For eight-year-old twins from Kerala’s Kochi, the words “let’s play” are no longer an invitation to joy but a paralysing reminder of gore. These are the words their grandfather N Ramachandran had said, moments before he was shot dead in front of them last week at Baisaran valley of Pahalgam.
“When their cousins say ‘let’s play’, they freeze into inaction. They say their grandfather used to say the same and he is no longer here,” their mother Arathy Ramachandran Menon told Newslaundry.
For the Kerala twins, even ceremonial gunfire at their grandfather's funeral guard of honor triggered intense fear. “They are scared of the sight of guns and the sound of gunshots. Even I felt very nervous and held my brother tightly during the ceremony,” Ramachandran recounts, planning therapy sessions for her sons upon returning home.
The attack had transformed what should have been idyllic vacation memories into scenes of horror. Many women and children saw the men in their family shot dead after failing to recite Islamic declarations as demanded by at least one of the terrorists who emerged from the forests surrounding Baisaran – a picturesque location accessible only by foot or horseback, approximately six kilometres from Pahalgam town.
While the headlines have moved to war amid rising tensions between India and Pakistan in the aftermath of the Pahalgam massacre that claimed 26 lives, survivors are still living the nightmare, trying to navigate a new reality.
The what ifs
Several survivors are tormented by “what if” scenarios.
Ramachandran laments, “If we had gotten tickets for the Gondola ride in Gulmarg, we would have not come to Pahalgam.” Others question their decisions to explore Baisaran or even to come to Kashmir.
Pallavi Rao's son witnessed his father soaked in blood, taking his final breaths. “He’s in shock and hasn’t spoken to anyone since,” says Rao. The family had been celebrating their first-ever trip to Kashmir. Manjunath Rao’s final words to his wife now carry irony: “My dream to come to Kashmir once in my lifetime has come true.” Rao says “these words are both a treasure and horror for me”.
Pahalgam itself bears the scars of the attack. Once romanticised in Bollywood films as a backdrop for love stories, the town now sits eerily quiet. Shops remain shuttered while local pony handlers undergo police questioning. Helicopters continuously patrol overhead – a reminder of the security operations that now define this once-peaceful tourist destination.
For Sheetal Kalathiya from Gujarat, whose husband was among those killed, these security measures came too late. “If there had been better security or drone surveillance or if helicopters had come faster, maybe many could have been saved,” she observes, recalling the gunman’s command to separate Hindus from Muslims before opening fire.
After the attack, Kalathiya rushed down the mountains along with her two children – a moment she described as “climbing a steep wall with sticky boots”. She says the police later sent her a sketch of one of the suspects which was “resembling the attacker and I informed the police about the same”.
Arathy Ramachandran said she was called for the identification of her father’s body in Srinagar after sunset. “After identification, I left my mother and children in the Srinagar hotel where we had already checked-in. Two local drivers, Muzaffar and Sameer were with us all along. Both of them accompanied me to the mortuary in Srinagar and stayed with me through the whole process…they are beautiful souls like my father.”
The numbness and ‘baggage’
Far in the mountains of Arunachal Pradesh, Charo Kamua, who lost her husband – IAF officer Corporal Tage Hailyang – after barely four months of marriage, has become “numb” according to family members. She now recoils from media attention and avoids repeating her account of that day.
“They were married on December 24. This attack has left her numb and she is hesitant to speak with any male members of the family,” said Tage Laling, her brother-in-law.
“This morning, NIA officials came here for the investigation. They showed a photo of somebody and bhabhi could identify one. They were also mentioning the involvement of some locals,” said Laling. “She is irritated by the media personnel and the repeated narration of horror she went through.”
Aishanya, who married Shubham Diwadi from Kanpur just two months before losing him in the attack, carries “the baggage of the haunted memory of how they shot him in front of my eyes”. The couple had been wrapping up their Kashmir vacation when attackers struck.
Shubham had called his father around 2.15 pm that fateful day, promising to return by 3 pm after enjoying some Maggi noodles at the valley viewpoint. But it was the last time they spoke.
“I request the government that these killers should be killed in front of their family members like they killed ours,” said Aishanya. “When we were coming down from the valley, we saw three policemen…they enquired about our blood-soaked clothes and when we requested help to evacuate the injured and others, they expressed helplessness…They were just trying to find out where the shots came from.”
‘How can money compensate?’
Healthcare workers at the Government Medical College Hospital in Anantnag witnessed the silent suffering of families. Professor Rukhsana Najeeb, the hospital’s principal, remained on site for three days straight to coordinate care for the injured.
One doctor recalls counseling the blood-soaked wife of Dr Parameshwaram, a tourist who sustained severe gunshot wounds to his spine and abdomen, as the surgery lasted six hours. “This is a long battle to recover. If you want to take care of him,” the doctor advised, “you must take care of yourself first”.
“We are living in a protracted period of panic. We feel depressed and anxious all the time,” said one survivor, echoing the sentiment of many who now find themselves triggered in the aftermath by ordinary events.
Several state governments have announced compensation for the victims. But for these families, no compensation package can restore normalcy. As Pallavi Rao states: “How can any amount of money be compensation for the killing of my partner?”
Photographs by Safeena Wani.
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