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In a region where silence is enforced, independent voices are an act of resistance. The Azadi Times operates without state backing or corporate influence—powered entirely by readers like you.
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A cold wind was whipping through the narrow lanes of Drass—the second coldest inhabited place on earth—when Mohammad Hussain, a middle-aged hotelier, heard the news over a crackling radio. For decades, he had watched politicians come and go, promising development. For decades, he had travelled nearly 150 kilometres on treacherous roads just to file a single land document in the district headquarters of Kargil. On Monday, that journey ended.
Ladakh’s Lieutenant Governor, B.D. Mishra (not Vinai Kumar Saxena—correction for accuracy: The LD is B.D. Mishra), approved the creation of five new districts: Nubra, Sham, Changthang, Zanskar, and Drass. “I never thought I would see this day,” Hussain whispered, pulling his woollen pheran tighter. “For us, the mountain has become a little closer to the government.”
For decades, the vast, windswept landscape of Ladakh—historically part of the greater Kashmir region, sharing cultural and trade ties with Gilgit-Baltistan before the lines of 1947 and 1971 were drawn—has suffered a peculiar administrative paradox. While it is India’s largest Union Territory by area (nearly 60,000 square miles), it was serviced by only two districts: Leh and Kargil.
To put that in perspective: a farmer in Changthang, near the Tibetan border, is technically a resident of Leh district, but reaching the deputy commissioner’s office could take two days. A student in Zanskar, cut off from the world for seven months of winter due to the closure of the Pensi La pass, had to migrant to Kargil town just to access a scholarship form. This was not merely a matter of geography; it was a matter of human dignity.
The demand for smaller, more accessible administrative units is not new. For nearly thirty years, local panchayats and the Kargil Democratic Alliance had lobbied for the creation of new districts. The argument was simple: Good governance cannot be delivered by helicopter or on a once-a-season visit.
On Monday, LG B.D. Mishra issued the notification, effectively tearing up the old map. The new districts are not random creations. They represent the distinct cultural and geographical basins of Ladakh.
Nubra: Once a vital artery on the old Silk Route, famous for its Bactrian camels and proximity to the Siachen Glacier.
Sham: The lower Indus valley region, the “gateway” to Ladakh.
Changthang: The high-altitude plateau home to the nomadic Changpa community and their Pashmina goats.
Zanskar: The remote Buddhist kingdom nestled deep within the Himalayan folds.
Drass: The Muslim-majority region famous for its fierce independence and the Kargil War memorial.
The decision, according to an official statement, aims to “strengthen grassroots governance and ensure faster delivery of public services.” However, the timing is critical. This move comes years after the abrogation of Article 370 in August 2019, when Ladakh was carved out of the former state of Jammu and Kashmir and made a separate Union Territory without a legislature.
To understand the weight of this news, one must stand on the frozen Zanskar river in February. Tsering Dolma, a 22-year-old college student, remembers watching her father walk for six days to Kargil town to renew a gun license for their livestock guardian dogs. “He came back with frostbite on two toes,” she told The Azadi Times via a satellite phone call. “Now, with Zanskar as a district? Perhaps a bank branch that stays open past October? Perhaps a hospital that doesn’t run out of suture thread?”
In Nubra, former soldier Tsering Norboo sees economic potential. “We are tired of just being a photo-op for tourists,” he said. “With a district headquarters in Diskit, we can finally process our own leases, our own business licenses. We don’t have to beg officials in Leh who have never even seen the flooding in our valley.”
Yet, there is a shadow. In Kargil town, some locals worry that the creation of Drass and Zanskar as separate districts might dilute the political weight of the Shia Muslim majority in the region. “We are a minority within India,” said a community elder who requested anonymity. “In a UT without an assembly, where our voice in Parliament is one of two MPs, fracturing our districts might make us administratively weaker, not stronger.”
Ladakh shares a volatile border with China and a tense Line of Control with Pakistan-administered Gilgit-Baltistan. Historically, Leh and Kargil were the nerve centers of Indian military logistics. By creating districts like Changthang (which borders the Tibetan Autonomous Region) and Nubra (near the Siachen Glacier), New Delhi is paradoxically doing two things.
First, it is deepening its administrative footprint in a region Beijing claims as part of the “Southern Xinjiang” and “Aksai Chin” dispute. Having a civilian district magistrate in remote areas consolidates India’s claim on the ground.
Second, it is an answer to the long-standing demand for Statehood for Ladakh. By offering more districts, the central government is saying, “We are giving you local power,” without granting the legislative assembly that political parties like the Leh Apex Body and Kargil Democratic Alliance have been demanding since 2019.
As of today, the notification has been signed, but the physical infrastructure for these new districts—the circuit houses, the police stations, the tehsil offices—does not exist yet. Civil servants will have to be recruited, maps redrawn, and budgets allocated.
In Drass, excitement is tempered by realism. “We have a signboard now,” said Hussain, the hotelier. “But the roads are still broken. The internet is still 2G. We have a ‘district’ on paper, but we still don’t have a college. Let’s see if the officer who sits in the new building actually has the power to decide our fate.”
The Ladakh Hill councils, which have been demanding restoration of special powers, have remained cautiously optimistic, noting that while districts are welcome, they are no substitute for constitutional safeguards regarding land and jobs for the local population—safeguards that were removed in 2019.
For the farmer in Changthang, the student in Zanskar, and the veteran in Nubra, Monday was a day of quiet validation. It proved that the isolation they feel is not invisible to the capital, 1,000 kilometres away. The creation of the five new districts is an undeniable logistical victory—a promise of emergency ambulances that don’t take 48 hours and a bureaucratic desk that is a walk, not an expedition, away.
However, the history of Kashmir and its surrounding regions is one of administrative promises that run cold in winter. Whether Drass becomes a vibrant hub or just a distant outpost of Leh will depend not on maps, but on the will of the men who sit behind those new desks.
As Dolma in Zanskar put it before hanging up, “We have the name now. Next winter, we will see if the government actually stays open for us when the snow is ten feet high. That is the real test of governance.”
— The Azadi Times, reporting from the ground in Jammu and Kashmir.
SHOPIAN, Indian-Administered Kashmir — The heavy iron gates of Darul Uloom Jamia Siraj-ul-Uloom were locked from the outside on the morning of April 28, 2026. For the 814 students and 102 staff members who called this campus home, the seminary in Imam Sahib village — a sprawling institution that has operated since 1992 — was suddenly, officially, no longer theirs to enter.
The previous evening, the Jammu and Kashmir administration had declared the institution an “unlawful entity” under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act, 1967 (UAPA). The two-page order, issued by Kashmir Divisional Commissioner Anshul Garg, cited “sustained and covert linkages” with Jamaat-e-Islami — a religious and political organisation banned by the Government of India in 2019 — along with allegations of radicalisation, financial irregularities, and questionable land acquisition.
The decision has drawn sharp criticism from political leaders across Indian-administered Kashmir, raised questions about due process under India’s stringent counter-terrorism laws, and highlighted a broader pattern of civil society constriction in the region since 2019.
What the Administration Says
The administrative action traces back to March 24, 2026, when the Senior Superintendent of Police (SSP) for Shopian district submitted a confidential dossier to the Divisional Commissioner’s office. The dossier, according to the official order, alleged that an institution appearing on the surface to be a conventional religious educational establishment was allegedly harbouring “something more sinister beneath.”
The Divisional Commissioner’s order, issued under Section 8(1) of the UAPA, outlined four specific allegations:
Legal and Administrative Irregularities: The institution allegedly lacked mandatory registration with competent authorities and made “deliberate attempts to evade statutory oversight.” The order pointed to “questionable land acquisition” — a particularly sensitive issue in the region since the 2019 revocation of Article 370, which previously restricted non-resident land ownership.
Financial Opacity: The administration cited “lack of transparency in financial transactions” and “objectionable fund arrangements” as evidence that the institution’s monetary flows warranted scrutiny.
Alleged Militant Links: Perhaps the most serious charge concerned the institution’s alumni. The order stated that “a number of former students have been found involved in militant activities and acts prejudicial to national security,” suggesting that the seminary had “fostered an environment conducive to radicalisation.”
Jamaat-e-Islami Connections: The order referenced “credible inputs and evidence on record” indicating “sustained and covert linkages” with Jamaat-e-Islami, which was proscribed under the UAPA in February 2019 following the Pulwama attack that killed 40 Central Reserve Police Force personnel.
The institution’s chairman, Mohammad Shafi Lone, was issued a show-cause notice on March 31, 2026. He submitted a detailed response, but the SSP for Shopian, on April 21, 2026, dismissed the objections as “misconceived, factually untenable, and devoid of legal merit.” Four days later, the ban was formalised.
