ‘…but not without the moral compass that defines its identity. What happened in Pahalgam struck at the very heart of that value system.’

These accounts, often overlooked, reflect a Kashmir that defies stereotypes — a place where humanity endures, where ordinary people show extraordinary heroism in times of crisis. Sadly, in some other parts of India, the hate factories have found new grist and are using the Pahalgam tragedy to stoke hatred and deepen divisions. At a time when Kashmiris are demonstrating courage and empathy, standing against violence, the rest of the country owes them support, not suspicion.