Between Silence and Shells: Life on the Edge in Kashmir's Border Villages
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"I thought I would die holding my grandchildren that night," says 58-year-old Parveen Akhtar, pointing to the charred patch of land next to her home in Uri. "We were all asleep when the house started shaking like an earthquake. The blast was so loud I felt it tear through my chest. My grandchildren screamed, the windows exploded, and a piece of the roof fell. We crawled under a table and held each other. I prayed harder than I've ever prayed. We live hard lives here, but this kind of fear it's not something the heart forgets."
That terrifying night in the border village of Uri shattered more than glass. It shattered the fragile calm families had clung to. The mortar shell echoed the brutal violence that followed the deadly militant attack in Pahalgam. On April 22, 2025, a group of militants ambushed a tourist group near the popular tourist destination of Pahalgam, killing 26 people and injuring many others. The attack, which specifically targeted tourists, was seen by many as an attempt to stir up communal tensions. The militants reportedly singled out people based on their religion, further igniting fears across the region.
In retaliation, India launched 'Operation Sindoor', a series of aerial strikes targeting militant camps across the border. The Indian airstrikes were meant to dismantle the militants' network and send a strong message of deterrence. Pakistan responded with shelling along the Line of Control (LoC), particularly hitting civilian areas in Uri, Rajouri, and Poonch, pushing the region back into an old, painful cycle of violence. The consequences were devastating, innocent lives lost, homes destroyed, and an entire population living in constant fear.
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"My son flinches at every sound now a door bang, a car horn. He thinks it's another shell," says Abdul Rashid, a schoolteacher in Salamabad. "That night, he saw blood on our cow, glass stuck in a neighbor's leg. He hasn't gone out after sunset since. He asks me if the soldiers are coming to save us, and I don't know what to say. I teach him about history in school, but now we are the history - the kind filled with fear, loss, and things no child should witness."
The impact of the violence is devastating for families like Abdul's. The sound of war now punctuates daily life. The innocuous noises of everyday life like a door closing, or a car horn have become triggers for terror. Children who once played in the open are now confined to their homes, hiding from the violence that has upended their worlds. The psychological scars are just as deep as the physical ones.
"I can still hear her scream," whispers Zahida Begum in Rajouri's Nowshera, remembering the moment her daughter's school was hit. "I ran barefoot, tripping over stones, crying. The building was cracked. Smoke everywhere. I found her shaking in a corner. Since then, she won't go back. She clings to me like a baby, even in her sleep. And I lie to her I tell her we're safe, that it won't happen again. But inside, I'm just as broken. I'm a mother who can't promise her child safety."
Zahida's story is another heart-wrenching example of the toll war takes on families. Her daughter's school was struck by a shell, leaving the building cracked and the classrooms filled with dust. The emotional aftermath has been just as devastating as the physical destruction. Zahida's daughter, once a carefree child, now tremble...
To support its work, subscribe to the monthly Byline Times print edition, packed with exclusive investigations, news, and analysis.
Help us build the better media Britain deserves
"I thought I would die holding my grandchildren that night," says 58-year-old Parveen Akhtar, pointing to the charred patch of land next to her home in Uri. "We were all asleep when the house started shaking like an earthquake. The blast was so loud I felt it tear through my chest. My grandchildren screamed, the windows exploded, and a piece of the roof fell. We crawled under a table and held each other. I prayed harder than I've ever prayed. We live hard lives here, but this kind of fear it's not something the heart forgets."
That terrifying night in the border village of Uri shattered more than glass. It shattered the fragile calm families had clung to. The mortar shell echoed the brutal violence that followed the deadly militant attack in Pahalgam. On April 22, 2025, a group of militants ambushed a tourist group near the popular tourist destination of Pahalgam, killing 26 people and injuring many others. The attack, which specifically targeted tourists, was seen by many as an attempt to stir up communal tensions. The militants reportedly singled out people based on their religion, further igniting fears across the region.
In retaliation, India launched 'Operation Sindoor', a series of aerial strikes targeting militant camps across the border. The Indian airstrikes were meant to dismantle the militants' network and send a strong message of deterrence. Pakistan responded with shelling along the Line of Control (LoC), particularly hitting civilian areas in Uri, Rajouri, and Poonch, pushing the region back into an old, painful cycle of violence. The consequences were devastating, innocent lives lost, homes destroyed, and an entire population living in constant fear.
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"My son flinches at every sound now a door bang, a car horn. He thinks it's another shell," says Abdul Rashid, a schoolteacher in Salamabad. "That night, he saw blood on our cow, glass stuck in a neighbor's leg. He hasn't gone out after sunset since. He asks me if the soldiers are coming to save us, and I don't know what to say. I teach him about history in school, but now we are the history - the kind filled with fear, loss, and things no child should witness."
The impact of the violence is devastating for families like Abdul's. The sound of war now punctuates daily life. The innocuous noises of everyday life like a door closing, or a car horn have become triggers for terror. Children who once played in the open are now confined to their homes, hiding from the violence that has upended their worlds. The psychological scars are just as deep as the physical ones.
"I can still hear her scream," whispers Zahida Begum in Rajouri's Nowshera, remembering the moment her daughter's school was hit. "I ran barefoot, tripping over stones, crying. The building was cracked. Smoke everywhere. I found her shaking in a corner. Since then, she won't go back. She clings to me like a baby, even in her sleep. And I lie to her I tell her we're safe, that it won't happen again. But inside, I'm just as broken. I'm a mother who can't promise her child safety."
Zahida's story is another heart-wrenching example of the toll war takes on families. Her daughter's school was struck by a shell, leaving the building cracked and the classrooms filled with dust. The emotional aftermath has been just as devastating as the physical destruction. Zahida's daughter, once a carefree child, now tremble...
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