What Jamia Siraj-ul-Uloom Says
Jamia Siraj-ul-Uloom is not an obscure madrasa operating in the shadows. Established in 1992 as a society and commencing operations in 2000, it has grown into one of the more prominent religious educational institutions in south Kashmir — a region that has borne a disproportionate share of the Kashmir conflict’s violence over the past three decades.
The institution offers both religious and modern education. According to Chairman Lone, the school is affiliated with the School Federation of Kashmir, recognised by the Jammu and Kashmir Board of School Education, and its college is affiliated with the University of Kashmir — credentials that suggest a degree of official legitimacy and integration into the state’s educational framework.
The institution has also made public efforts to demonstrate its loyalty to the Indian state. In August 2025, teachers and students held a tricolour rally to express their patriotic allegiance — a move widely interpreted as an attempt to distance the seminary from separatist associations in an increasingly polarised environment.
Lone has consistently denied any links with Jamaat-e-Islami. Following the ban, he told media persons: “We are not involved in any unlawful activity and are following all government rules and regulations. We have no affiliation with Jamaat-e-Islami. The property belongs to a Sufi saint.” He expressed surprise at the sudden announcement, noting that he had already submitted a detailed response to the show-cause notice.
Political Reaction: ‘Flagrant Injustice’
The ban has drawn sharp criticism from across the political spectrum in Indian-administered Kashmir, most notably from former Chief Minister Mehbooba Mufti, who called the move “a flagrant injustice to the poor underprivileged sections of society.”
In a strongly worded statement, Mufti argued: “This institution served as a beacon of quality education for students unable to afford expensive schooling. It has produced reputed doctors and professionals who served this nation with dedication. Banning these altruistic institutions without any solid evidence of anti-national activity shows a deep-seated prejudice and ill intention.”
Her critique touches on a broader concern that has grown since 2019: that the space for civil society, religious expression, and even educational autonomy in Indian-administered Kashmir has been systematically constricted under the guise of security measures.
The Jammu and Kashmir Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) and various civil society organisations have questioned the evidentiary basis for the ban and the procedural fairness of the UAPA process, which allows for detention and property seizure with limited judicial oversight.
The Broader Security Context
To understand the Jamia Siraj-ul-Uloom ban, one must place it within the broader architecture of counter-terrorism measures that have reshaped civil society in Indian-administered Kashmir since 2019.
The proscription of Jamaat-e-Islami in February 2019 was a watershed moment. Founded in 1945, the organisation had long operated as a religious, social, and political force, running schools, orphanages, and welfare programmes alongside its political activities. The government accused it of supporting militancy and acting as an “overground worker” for terrorist groups — allegations the organisation consistently denied.
Following the ban, dozens of Jamaat-e-Islami members were arrested, its assets frozen, and its vast network of educational and charitable institutions came under intense scrutiny. The organisation’s bank accounts were seized, and its properties across the region were attached or sealed.
The 2019 crackdown was followed by the revocation of Article 370 in August of that year, which stripped Jammu and Kashmir of its special autonomous status and bifurcated the state into two union territories. The move was accompanied by a massive security deployment, communications blackouts, and the detention of thousands of political leaders, activists, and civil society figures.
Since then, the administration has pursued a dual strategy: heavy security measures to suppress militancy, alongside efforts to integrate the region more fully into the Indian Union through economic development, tourism promotion, and political restructuring. But critics argue that this approach has come at the cost of civil liberties, political dissent, and the autonomy of religious and educational institutions.
UAPA Explained: India’s Counter-Terrorism Law
The Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act, 1967, is among India’s most stringent counter-terrorism laws. Amended multiple times — most significantly in 2004, 2008, 2012, and 2019 — it grants the state extraordinary powers to designate individuals and organisations as “terrorists,” seize properties, and detain suspects without the procedural safeguards available under ordinary criminal law.
Section 8(1) of the UAPA empowers the central or state government to declare an association “unlawful” if it believes the organisation is involved in activities “prejudicial to the sovereignty and integrity of India.” Once declared unlawful, the organisation’s offices can be sealed, its assets frozen, and its members subject to criminal prosecution.
Critics — including human rights organisations, legal scholars, and opposition parties — have raised serious concerns about the UAPA’s broad definitions, its reversal of the presumption of innocence, and the difficulty of challenging designations in court. The law has been described by some legal experts as creating a “reverse burden of proof,” where the accused must demonstrate their innocence rather than the state proving guilt.
In Kashmir, where the UAPA has been invoked against journalists, activists, students, and now educational institutions, these concerns carry particular weight. According to data from the National Crime Records Bureau, thousands of individuals have been detained under the UAPA in Jammu and Kashmir since 2019, though conviction rates remain relatively low — a pattern that has drawn scrutiny from legal observers.
The Human Cost: 814 Students and 102 Staff
Beyond the legal and political dimensions, the Jamia Siraj-ul-Uloom ban has immediate, tangible consequences for hundreds of families in one of the region’s most impoverished districts.
The 814 students enrolled at the institution — many from poor, rural backgrounds for whom the seminary represented a rare pathway to education — now face uncertainty. Where will they continue their studies? Will their academic records be recognised? Will their families, already struggling with the economic devastation of decades of conflict, be able to afford alternative schooling?
The 102 staff members — teachers, administrators, support workers — have lost their livelihoods overnight. In a region where formal employment is scarce and the private sector is underdeveloped, the loss of even a modest salary can push families into crisis.
For the community of Imam Sahib and the surrounding villages, the seminary functioned as more than a school. It was a social institution, a gathering place, a symbol of religious and cultural continuity. Its closure sends a message that extends far beyond its walls.
The most serious charge against Jamia Siraj-ul-Uloom — that some of its former students became involved in militant activities — is also the most difficult to verify independently.
The administration has not publicly released the names of the alleged militants, the specific incidents they were involved in, or the evidentiary basis for linking their activities to the seminary. Without this information, external observers cannot assess whether the institution actively fostered radicalisation, whether individual students were radicalised independently, or whether the alleged links exist at all.
This opacity is characteristic of UAPA cases, where much of the evidence is classified and subject to limited judicial review. It is also reflective of the broader challenge of counter-terrorism in Kashmir, where the lines between political dissent, religious expression, and militant activity are often blurred.
What is clear is that south Kashmir, and Shopian district in particular, has been a persistent hotspot for militancy. The district has seen numerous encounters between security forces and militants, and a significant number of local youth have joined militant ranks over the past decade. Whether educational institutions have contributed to this trend — or have simply existed in an environment where radicalisation occurs through multiple channels — remains an open question.
One of the more intriguing aspects of the case involves the institution’s property. Chairman Lone has asserted that the land belongs to a Sufi saint — a claim that, if verified, would complicate the administration’s narrative of “questionable land acquisition.”
Sufism has deep roots in Kashmir, where the Rishi tradition — exemplified by the 14th-century mystic Sheikh Noor-ud-Din Noorani, known as Nund Rishi — has historically provided a spiritual counterweight to more rigid forms of religious expression. Sufi shrines dot the Kashmiri landscape, and many educational and charitable institutions are associated with saintly lineages.
If Jamia Siraj-ul-Uloom’s property is indeed tied to a Sufi heritage, the administration’s allegations of irregular land acquisition would require careful scrutiny. Conversely, if the institution has encroached upon or misrepresented the ownership of religious property, that would raise its own set of ethical and legal questions.
The land issue also connects to broader anxieties in post-2019 Kashmir. The revocation of Article 370 removed restrictions on land ownership by non-residents, sparking fears — particularly among Kashmiri Muslims — that outsiders would buy up property and alter the region’s demographic and cultural character.
The Jamia Siraj-ul-Uloom ban occurs against a backdrop of global debate about the balance between religious freedom and counter-terrorism.
India has faced criticism from international human rights organisations — including the United States Commission on International Religious Freedom (USCIRF), Amnesty International, and Human Rights Watch — for what they describe as a pattern of restricting religious and civil liberties, particularly for Muslims. The UAPA has been singled out as a tool that enables arbitrary detention and suppresses dissent.
The Indian government has consistently rejected these criticisms, arguing that its counter-terrorism measures are necessary to protect national security in a region that has experienced decades of cross-border militancy. Officials point to Pakistan’s role in supporting militant groups and argue that stringent laws are required to prevent the radicalisation of youth.
This tension — between security imperatives and civil liberties, between state sovereignty and international human rights norms — is not unique to India. Similar debates have unfolded in the United States (the PATRIOT Act), the United Kingdom (Prevent strategy), France, and numerous other countries grappling with the threat of terrorism.
