THE picturesque town of Pahalgam, once fondly dubbed the ‘Switzerland of India,’ now bears the weight of a tragedy that marks a troubling shift in India’s socio-political landscape. The deadly gun attack in this Himalayan resort town, which claimed the lives of at least 26 people, including foreign nationals and a naval officer, is not merely another terror incident. It is a stark symbol of a nation teetering on the brink of entrenched communal conflict.
While militant violence in Kashmir is not new, the recent escalation in both the frequency and nature of these attacks highlights a frightening reality: India is entering a phase of sustained communal polarisation. This attack has not only heightened existing tensions but has also become a catalyst for further narrative-building, on both sides of the religious and ideological divide.
Over the past month, reports have increasingly emerged of the Bharatiya Janata Party-led government’s intensified operations targeting Muslim communities across various parts of India. From demolitions of Muslim-owned properties in Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh to controversial police actions in Delhi and Assam, the communal temperature in India has been rising steadily.
Just days before the Pahalgam attack, prominent Indian political analyst Pratap Bhanu Mehta warned in The Indian Express, ‘We are witnessing a normalisation of exceptional measures, specifically targeted at one community, which, over time, destroys the democratic character of the republic.’
Then came the attack in Pahalgam. According to initial reports by BBC and Reuters, gunmen opened fire on a group of tourists, many of whom were Hindus. Though responsibility was claimed by a little-known group calling itself ‘Kashmir Resistance,’ the narrative quickly shifted in public discourse. Indian media outlets began circulating videos and eyewitness testimonies suggesting that the gunmen had specifically targeted non-Muslims. In a flash, the language of terrorism was communalised.
Rahul Pandita, noted journalist and author of Our Moon Has Blood Clots, took to X (formerly Twitter) to express his alarm: ‘This is not just terrorism. This is a targeted communal killing. Let us not be in denial.’
In response to the attack, Indian prime minister Narendra Modi declared, ‘Those behind this heinous incident will be severely punished. They will not be spared.’ Indian home minister Amit Shah rushed to Srinagar, echoing a strong security-centric response.
But what was perhaps most concerning was how quickly the discourse on the ground devolved into one of collective blame. The attackers were Islamist militants, yes. But soon, a section of public sentiment, fuelled by social media and sensationalist news coverage, began to paint all Muslims with the same brush. Once again, the line between criminal and community was blurred.
This is not just intellectually lazy; it is dangerously incendiary. Equating Islamist militants with all Muslims is a tactic of communal politics, no different from blaming all Hindus for the actions of Hindutva vigilantes. As renowned South Asian historian professor Ayesha Jalal argues, ‘The homogenisation of religious communities, especially in moments of crisis, is the first step toward legitimising mass alienation and violence.’
Indeed, this homogenisation has been a key tool in the rise of majoritarian nationalism. The BJP’s brand of Hindutva politics, while claiming to represent the interests of Hindus, has often marginalised lower-caste Hindus, Dalits and tribal communities. They too are victims, not beneficiaries, of this ideology.
India is now a nation at war with itself. From the northeastern hills, where tribal and indigenous communities are branded as ‘insurgents,’ to Kashmir, where local dissent is labelled as ‘terrorism,’ the state is increasingly using identity as a justification for force.
A recent report by Human Rights Watch observed that ‘communal violence in India is no longer spontaneous but is increasingly incited by deliberate political rhetoric and facilitated by impunity granted to perpetrators.’
The BJP’s Hindutva does not represent the average Hindu. Nor do the Islamist militants of Kashmir speak for the millions of peace-loving Muslims across the subcontinent. This communal narrative serves only the political class and their vested interests. It is designed to divide, distract and destroy.
There are still voices, though increasingly drowned out, who warn of the dangerous road India is travelling. South Asian political commentator Rana Ayyub has written, ‘The greatest danger is not from the mob, but from the silence of the reasonable. The communal fever has infected the drawing rooms of India.’
Political scientist Christophe Jaffrelot, who has extensively documented the rise of Hindu nationalism, notes, ‘India is facing an existential challenge. The secular fabric is being torn apart by those who wish to redefine Indian identity in exclusionary terms.’
In this environment, those who speak of peace, unity and mutual respect are often labelled ‘anti-nationals.’ The space for dissent is shrinking rapidly. Independent journalists are harassed, universities are stifled and even artistic expression is censored under the guise of national interest.
As acclaimed author Arundhati Roy once said, ‘The only thing worth globalising is dissent.’
The question now is: can India reverse this descent into permanent communal strife?
The answer lies not merely in law enforcement or policy reform. There must be a renewed emphasis on civic nationalism, inclusive identity and the rule of law. Education, interfaith dialogues and community-level engagements must be prioritised. Political parties must be held accountable, not rewarded, for inciting hate.
India’s youth, with access to global ideas and digital platforms, have a critical role to play. They must look beyond inherited prejudices and take active ownership of the country’s pluralistic future. Campaigns like Not In My Name and Karwan-e-Mohabbat have shown that resistance is not only possible but necessary.
The tragedy in Pahalgam must not be allowed to become another chapter in a chronicle of hate. Instead, let it be a turning point, a moment of collective reckoning.
As the late Indian writer Khushwant Singh once said, ‘We are a people who forget history too easily. And those who forget are doomed to relive its darkest chapters.’
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HM Nazmul Alam is a lecturer in English and Modern Languages at the International University of Business, Agriculture and Technology.
