In Chakothi Bazaar, just 58 kilometres from Muzaffarabad and directly overlooked by Indian military posts across the LoC, shopkeeper Shabbir Abbasi, 58, opens his grocery store each morning as he has always done — even after April 22, when around 26 tourists were reportedly gunned down in Pahalgam in Indian-occupied Kashmir, igniting yet another round of diplomatic and military escalations.
Not surprisingly, India blamed Pakistani militants for the attack without offering any evidence — a charge that Pakistan categorically denied, calling instead for an impartial international investigation. The fallout was swift: diplomatic staff were expelled, visa services suspended, and airspace closed by both sides.
Late Tuesday night, Pakistan’s federal information minister warned that India could launch a military strike within 24 to 36 hours based on “baseless and concocted” allegations related to the Pahalgam incident.
Yet, while concern rises in urban centres, border communities like Chakothi are largely unflappable.
This is in sharp contrast to the past, when fear would grip border residents at the slightest sign of escalation. Stress, anxiety, and prayers for peace would dominate their lives — a far cry from the calm, almost defiant, 'who cares' attitude prevailing today.
“This isn’t new for us,” says Abbasi. “We’ve lived through decades of unprovoked Indian aggression. We have buried our dead and rebuilt our homes. We’re not running anywhere.”
Prior to November 2003, when Indian and Pakistani troops signed a landmark ceasefire agreement, most areas along the heavily militarised LoC — Chakothi among them — witnessed frequent deaths and destruction from shelling exchanges.
In one fierce episode of shelling in 2000, Abbasi lost his wife while she was busy with household chores.
“I’ve seen the worst. We’ve passed the stage of fear. If there’s another attack, they’ll have to cross our dead bodies first.”
Asim Bashir, a teacher at Captain Sarwar Shaheed Boys High School in Chakothi — where children were once killed and injured by Indian shelling — also highlights the stoicism among locals.
“People are not scared. In fact, they’re relaxed,” he notes.
Since Thursday night, shelling has been reported mainly in the nearby Leepa Valley. Still, academic activities have continued uninterrupted. Government and private schools remain open, with both students and teachers in regular attendance.
On Wednesday, Chakothi’s high school held an event to honour martyrs of the Pakistan Army and the Kashmir freedom movement — with full participation.
“To be honest, nobody is afraid,” Bashir says. “But when you are dealing with a country that can kill its own citizens for political mileage, you must take precautions. Some residents have dusted off old bunkers, but otherwise, life is absolutely normal. Shops and schools are open.”
Similar calm prevails in Kotli district. In several villages of tehsil Khuiratta which have faced extensive shelling in past flare-ups, life continues as usual.
“There is neither panic nor anxiety. People are going about their day. Morale is high. Most say that if war is imposed, they will resist with courage,” says Revenue Department official Anwar Shaheen.
In Lanjot village, social activist Shaukat Awan shares a similar perspective.
“Cricket matches and wedding celebrations continue even after the Pahalgam attack,” he says.
Lanjot is the same village where, in February 2000, 14 civilians were killed overnight in a massacre blamed on Indian commandos.
Poonch district paints the same picture.
Although on Wednesday some scheduled banks asked branches near the LoC to move ATM cash to head offices, only a small fraction of people felt alarmed, according to Mandhol resident Najeeb Sardar.
“Some elderly people seem uneasy due to Indian media’s war hysteria, but most remain steadfast,” he remarks. “Residents here have grown up amid the roar of guns. They’ve never deserted their land — and won’t now.”
Even more surprising is the atmosphere in Neelum Valley, a popular tourist destination northeast of Muzaffarabad, which has seen investment of millions of rupees in tourism and hospitality after the 2003 ceasefire.
Most parts of the valley lie exposed to Indian artillery, and some remain vulnerable even to small arms fire from across the divide.
“Until Tuesday, tourist arrivals hadn’t slowed,” says Deputy Commissioner Nadeem Ahmed Janjua. “But after the federal minister’s late-night warning, about 70 percent have left. The rest are still here.”
Keran is one of the most visited spots in the valley, where guesthouses dot the main artery, some along the roaring Neelum River that serves as LoC here.
Of late, the Indian army has also developed their side of Keran into a tourist site, facilitating visits by Indian citizens.
“Previously, people would wave across the river. Now, after the Pahalgam incident, Indian tourists are barred from visiting, and their side looks deserted,” Janjua notes.
“There is no sign of gloom or fear on people’s faces here. Life continues as normal. People are farming, tending livestock, running shops, and attending schools. Sports are ongoing too,” he adds.
Federal Minister for Kashmir affairs Amir Muqam also arrived in Keran on Tuesday and stayed there overnight.
On Wednesday, he spent more than hour in Keran where a volleyball tournament continued as per schedule. The minister then headed to Sharda, where he addressed a rally, attended by a large number of PML-N workers.
By and large, the people of the valley — like others along the LoC — also remain unfazed.
Shahnaz Abdullah, a health worker from Katha Chogalli village, summed up the prevailing sentiment.
“We have long borne the brunt of India’s jingoism. We are ready to face any situation — to kill and to be killed.”
Tariq Naqash