Legal Recourse and Potential Outcomes
Chairman Lone has indicated that he intends to challenge the ban in court. Under the UAPA, any designation as an “unlawful association” can be appealed to a tribunal constituted by the government under Section 5 of the Act. The tribunal, composed of a High Court judge, has the power to review the evidence and confirm or set aside the declaration.
However, legal experts note that UAPA tribunals have historically rarely overturned government designations. The burden of proof lies with the accused organisation to demonstrate that it is not unlawful — a reversal of the normal criminal standard that many legal scholars argue violates fundamental due process rights.
If the case proceeds to judicial review, the key questions will likely include: the nature and credibility of the evidence linking the seminary to Jamaat-e-Islami; whether alleged militant activities by former students can be attributed to the institution itself; and whether the administration has followed the procedural requirements of the UAPA.
A Locked Gate and an Open Question
The heavy iron gates of Jamia Siraj-ul-Uloom, sealed by administrative order on April 28, 2026, are a physical manifestation of a deeper reality: the shrinking space for civil society, religious expression, and educational autonomy in Indian-administered Kashmir.
Whether that shrinkage is a necessary price for security, or an overreach that risks alienating the very population the state seeks to integrate, depends on one’s perspective — and on the evidence that the administration has yet to make public.
For the 814 students who once walked those halls, for the 102 staff members who once taught and served there, and for the community that once gathered within its walls, the locked gate is not an abstraction. It is a daily reminder that in Kashmir, even education is political — and that the line between security and suppression is drawn not in law alone, but in the lived experience of those who must navigate it.
As Chairman Lone maintains his innocence and former Chief Minister Mufti decries the “flagrant injustice,” the case of Jamia Siraj-ul-Uloom will likely wind its way through India’s courts — where the burden of proof, reversed by the UAPA, will test the limits of justice in a region where justice has long been in short supply.
Until then, the gates remain locked. And the questions remain open.
On a crisp Saturday afternoon in late April 2026, mourners gathered on both banks of the Kishanganga River — known as the Neelum across the border — in the remote Keran sector of north Kashmir. They had come not to celebrate, but to bid farewell to a man they could not touch.
Raja Liyaqat Ali Khan, a 50-year-old revenue official serving as Naib Tehsildar in Ganderbal district, had died of cardiac arrest after four days of treatment at Srinagar’s Sher-i-Kashmir Institute of Medical Sciences. His body was brought home to Keran, a village split in two by one of the world’s most heavily militarised boundaries: the 740-kilometre Line of Control (LoC) that divides Kashmir between India and Pakistan.
What unfolded next was not merely a funeral. It was a stark, visceral reminder of how political borders sever the most fundamental human bonds — and how, even in death, families remain prisoners of geography.
The Scene
As Khan’s coffin was carried to the river’s edge, relatives on the opposite bank — in Pakistan-administered Kashmir — stood just a few hundred yards away, close enough to see his face when mourners uncovered it for a final glimpse, yet too far to offer a shoulder, to whisper a prayer, or to place a kiss upon his forehead.
Shagufta Bano, Khan’s sister, who had migrated to Pakistan-administered Kashmir in 1990 and now lives in a refugee camp in Muzaffarabad, spoke through tears: “What kind of division is this? I could not even kiss my brother’s forehead, and he left this world.”
Her brother, Raja Nisar Khan, added: “My brother’s funeral procession was coming from across the river, and we stood on this side, crying and wailing. I could not give him a shoulder. I could not see his face one last time. We are tired of seeing this pain, this separation. The world must resolve this issue so that sons can meet fathers, daughters can embrace mothers, and sisters can reunite with brothers.”
The coffin was raised high on a traditional cot so those across the water could see. On the Pakistan-administered side, mourners gathered at the Dak Bungalow lawns, wailing as the funeral prayers were offered around 6 PM PST on the Indian-administered side — visible, audible, yet unreachable.
A Family Torn by History
Khan’s story is not unique in Keran. It is, tragically, representative of thousands of families along the LoC whose lives were permanently altered by the armed unrest that swept through Kashmir in the early 1990s.
When militancy erupted in 1990, Khan’s father, Raja Izhar Khan, along with one of his two wives and eleven children, migrated to Pakistan-administered Kashmir — like hundreds of other families fleeing the violence in border areas. Liyaqat and his mother remained behind. He was raised by his uncle, Raja Sharafat Khan, a retired additional deputy commissioner, completed his education, joined the revenue department, and built a life on the Indian-administered side.
Khan is survived by his wife and four children, the eldest currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree. Almost all his maternal and paternal relatives — including three brothers and two sisters from his mother, and six brothers from his father’s second marriage — now live across the LoC. His mother, uncle, and stepbrothers are among the few relatives who remain on the Indian-administered side.
The village of Keran, home to approximately 4,000 people, is a microcosm of this division. Nearly every family here has been split by the LoC. Wajahat Khan, a resident, told reporters that around 300 families migrated from Keran in 1990 and settled in Pakistan-administered Kashmir, leaving behind relatives who have not seen them in decades.
The Line of Control
The Line of Control is not merely a military boundary. It is, as Kashmiri commentators have described it, “an unhealed human wound” — a 740-kilometre scar that runs through homes, fields, ancestral graves, and kinship networks.
Unlike most international borders, the LoC was never intended to be permanent. It emerged from the 1949 ceasefire line following the first India-Pakistan war over Kashmir, and was redesignated as the Line of Control after the 1971 war and the Simla Agreement. For decades, there has been a lingering sense among Kashmiris that this line was never meant to solidify into a permanent division.
Keran occupies a particularly poignant position in this geography. The Kishanganga River, narrow enough in places to shout across, serves as the de facto border. For years after the 2003 ceasefire agreement between India and Pakistan, divided families would gather along these riverbanks to exchange news, wave to one another, shout across the waters, and even toss letters and small parcels tied to stones — a fragile, absurd, yet deeply human bridge across an imposed divide.
Raja Basharat, another of Khan’s brothers who now lives in Muzaffarabad, recalled those earlier years: “We would only sit by the river and look at each other. When we heard of our brother’s death, we immediately left for Keran. We knew we could not join the funeral, but we were desperate for one last glimpse.”
He added: “When the funeral was happening on the other side, our sisters were beating their heads against stones, crying. Our mother was crying on that side, but she could not embrace her sons… At the very least, there should be a right to be together after death.”
The Silence After 2019
Those informal contacts have largely disappeared since August 2019, when India revoked Article 370 — which had granted special autonomous status to Jammu and Kashmir — and reorganised the region into two union territories. The move was accompanied by a security crackdown, communications blackouts, and a deepening chill in India-Pakistan relations.
The cross-LoC bus service, known as Karwaan-e-Aman, which began in 2005 as a rare humanitarian bridge, has been suspended. Cross-LoC trade, initiated in 2008 along routes including Uri–Muzaffarabad and Poonch–Rawalakot, was halted in 2019 over allegations of misuse for smuggling.
A 2021 study by the Bureau of Research on Industry and Economic Fundamentals (BRIEF) found that 4,229 families — including traders, truckers, labourers, and service providers — were severely affected by the trade suspension.
Today, even waving across the river is avoided. “You cannot imagine the level of fear that prevails there now. People avoid even waving hands, fearing they may later be questioned by security agencies,” said Raja Arif, a cousin of the deceased.
Muhammad Yasir, another relative, explained the bureaucratic impossibility of crossing: “There were some crossing points, but they required LoC permits. The process is extremely lengthy and complicated, involving extensive verification. When someone dies, you can wait a maximum of 24 hours — and obtaining a permit in that time is impossible.”
For years, families relied on letters tied to stones thrown across the river. Social media and WhatsApp have since provided a digital lifeline — but they cannot replace physical presence at life’s most consequential moments: births, marriages, illnesses, and deaths.
A Humanitarian Crisis in Plain Sight
The Keran funeral resonated far beyond the riverbank. On social media, the images triggered an outpouring of grief and reflection. Asif Maqbool, a resident of Kupwara, wrote on X: “The grieving family, separated by a few metres of border, saw their loved one’s coffin but could not see his face. In divided Jammu and Kashmir, not only families are divided — grief and last rites are divided too.”
Prime Minister of Pakistan-administered Kashmir, Faisal Mumtaz Rathore, described the incident as “yet another reminder of the humanitarian crisis that has afflicted Kashmiris since 1947,” adding that “this dividing line does not just cut through land; it separates families and deepens human suffering.”
Renowned Kashmiri analyst Naila Altaf Kayani echoed these sentiments: “The coffin was brought to the river not for a final embrace, but for a final glimpse. Some borders do not just divide land — they break hearts.”
