The serene Baisaran meadow in Pahalgam, Jammu and Kashmir, known as “Mini Switzerland” for its breathtaking vistas, became a killing field on April 22, 2025. In a meticulously planned assault, 3–6 terrorists, armed with AK-47s and M4 carbines, gunned down 26 people, mostly Hindu tourists, in what was the deadliest attack on civilians in Kashmir since the 2008 Mumbai carnage. The Resistance Front (TRF), a proxy of Pakistan-based Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT), claimed responsibility, with LeT commander Saifullah Kasuri identified as the mastermind. The attackers, some Pakistani nationals, infiltrated through porous borders and struck a tourist haven left shockingly unprotected. This was no random act of violence—it was a calculated humiliation of India’s security apparatus, exposing a catastrophic failure of intelligence and coordination. Yet, as the nation mourns and retaliates, a critical question lingers in the shadows: Why are we not dissecting the systemic lapses that allowed this massacre to happen, and why is the conversation about accountability so eerily absent?
The signs were there, but they were ignored. Intelligence agencies, including the Intelligence Bureau and Research & Analysis Wing, had picked up chatter about militant activity in the region, with reports of a Pakistan-based terrorist’s suggestive remarks days before the attack. Reconnaissance by terrorists in Pahalgam went unnoticed or unaddressed. Former Army Chief General Shankar Roychowdhury didn’t mince words, calling the attack a clear “intelligence failure” and demanding accountability at the highest levels. Yet, no heads have rolled, and no public inquiry has been launched. The failure to act on these cues wasn’t just a missed opportunity—it was a betrayal of the tourists who flocked to Pahalgam, trusting in the safety promised by a government that has long touted normalcy in Kashmir.
Pahalgam, a jewel on the Amarnath Yatra pilgrimage route, should have been a fortress of security, especially during peak tourist season. Instead, Baisaran meadow, accessible only by foot or pony and surrounded by dense forests, was left unguarded. The local administration’s decision to open this area without coordinating with the Army or Central Reserve Police Force was a reckless oversight, acknowledged by the government itself during an all-party meeting on April 24. The terrorists, exploiting the absence of security forces, wore helmet-mounted cameras to record their slaughter, a chilling detail that underscores their audacity and the ease with which they operated. Preliminary probes revealed they chose Baisaran precisely because it was a soft target, where slow rescue operations would amplify casualties.
The border, too, remains a sieve. The attackers likely crossed from Pakistan through rugged terrain in Kishtwar or Kokernag, evading India’s 1.45 million-strong military, 265,000 Border Security Force personnel, and advanced surveillance systems. Despite drones, CCTV, and fencing, infiltration persists, a problem compounded by local networks providing logistical support. The timing of the attack, coinciding with US Vice President JD Vance’s visit to India, suggests a deliberate attempt to embarrass New Delhi on a global stage. Yet, no heightened alert was issued for tourist areas, even after Pakistan’s Army Chief General Asim Munir’s provocative April 16 statement calling Kashmir Pakistan’s “jugular vein.”
Coordination between agencies was abysmal. Intelligence was shared but not acted upon swiftly, with security focus diverted by high-profile visits and Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s trip to Saudi Arabia. The TRF, though a known LeT offshoot since 2019, was underestimated. Its use of military-grade weapons, encrypted apps, and external handlers trained by Pakistani operatives points to a sophistication that India’s counter-terrorism systems failed to anticipate. As strategic affairs expert Brahma Chellaney noted, the systematic targeting of civilians raises “fundamental questions about our security.” AIMIM leader Asaduddin Owaisi went further, slamming the Modi government for an intelligence failure that cost innocent lives.
So why the silence on these lapses? The government has masterfully shifted the narrative, framing the attack as a Pakistan-sponsored act and rolling out retaliatory measures: suspending the Indus Waters Treaty, closing the Attari-Wagah border, expelling Pakistani diplomats, and revoking visas for Pakistani nationals by April 27. Modi’s vow to hunt terrorists “to the ends of the Earth” and Home Minister Amit Shah’s dash to Srinagar dominate headlines, drowning out calls for introspection. The media, too, has played along, focusing on heart-wrenching stories of victims—like pony operator Syed Adil Hussain Shah, who died protecting tourists—or the emotional repatriation of bodies to states like Maharashtra and Thane. These stories matter, but they’ve eclipsed critical scrutiny of systemic failures. Outlets like India Today and The Hindu have raised questions about intelligence lapses and local authorities’ recklessness, but these are fleeting mentions in a sea of patriotic fervor.
Public fatigue also plays a role. The Kashmir conflict, a festering wound since the 1980s, has desensitized many Indians to its violence. The attack’s communal undertones—targeting Hindu tourists—feed into a polarized narrative that’s easier to exploit than the messy reality of intelligence and governance failures. Tourism, a lifeline for Kashmir’s economy, adds another layer of reluctance. The government’s push to project normalcy post-Article 370 abrogation in 2019 spurred flocks of visitors, but as defense analyst Pravin Sawhney argues, this declaration of peace was premature, leaving areas like Pahalgam exposed. The opposition, including Congress and Shiv Sena’s Sanjay Raut, has demanded Shah’s resignation and pointed fingers at Modi, but their voices are dismissed as political posturing in a climate where unity against Pakistan takes precedence.
This silence is dangerous. Without a reckoning—be it a public inquiry, resignations, or structural reforms—India risks repeating these failures. The Pahalgam attack wasn’t just a Pakistani plot; it was a mirror reflecting our own vulnerabilities. The government’s swift retaliation may satisfy national pride, but it doesn’t address why 26 lives were lost in a meadow that should have been safe. As candlelight vigils light up Srinagar and protests demand justice, we must ask: Where is the accountability for those entrusted with our security? Until we confront these failures head-on, the ghosts of Pahalgam will haunt us, a stark reminder that bravado alone cannot protect a nation.