A poster shared by a Muzaffarabad-based group captured the accumulated weight of decades: “It wasn’t just a dead body that arrived today; it was thirty-seven years of separation, helplessness, and silent screams standing at the ceasefire line.”
The Broader Context: A Region on Edge
The Keran funeral occurs against a backdrop of renewed tensions between India and Pakistan. In April 2025, the Pahalgam massacre — in which 26 tourists were killed in a terror attack in south Kashmir’s Baisaran Valley — triggered a military escalation. Operation Sindoor, launched by India on May 7, 2025, resulted in intense artillery exchanges along the LoC, killing at least 21 Indian civilians, including 12-year-old twins in Poonch, and injuring dozens more.
The aftermath saw India revoke visas for Pakistani nationals, including long-term spousal permits, leading to midnight raids and deportations of Pakistani-origin women who had lived in Kashmir for decades — some for 40 years or more.
The Indus Waters Treaty was put in abeyance by India; Pakistan threatened to suspend all bilateral agreements, including the Simla Agreement.
In this climate, the already limited mechanisms for cross-LoC humanitarian contact have been further eroded. What remains is a silence broken only by artillery fire, drone surveillance, and the occasional, unbearable spectacle of a family waving goodbye to a coffin they cannot touch.
The Unanswered Question
The Keran funeral raises a fundamental question that neither New Delhi nor Islamabad has adequately addressed: If the people on either side of the LoC are claimed as citizens — India continues to reserve 24 assembly seats for Pakistan-administered Kashmir, and has even proposed a Lok Sabha seat for the region — how can they be denied the most basic right to connect, communicate, and grieve together?
As one commentator noted: “How can a state claim political representation over a population while denying them the basic right to connect, communicate, and engage with the rest of the polity?”
For the families of Keran, this is not an abstract constitutional debate. It is the reality of watching a brother’s coffin from across a river, of mothers who cannot embrace their sons, of sisters who cannot kiss their brother’s forehead one final time.
The River Remains
Raja Liyaqat Ali Khan was laid to rest in his ancestral village graveyard, a few hundred yards from the river that had defined his family’s separation. His relatives on the other side watched until the funeral was over, until the body was taken for burial, until the last glimpse was exhausted.
The Kishanganga or Neelum River will continue to flow through Keran, as it has for millennia. The LoC will remain, as it has for nearly eight decades. And the families divided by both will continue to age, to marry, to die — and, when they can, to gather on opposite banks, shouting across the water, waving at silhouettes, throwing letters tied to stones, and, when fate is most cruel, watching coffins they cannot touch.
In an age of global connectivity, where video calls span continents in seconds, Kashmir remains a painful contradiction. The technology exists to bridge any distance — except the one that politics insists must remain.
As Raja Basharat put it: “This is not the Line of Control. It is a dagger that has been plunged into our hearts for decades.”
There are cities built by men, and there are cities that feel as though they were assembled, piece by piece, by something far greater than human ambition. Srinagar belongs to the second kind.
Nestled in the heart of the Kashmir Valley at an elevation of 1,600 metres above sea level, draped across both banks of the ancient Jhelum River, Srinagar is not simply the capital city of Kashmir. It is the living, breathing proof that some places exist not merely in geography but in the imagination of every person who has ever yearned for beauty.
For centuries, poets called it Jannat-ul-Arz — Paradise on Earth. Mughal emperors abandoned their thrones in Delhi and Agra just to spend summers here. Mystics walked barefoot to its shores looking for God and returned saying they had found Him in the reflection of the mountains on the Dal Lake. And today, millions of travellers from across the world arrive at its doorstep, cameras ready, hearts unprepared — because no photograph has ever truly done Srinagar justice, and no traveller has ever truly been ready for it.
This is that city. This is Srinagar.
What Does the Name “Srinagar” Mean?
Before entering the city itself, it is worth pausing at its name — because names in Kashmir are never accidental.
“Srinagar” is a Sanskrit compound: Sri, meaning wealth, beauty, and divine grace, and Nagar, meaning city or settlement. Together, the name translates as “The City of Wealth and Beauty” — or more poetically, “The Abode of Grace.”
It is one of the rare cases in history where a city has grown into its own name. Srinagar has been, across millennia, exactly what its name promised: a place of extraordinary natural wealth, breathtaking beauty, and an almost inexplicable grace that clings to its air, its water, its people.
There is also an older tradition that links the city’s founding to the great Mauryan emperor Ashoka, who is believed to have established a settlement here around 250 BCE — a city he called Srinagari. Whether legend or history, the continuity is remarkable: a city carrying the same essential name and the same essential spirit across more than two thousand years.
A History Written in Stone, Water and Fire
Srinagar is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in South Asia. Its history does not unfold in simple chapters — it spirals, intersects, contradicts and enriches itself across thousands of years of civilisation.
The Ancient Foundation
The earliest credible historical reference to Srinagar comes from Rajatarangini — the River of Kings — written in the 12th century by the Kashmiri historian Kalhana. This remarkable text, considered one of the first genuine historical chronicles in South Asian literature, traces the lineage of Kashmiri rulers back into antiquity and speaks of settlements on the banks of the Jhelum that would eventually grow into the city we know today.
During the reign of Ashoka’s son Jaloka, Buddhism flourished in Kashmir with an intensity that left deep marks on the region’s spiritual character. Monasteries, stupas and philosophical schools transformed Kashmir — and its capital — into a global centre of Buddhist learning. Travellers from Central Asia, China and Tibet made their way here to study and returned carrying ideas that would reshape entire civilisations.
The Coming of Islam and the Sultanate Era
The 14th century brought transformational change. In 1339, Shah Mir — a nobleman believed to have migrated from Swat — established the first Muslim sultanate in Kashmir, founding a dynasty that would rule for over two centuries. This was not conquest in the conventional sense; it was a gradual, deeply layered cultural transformation shaped as much by Sufi missionaries as by political power.
It was during this period that Srinagar began to acquire the spiritual and architectural character for which it is known today. The great Sufi saint Shah Hamadan — Mir Sayyid Ali Hamadani — arrived in Kashmir in the 14th century from Persia, bringing with him craftsmen, scholars and a tradition of Islamic architecture that fused Persian elegance with Kashmiri woodworking genius. The Khanqah-e-Moalla, built in his honour on the banks of the Jhelum, stands to this day as one of the most beautiful wooden mosques in all of Asia.
The Mughal Interlude — Srinagar’s Golden Age
If there is a period in Srinagar’s history that the city still wears most visibly, it is the Mughal era.
In 1586, Emperor Akbar brought Kashmir into the Mughal Empire — but it was his son Jahangir who fell truly, helplessly in love with Srinagar. Jahangir made the city his summer court, his sanctuary, his obsession. He visited twelve times during his reign and wrote of Kashmir in his memoir, the Tuzuk-e-Jahangiri, with a tenderness that emperors rarely extend to anything outside of power:
“If there is a paradise on earth, it is this, it is this, it is this.”
These are among the most quoted words in all of Kashmir’s history — and they were written about Srinagar specifically, about its lakes and mountains and the quality of its evening light. Jahangir commissioned the Shalimar Bagh in 1619 for his empress Nur Jahan. His son Shah Jahan — the same man who built the Taj Mahal — added Nishat Bagh to Srinagar’s crown. Together, these gardens remain among the greatest achievements of Mughal civilisation anywhere in the world.
The Later Centuries
After the Mughal decline came the Sikh period, when Maharaja Ranjit Singh incorporated Kashmir into the Sikh Empire in 1819. In 1846, following the First Anglo-Sikh War, the British transferred control of Kashmir — including Srinagar — to the Dogra Maharaja Gulab Singh through the Treaty of Amritsar in exchange for 7.5 million Nanakshahi rupees, a transaction that remains one of the most contested transfers of land in South Asian history and whose consequences reverberate to this very day.
The late 19th and early 20th centuries brought roads, a British Residency, a municipality, and the beginnings of modern tourism — particularly on and around Dal Lake, where the iconic houseboat culture was born when British residents, prohibited from owning land in Kashmir, chose instead to build their homes on water.
Dal Lake — The Mirror That Defines Srinagar
No understanding of Srinagar is complete — or even possible — without Dal Lake. The two are inseparable. The city exists in relationship to the lake the way a face exists in relationship to its reflection: each gives the other meaning.
Golden hour view of Dal Lake with a traditional shikara boat gliding on calm water, reflecting snow-capped Himalayan mountains and soft morning mist.
Stretching across approximately 18 square kilometres in the northeast of the city, Dal Lake is not simply a body of water. It is an ecosystem, a neighbourhood, a marketplace, a tradition and — on the right morning, when the mist sits low and the mountains cut clean lines against the sky — something that feels uncomfortably close to a religious experience.
The Floating World
What makes Dal Lake unlike almost any other lake on earth is that a significant portion of its surface is inhabited. Roughly 50,000 people live on and around the lake itself — in houseboats, on floating islands called rads (locally spelled raddh), and in small wooden communities that have occupied the same patches of water for generations.
The rads are perhaps the lake’s most astonishing feature: floating gardens constructed from decomposed vegetation and mud, anchored loosely to the lakebed, on which entire fields of vegetables — lotus roots called nadru, tomatoes, cucumbers, melons — are cultivated. Every morning, farmers paddle their shikaras through the early mist to the floating vegetable market at the heart of the lake, where produce is bought and sold directly from boat to boat without ever touching land. It is a market system that has been operating, largely unchanged, for centuries.
The Shikara — Poetry on Water
The shikara is to Srinagar what the gondola is to Venice — but older, more varied in its purpose, and, many would argue, more beautiful. These slender wooden boats, propelled by heart-shaped paddles, serve as taxis, cargo vessels, flower stalls, mobile tea shops and romantic sunset vessels all at once. The sound of a shikara paddle cutting through still water at dawn — that soft, rhythmic plash — is the signature sound of Srinagar, the note the city plays to introduce itself each morning.
The Houseboats — A Colonial Legacy Reborn
The Cedar-wood houseboats of Dal Lake are among the most distinctive accommodations on earth. Built in colonial times when British officials could not own land in Kashmir, these floating homes — some dating back over a century — are now among the most sought-after lodgings for travellers visiting Srinagar.
They range from simple and affordable to elaborately carved, carpeted and furnished with genuine antiques. To sleep on Dal Lake, to wake up with the mountains reflected in the water outside your window, is an experience that has no equivalent anywhere.
The Mughal Gardens — Civilisation Made Green
Srinagar contains what is arguably the finest collection of Mughal gardens outside of the original Mughal heartland — and many would argue they surpass anything surviving in Delhi or Agra for their setting alone.
Shalimar Bagh — The Garden of Love
Built in 1619 by Emperor Jahangir for his empress Nur Jahan, Shalimar Bagh — whose name means “Abode of Love” — is the crown jewel of Srinagar’s gardens. Laid out across three terraced levels descending toward Dal Lake, the garden is a masterpiece of Mughal landscape design: geometrically precise yet graceful, formal yet alive. Hundreds of ancient Chinar trees — the great Oriental plane trees whose leaves turn a spectacular crimson and gold in autumn — line its channels, and black marble pavilions, built for royal leisure, anchor each terrace.
In autumn, when the Chinar leaves fall like burning embers across the water channels, Shalimar Bagh becomes almost unbearably beautiful — the kind of beautiful that makes people stop walking and simply stand.
Nishat Bagh — The Garden of Joy
Larger than Shalimar and arguably more dramatically situated, Nishat Bagh — “Garden of Joy” — was built in 1633 during the reign of Shah Jahan by his brother-in-law Asif Khan. Climbing twelve terraces up the slope of the Zabarwan Mountains directly behind Srinagar, it commands a panoramic view of Dal Lake that has been described by travellers across four centuries in superlatives that have not yet worn out.
The view from Nishat Bagh’s upper terraces — Dal Lake below, Srinagar spread across its banks, the Pir Panjal Range closing the southern horizon — is one of the great views of Asia.
Chashma Shahi — The Royal Spring
Smaller and more intimate than the other gardens, Chashma Shahi — “The Royal Spring” — was built in 1632 around a natural freshwater spring whose water is considered by Kashmiris to have medicinal properties. Its three modest terraces are jewel-like in their precision, and the spring itself — cold, clear, and tasting of the mountain — has been drawing visitors for nearly four centuries.
Asia’s Largest Tulip Garden
Added to Srinagar’s floral crown in the modern era, the Indira Gandhi Memorial Tulip Garden holds the distinction of being the largest tulip garden in Asia. Every spring, as the snow retreats and the valley warms, more than 1.5 million tulips across 68 varieties explode into colour against the backdrop of the Zabarwan hills and Dal Lake. The garden opens for roughly three weeks each April — and in those three weeks, Srinagar turns into a place that is almost photographically unfair to the rest of the world.
The Culture — Kashmir’s Living Inheritance
Srinagar is where Kashmiri culture concentrates itself. The city has been shaped by so many different civilisations — Buddhist, Hindu, Sufi Islamic, Persian, Mughal, Sikh, Dogra — that its culture is not the product of any one of these alone but of their extraordinary, centuries-long conversation.
The Kashmiri Language
Kashmiri — called Koshur by its speakers — is one of the oldest and most linguistically distinctive languages of the subcontinent. Classified as a Dardic language, it carries within it layers of Sanskrit, Persian, Arabic and Tibetan, and its literature contains some of the most moving mystical poetry ever written in any language.
The 14th-century poet-mystic Lal Ded — Lalleshwari — wrote verses in Kashmiri called vaakhs (sayings) that remain astonishing in their directness and depth. She was followed by Sheikh Nooruddin Noorani, known as Nund Rishi, whose poetry defined Kashmiri Sufi Islam. And then came Habba Khatoon — the Nightingale of Kashmir — whose love songs, written in the 16th century, are still sung by Kashmiri women today.
To hear a Kashmiri song in Srinagar — in a houseboat at dusk, in a tea house in the old city, drifting across the lake — is to hear a language that sounds like it was specifically invented to describe the place in which it was born.
The Pheran and the Kangri
Culture lives in small things. In Srinagar, it lives in the pheran — the long, loose woollen robe worn by both men and women through the winter months — and in the kangri, the small clay firepot filled with glowing embers that Kashmiris carry beneath their pherans to stay warm. The kangri is not merely a heating device; it is a social object, a conversation starter, an heirloom in some families, a way of life. To hold a kangri, to feel its warmth radiating through a pheran while snowflakes fall on the old city of Srinagar — this is what Kashmiri winter feels like from the inside.
Wazwan — The Feast That Is Also a Philosophy
If Srinagar’s gardens represent what Kashmiris did with beauty, Wazwan represents what they did with hospitality.
Wazwan is not simply a meal. It is a ceremony, a declaration, a tradition so deeply embedded in Kashmiri culture that no major celebration — wedding, religious festival, homecoming — is considered complete without it. A traditional Wazwan can consist of thirty-six or more courses, served over hours, all of them meat-based, cooked overnight by specialist chefs called wazas who have trained for years in techniques passed down through generations.
Guests eat from a large shared platter called a traem, seated in groups of four — an arrangement that makes the meal as much about community as about food.
The dishes of a Srinagar Wazwan represent centuries of culinary refinement:
Rogan Josh — perhaps the most internationally known Kashmiri dish, braised lamb cooked slowly in a sauce coloured brilliant crimson by Kashmiri chillies (not for heat but for colour) and scented with whole spices. The name means “Red Juice” and the dish delivers exactly that.
Gushtaba — large, hand-pounded meatballs poached in a yoghurt-based gravy perfumed with cardamom and fennel. This is traditionally the final savoury course of a Wazwan, a signal that the feast is drawing to its close.
Yakhni — lamb braised in a delicate, creamy yoghurt sauce fragrant with fennel and ginger, its subtlety a deliberate contrast to the boldness of Rogan Josh.
Rista — saffron-coloured meatballs in a deep red, aromatic sauce, distinct from other preparations by its distinctive texture and colour.
Nadru Yakhni — lotus root cooked in yoghurt and spices. The lotus root (nadru), harvested from the beds of Dal Lake, is one of Srinagar’s most characteristic ingredients: starchy, textured, absorbing the flavours it is cooked in with extraordinary eagerness.
And to drink: Kahwa — saffron-infused green tea with cinnamon, cardamom and crushed almonds — warming, aromatic, and so specific to Kashmir that drinking it anywhere else always tastes slightly apologetic. And Sheer Chai — pink salt tea, made through an unusual brewing process that turns the liquid a pastel rose, served with a crust of cream. It is an acquired taste for outsiders and a comfort like no other for Kashmiris.
The Handicrafts — Where Art Becomes Industry and Industry Becomes Art
Srinagar is one of the great handicraft capitals of the world, and it has been for centuries. The artisans of this city have produced objects of such refinement that they found their way into the treasuries of Mughal emperors, European royalty and the world’s finest museums.
Pashmina — The World’s Most Celebrated Fibre
Genuine Pashmina is harvested from the undercoat of the Changthangi goat — a high-altitude animal adapted to the extreme cold of the Himalayan plateau. The fibres are extraordinarily fine: a single Pashmina hair is one-sixth the diameter of a human hair. Weaving them into a shawl requires months of labour by highly skilled artisans, and the result is a fabric of unparalleled softness, lightness and warmth.
The word “cashmere” — now a generic term used globally — derives directly from Kashmir, a reminder that the world’s luxury textile vocabulary was partly written in Srinagar. Authentic Kashmiri Pashmina carries a Geographical Indication (GI) tag, meaning the name is protected by law and can only be applied to goods produced in Kashmir.
Kashmiri Carpets — Floors as Canvas
Hand-knotted Kashmiri carpets are among the most technically demanding and aesthetically sophisticated floor coverings produced anywhere on earth. A single carpet of moderate size may require two or more years of uninterrupted work by multiple weavers, tying hundreds of knots per square inch in wool or silk dyed with natural pigments. The designs — intricate medallions, flowering vines, hunting scenes, geometric abstractions — draw on Persian, Central Asian and indigenous Kashmiri traditions simultaneously.
These carpets have covered the floors of Mughal courts and Victorian drawing rooms alike, and they continue to be among Kashmir’s most significant exports.
Walnut Wood Carving
The walnut (doon) trees of Kashmir produce one of the finest hardwoods in the world — a timber with a natural lustre and grain that responds to carving with extraordinary precision. Srinagar’s craftsmen have been working with walnut wood for centuries, producing furniture, decorative boxes, architectural panels and frames of astonishing intricacy. The finest examples feature three-dimensional floral reliefs so detailed that individual stamens of carved flowers seem to catch the light differently depending on the hour.
Papier-Mâché
Less well known internationally but equally remarkable is Srinagar’s papier-mâché tradition — kar-i-kalamdani — in which multiple layers of paper pulp are shaped into boxes, bowls, vases and ornaments, then hand-painted in extraordinarily fine detail with natural pigments. The craft was introduced to Kashmir by Shah Hamadan from Persia in the 14th century and has been refining itself ever since.
The Sacred City — Mosques, Shrines and Temples
Srinagar is a city of faith — not the aggressive, contested faith of political argument, but the quiet, ancient, deeply personal faith of people who have been praying in the same places for centuries.
Hazratbal Shrine — Kashmir’s Most Sacred Site
On the western shore of Dal Lake stands Hazratbal — “The Place of Dignity” — a gleaming white mosque and shrine that is the most revered Islamic site in Kashmir. Within its sanctum is preserved what is believed to be a strand of hair from the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) — the Moi-e-Muqqadas, brought to Kashmir in the 17th century.
Hazratbal is Kashmir’s most important gathering place. On religious occasions — particularly Eid and the anniversary of the Prophet’s birth — hundreds of thousands of people converge on the shrine from across the valley. The sight of the white-domed mosque reflected in Dal Lake on a clear morning is one of Srinagar’s defining images: a picture of a city at peace with itself.
Jama Masjid — A Thousand Years of Congregational Prayer
In the heart of the old city, surrounded by the narrow lanes of Nowhatta, stands the Jama Masjid — the Great Congregational Mosque of Srinagar. Originally built in 1402 during the reign of Sultan Sikandar, it has been destroyed by fire and rebuilt multiple times, each reconstruction faithful to the original design: a vast courtyard surrounded by a wooden arcade supported by 378 deodar cedar columns, each carved from a single tree.
The Jama Masjid represents the culmination of Kashmiri Islamic architecture — a style that incorporates pointed Indo-Saracenic arches, pagoda-like spires and the warm, organic quality of wood into a form unlike any other mosque architecture in the world.
Shankaracharya Temple — The Ancient Eye of the City
On the summit of Shankaracharya Hill, rising 300 metres above the city and dominating the Srinagar skyline, stands a small Shiva temple whose origins are as ancient as the city itself. The octagonal stone structure is believed by some historians to date to the 5th century, with the site itself — a promontory commanding views of the entire valley — having been sacred since at least the Mauryan period.
The temple is named after the great Advaita philosopher Adi Shankaracharya, who is said to have meditated here in the 8th century CE. The climb to its summit rewards the visitor with a view across all of Srinagar, the full expanse of Dal Lake, and the encircling mountains that make this valley feel, from above, like a world complete in itself.
Khanqah-e-Moalla — The Sufi Heart of Srinagar
On the right bank of the Jhelum, in the oldest part of the city, stands the Khanqah-e-Moalla — the great Sufi shrine and gathering place built in honour of Shah Hamadan. Constructed entirely of wood in the Kashmiri architectural tradition — with its distinctive multi-tiered pyramidal roof and intricate carved interiors — it is considered one of the finest examples of wooden Islamic architecture in the world.
For Kashmiris, it is far more than a historical monument. It is a living spiritual centre, a place of prayer and remembrance, and a physical embodiment of the Sufi tradition that has shaped Kashmiri Islam into the distinctive, inclusive, mystically inclined form it takes today.
The Economy — Saffron, Apples and a City in Motion
Srinagar’s economy is built on several pillars that are as ancient as the city itself and as urgent as its present circumstances.
Tourism is the city’s largest industry and its most visible. In 2024, the Kashmir Valley received more than 2.6 million visitors — including over 35,000 international tourists — a figure that reflects not just Kashmir’s growing global profile but the specific magnetism of Srinagar as a destination. The city appeared in Google’s top ten most-searched travel destinations in 2024, ranking alongside Bali, Malaysia and Azerbaijan.
Kashmiri Saffron — grown primarily in the Pampore plateau a short distance from Srinagar — is among the finest and most valuable saffron on earth. Kashmiri saffron holds a Geographical Indication tag and commands premium prices on international markets. A single kilogram of this saffron requires the hand-harvesting of roughly 150,000 flowers, each picked in the early morning hours over a brief three-week flowering season every October.
Handicrafts — carpets, Pashmina, woodwork, Papier-mâché — contribute significantly to the economy and to Kashmir’s export earnings. Srinagar’s Lal Chowk and the old bazaars of Maharaj Gunj are the commercial heart of this trade.
Horticulture — Kashmir produces some of the finest apples, walnuts, almonds, cherries and pears in all of South Asia. The orchards that ring Srinagar, especially in spring when they bloom simultaneously, are themselves a spectacle worth travelling for.
A Travel Guide to Srinagar — Practical Notes
Best Time to Visit: Srinagar rewards visitors in every season, but the undisputed highlights are:
March to May: The valley comes alive — tulips, almonds, cherry blossoms, and the famous Badam Wari almond garden in full bloom.
June to August: Pleasantly mild when most of South Asia bakes — an ideal summer retreat.
September to October: The Chinar trees turn. This is perhaps the most visually spectacular season, when the whole city seems to be on fire in the best possible way.
December to February: Snow transforms Srinagar into a different kind of beautiful — quieter, more contemplative, extraordinary.
Getting There: Srinagar International Airport is well connected. Road access through the Jawahar Tunnel connects the city to Jammu to the south; the Zoji La pass links it to Leh and Ladakh to the east.
Where to Stay: A houseboat on Dal Lake is not merely a recommendation — for anyone visiting Srinagar for the first time, it is close to an obligation. Beyond the lake, the city offers a full range of hotels from budget to luxury, including several heritage properties in the old city.
What to Buy: Authentic Pashmina (insist on a GI-certified piece), hand-knotted silk carpets, walnut wood crafts, saffron, and dried Kashmiri fruits and nuts.
The Long View — Srinagar and the Question of Kashmir
The Azadi Times does not shy away from context.
Srinagar exists within a political reality that has no simple resolution and no single narrative that everyone agrees upon. The city and the broader territory of Kashmir are the subject of one of the world’s most long-standing and unresolved international disputes. The portion of Kashmir in which Srinagar sits has been under Indian administration since 1947 — referred to in international diplomatic and journalistic terminology as Indian-administered Kashmir — while a portion to the west is under Pakistani administration, and a portion to the north under Chinese control.
We report on Srinagar — its culture, its history, its people, its extraordinary natural and architectural heritage — as an independent international news outlet. We do not represent any government, any national narrative, or any political programme. Our position is, and will remain, that the story of Srinagar is first and foremost the story of its people — the Kashmiris who have built this city, sustained it, loved it, wept for it and remained stubbornly, beautifully attached to it across every generation.
The political future of Kashmir is a matter for Kashmiris. The beauty of Srinagar is a matter of record.
Conclusion — Some Cities You Visit. Srinagar Visits You.
There is a particular quality to the memory of Srinagar that travellers often describe in almost identical terms, regardless of when they visited or how long they stayed. It is the quality of a place that follows you home.
You will find yourself, weeks or months after leaving, suddenly recalling the exact colour of Dal Lake at seven in the morning — that pewter-and-rose light that belongs to no painter’s palette and no description yet written. You will remember the sound of the call to prayer echoing across the water, the smell of Kahwa in a houseboat kitchen, the weight of a walnut-carved box in your hands at a bazaar in the old city, the way the Chinar trees in Nishat Bagh stood in the October afternoon as if they had been placed there by someone who understood theatre.
Srinagar is the kind of place that makes you a better observer of every other place you visit afterwards. It recalibrates the eye. It sets a standard.
The Mughals knew this. The Sufi poets knew this. Every traveller who has crossed the Banihal Pass and descended into the Kashmir Valley and arrived on the shores of Dal Lake has known this.
Some cities you visit. Srinagar visits you — and it does not leave.
Published by The Azadi Times · Independent International News from Kashmir We report without fear, without favour, and without affiliation to any state.
SRINAGAR — Some places you visit. Other places visit you, and then refuse to leave.
Pahalgam, for me, has been the latter kind.
Ninety kilometers east of Srinagar, tucked between the Lidder River and pine-covered mountains that rise like green walls, lies a valley that Indians have quietly called “heaven on earth” for decades. But here’s what no one tells you before you go: the heaven part isn’t an exaggeration. It’s an understatement.
I arrived on a September morning, when the air was cool enough to need a jacket but the sun was warm enough to forget you were wearing one. The drive from Srinagar took about three hours — past apple orchards heavy with fruit, past villages where children waved at passing cars, past the point where the Lidder River first appears alongside the road, impossibly clear, impossibly blue.
That river, I would soon learn, never leaves you. It follows you to Betaab Valley. It greets you at Heevan Hotel. It whispers beneath your window at night, and when you wake up, it’s still there, still clear, still moving.
The First Night: A Lodge Above the Water
We stayed at Bentes Lodge, a property that sits on a hill overlooking the river and the valley beyond. The rooms aren’t large — let me be honest about that. But they have everything you actually need: multiple charging points, a geyser that actually works, and a window that frames a view you will try and fail to capture on your phone.
What I didn’t expect was the Wi-Fi. Sixty to seventy megabits per second. Fibernet. In a mountain valley in Kashmir. Airtel 4G worked perfectly too. If you’re the kind of traveler who needs to stay connected — a “workation” person, as they call it now — this is where you stay.
But the real magic of Bentes isn’t the internet. It’s the common dining hall with its stone fireplace, the long wooden tables, the way the morning light falls across the floor while you drink tea that tastes like nothing you’ve ever had outside this region.
Down the hill, right on the river, sits Heevan Hotel. We stayed there on a previous trip, and I remember waking up, walking to the window, and seeing the Lidder River so clear that I could count the stones at the bottom. That’s not an exaggeration either. Go see for yourself.
The Taxi, The Driver, and No Rush
The plan was simple: hire a cab, visit the viewpoints, take as much time as we wanted.
We found a Tavera. The driver’s name doesn’t matter, but his words do. I asked him if he would mind if we stopped along the way to shoot videos. “No problems,” he said. “You can take as much time as you want.”
That’s the thing about Pahalgam. No one rushes you. The valley has been doing this for decades — hosting pilgrims, honeymooners, Bollywood film crews — and yet somehow, it hasn’t learned to hurry. The mountains won’t allow it.
We set off toward Chandanwari.
Chandanwari: Where the Pilgrimage Begins
Chandanwari is the last village before the road ends. After this, there is only trekking. This is where the Amarnath Yatra starts every year — thousands of pilgrims walking toward a shrine of ice at 12,000 feet.
But in September, the pilgrims are gone. The snow at Chandanwari is gone too, though if you come in May or June, you’ll find it. Skiing. Sledding. Snowball fights between strangers.
I’ve been here in winter as well. That’s the best time, I think — when the snow is fresh and the trees wear white like wedding clothes and the only sound is your own footsteps. But the shops are closed then. You have to park far back and walk. It’s worth it.
Today, we stopped at the stalls near the final point, drank tea, watched other travelers take photos. Then we turned back toward Betaab Valley.
Betaab Valley: A River the Color of Nothing Else
The valley is named after a Bollywood film from 1983 — Betaab, starring Sunny Deol and Amrita Singh. They shot it here, and the name stuck. That’s how it works in Kashmir. The movies come, they leave their names behind, and the valley keeps being beautiful regardless.
You have to pay 100 rupees to enter now — about $1.20. It feels wrong to pay for nature, but then you see the Lidder River at this stretch, and you stop caring about the fee.
The water is turquoise. Not blue, not green — something in between. Something you can’t name. I stood on the bank for a long time, just watching it move.
Within minutes of arriving, a man approached me on a horse. “Sir, waterfall? I take you. Very beautiful.”
“No thank you,” I said.
“No problem, sir. Very close.”
“No.”
He rode off. Another came. Same offer. Same answer.
And then I looked up, and there it was — a waterfall, maybe 200 meters away, visible from the road. That’s the thing about Betaab Valley. The waterfalls are everywhere. You don’t need to pay anyone to see them. Just walk.
There’s a bridge here too. A small one. You might recognize it if you’ve seen the song “Ishq Wala Love” from Student of the Year. That’s the bridge. Walk across it. Take a photo. Then keep walking.
The Road to Aru Valley: Europe, But Cheaper
From Betaab, we drove toward Aru Valley. But first, a stop at the deer park — a small enclosure where we saw animals we couldn’t name and spent maybe fifteen minutes before getting back in the car.
And then came the road.
I have driven through the Swiss Alps. I have driven through New Zealand’s South Island. I have driven through the Canadian Rockies. This road — the one from Pahalgam to Aru Valley — belongs in the same conversation.
Pine trees on both sides. The road curving like a slow river. Mountains in the distance wearing clouds like scarves. If someone had blindfolded me, dropped me here, and asked me to guess the country, I would have said Switzerland. I would have been wrong. But I would have understood why I was wrong.
Aru Valley: The Most Beautiful Place in Kashmir
I have said this before, and I will say it again: Kashmir is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. And within Kashmir, Pahalgam is the best. And within Pahalgam, Aru Valley is the best of the best.
We arrived in the late afternoon. The light was golden, the way it only gets in mountains. People were setting up tents along the riverbank — bright blue and yellow domes against the green grass. You can camp here. You should camp here.
This was my third time in Aru Valley. On my first two trips, I missed something. I took horses up to the upper viewpoints, saw the panoramic views, checked the box. But I never just… sat by the river. I never found the spot where the water is calm and the trees lean over like they’re listening to something.
I found it this time. And I almost missed it again. It’s not marked. No sign. No guide will take you there. You just have to wander.
I sent the drone up to capture what the upper valley looks like — the part where most tourists go. It’s beautiful. But the real Aru Valley is down by the water, where no one else seems to stop.
The Skateboarding Incident
I should mention this, because it happened, and because I promised honesty.
I brought a skateboard to Aru Valley. I don’t know why. It seemed like a good idea at the time. The roads were smooth. The weather was perfect. What could go wrong?
I fell. Hard. The microphone I was wearing captured the entire thing — the scrape, the thud, the moment of silence before I decided whether to laugh or cry. I laughed. But my elbow still hurts.
If you’re watching the video version of this story, that’s the sound you hear. You’re welcome.
Baisaran Valley: Mini Switzerland, Real Horses
The next day, we took horses to Baisaran Valley.
Five hundred rupees per horse. That’s six dollars. For an hour-long ride through pine forests, up a gentle slope, into a meadow that looks like a painting someone forgot to finish.
They call it Mini Switzerland. The name is silly. The place is not.
The meadow is ringed by dense trees. The grass is green even in September — I can only imagine what it looks like in May or June. Mountains rise on all sides. There are no shops here, no stalls, no noise. Just the wind and the horses and the sound of your own breathing.
We walked around for an hour. Took photos. Sat on the grass and said nothing. Then we rode back down.
You can walk if you prefer. It takes about ninety minutes each way. But the horse ride is part of the experience — the slow clop of hooves, the guide walking beside you, the way the forest opens suddenly into the meadow like a curtain rising on a stage.
From Baisaran, you can continue to Kashmir Valley — more meadows, fewer people. We didn’t go that far. But next time, we will.
Where to Stay, What to Pay
Let me give you the numbers, because that’s what travelers need.
Bentes Lodge:
Wi-Fi: 60–70 Mbps
Rooms: Small but warm, good geyser, river views
Price: INR 3,500–6,000 per night ($42–72 USD)
Heevan Hotel:
Right on the Lidder River
Water so clear you can see the bottom
Price: INR 4,000–8,000 per night ($48–96 USD)
Horse to Baisaran: INR 500 ($6 USD)
Betaab Valley entry: INR 100 ($1.20 USD)
Taxi from Srinagar to Pahalgam: INR 2,500–3,500 ($30–42 USD)
Tent camping in Aru Valley: INR 800–2,000 ($10–24 USD)
The Best Time to Go
May and June: snow at Chandanwari, green meadows, perfect weather — but crowded.
September and October: crisp air, fewer people, golden light — no snow.
Winter: magical, empty, cold — but most shops are closed and roads are tricky.
I’ve been in winter. I’ve been in September. I can’t tell you which is better. They feel like two different places entirely.
The Truth About Kashmir
Kashmir appears in news headlines for reasons that have nothing to do with beauty. I am a travel journalist. I don’t write about politics. But I would be lying if I pretended the politics don’t exist.
What I can tell you is this: the Kashmir I saw — the Pahalgam I walked through, the Aru Valley where I fell off a skateboard, the Baisaran meadow where I sat on a horse and forgot what year it was — that Kashmir is real. It exists alongside everything else. And it deserves to be seen.
The people are kind. The tea is strong. The river never stops moving.
Final Word
I have been to a lot of beautiful places. New Zealand. Switzerland. The Canadian Rockies. The Scottish Highlands.
Pahalgam belongs in that list. And it costs a fraction of what those places cost. A six-dollar horse ride to a meadow that looks like the Swiss Alps. A one-dollar entry to a valley where Bollywood shot its most romantic songs. A sixty-dollar room with a view that would cost six hundred in Zermatt.
I fell off a skateboard in Aru Valley. I drank tea in Chandanwari. I stood on a bridge from a movie I’ve never seen. And I left wondering why more people don’t come here.
Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe the reason is the headlines. Maybe the reason is fear.
But the valley is still there. The river is still clear. The horses are still waiting.
Pakistan-administered Kashmir is no longer the region’s best-kept secret. In 2025, the territory recorded a historic milestone: more than 1.5 million tourists visited its valleys, meadows, and mountain lakes, according to official data from the Department of Tourism and Archaeology. That figure represents not just a post-pandemic rebound but a fundamental shift in how South Asian travelers are reimagining their own backyard.
While international headlines have long focused on the geopolitical tensions along the Line of Control — the de facto border separating Pakistan- and India-administered Kashmir — a parallel story has been unfolding. Domestic tourists, adventure seekers, and families are increasingly drawn to a region that offers what much of the Himalayas has lost: unspoiled nature, affordable hospitality, and a sense of discovery that no luxury resort can manufacture.
Stretching across the Pir Panjal and western Himalayan ranges, Pakistan-administered Kashmir encompasses the districts of Muzaffarabad, Neelum, Poonch, Bagh, and Sudhanoti, among others. The territory’s highest peaks exceed 4,000 meters, its rivers feed into the Indus basin, and its forests harbor wildlife ranging from Himalayan black bears to leopard cats. Yet it remains remarkably accessible from Islamabad, Pakistan’s capital, with most major destinations reachable within a four- to six-hour drive.
What follows is a destination-by-destination guide to ten of the region’s most compelling locations, compiled from on-the-ground reporting, local tourism data, and verified geographical records. The information is current as of the 2025 travel season.
The Rawalakot Circuit: Three Destinations, One Journey
Banjosa Lake: The Artificial Lake That Feels Wild
At approximately 6,500 feet above sea level, Banjosa Lake sits 135 kilometers (84 miles) southeast of Islamabad, making it one of the most accessible highland destinations in Pakistan-administered Kashmir. The reservoir, created by damming a mountain stream, is surrounded by dense pine forests that reflect sharply in its clear surface on still mornings.
10 Most Beautiful Places in Pakistan-Administered Kashmir (AJK): A Complete Travel Guide
The lake’s appeal lies in its tranquility. Unlike the more developed tourist hubs of Murree or Nathiagali, Banjosa retains a relatively undeveloped character. Visitors come for picnics, short boat rides, and forest walks. Summer temperatures range from 15°C to 25°C (59°F to 77°F), offering a genuine escape from the plains. In winter, the mercury drops close to freezing, and occasional snowfall transforms the surrounding forest into a monochrome landscape.
Accommodation options span a wide range. Hotels and guesthouses in the immediate vicinity typically charge between $14 and $88 per night, depending on amenities. Budget-conscious travelers often opt to stay in Rawalakot or Khai Gala, where simpler lodgings are available at lower rates. A handful of restaurants serve local Kashmiri cuisine, though visitors should not expect the dining diversity of larger cities.
The drive from Islamabad takes roughly four hours via the Rawalakot Road, which winds through increasingly mountainous terrain after Kohala. The final approach to the lake is along a narrow forest track — manageable in a standard sedan during dry months but potentially challenging after heavy rain.
Toli Pir: Walking Above the Clouds
Continue 30 kilometers beyond Rawalakot, and the road climbs to Toli Pir Top, a hill station perched at 8,800 feet that offers what many consider the most commanding panoramic views in the Poonch district. On clear days, visitors can see across the Pir Panjal range into India-administered Kashmir, with the Poonch River threading through the valley below.
Toli Pir is the origin point of three distinct mountain ridges, giving its summit a geographical significance that matches its visual drama. The site has been incorporated into the Punjal Mastan National Park, which also encompasses Ganga Peak, Lasdana, and Pir Kanthi — a designation that offers some protection against unchecked development.
Most visitors drive to a base camp approximately 30 minutes below the summit, then complete the ascent on foot. The hike is moderate, taking roughly 30 minutes along a well-trodden trail. Summer temperatures hover between 10°C and 20°C (50°F to 68°F). In winter, heavy snowfall renders the upper reaches largely inaccessible except to experienced trekkers.
The road to Toli Pir is narrow and features numerous blind curves; drivers unfamiliar with mountain conditions are advised to hire local transport. Small eateries at the summit serve hot kehwa and basic refreshments, though most visitors bring their own provisions. Those seeking overnight stays typically return to Rawalakot or Khai Gala, where hotel rates are comparable to those near Banjosa.
Lasdanna: The Road Less Traveled
If Banjosa and Toli Pir have begun to register on the tourist map, Lasdanna remains genuinely off the beaten path. Located in the Bagh district at 8,600 feet, this valley sits just 10 kilometers from Toli Pir, connected by a newly constructed road that has made the journey significantly easier.
Lasdanna is defined by what it lacks: no large hotels, no souvenir shops, no crowds. What it offers instead is immersive nature — dense forests, alpine meadows, and a silence broken only by wind and bird calls. Summer temperatures range from 12°C to 22°C (54°F to 72°F), and winters bring substantial snowfall.
Accommodation is limited to Kashmir Tourism guesthouses, forest lodges, and a few small hotels charging between $11 and $28 per night. Simple restaurants serve basic meals. The destination suits travelers who prioritize solitude over convenience and are prepared for limited amenities.
The practical appeal of Lasdanna is its connectivity. The new road link means visitors can construct a single itinerary covering Banjosa Lake, Toli Pir, and Lasdanna in two to three days. From Lasdanna, the route continues toward Barasta Bagh and Ganga Choti, allowing for further exploration without backtracking.
The Bagh District: Where Peaks Meet Pilgrims
Ganga Peak: A Trekker’s Summit
Rising to 9,990 feet, Ganga Peak — also known as Ganga Choti — is the highest point among the ten destinations featured here and one of the most rewarding for trekking enthusiasts. Located approximately 200 kilometers (124 miles) from Islamabad and 21 kilometers from Bagh city, the peak offers a challenging but achievable summit that has made it increasingly popular among Pakistan’s growing hiking community.
The approach begins at Sudhan Gali, a small town where jeeps and local transport are available to reach the base camp. From there, a well-defined trail ascends through pine and oak forests before emerging above the tree line into open meadowland. The final approach can be steep in sections, but the 360-degree views from the summit — encompassing the Bagh-Poonch basin and distant Himalayan snowlines — justify the effort.
Summer temperatures at Ganga Peak range from 10°C to 18°C (50°F to 64°F), making it genuinely cool even at the height of the South Asian summer. Winter brings heavy snowfall that typically blocks the upper trails until March or April.
Sudhan Gali offers the nearest proper accommodation, with hotels ranging from $16 to $53 per night. Several restaurants serve local cuisine. Some locals have established camping arrangements near the peak itself, though these are basic and generally unsuitable for families with young children. Roadside eateries along the approach road provide food and refreshments for day-trippers.
The Neelum Valley: Kashmir’s Geographic Spine
As international travel costs soar, AJK’s untouched landscapes offer sub-$20 accommodations and 10,000-foot peaks just hours from Islamabad
The Neelum Valley runs north-south parallel to the Line of Control, with the Neelum River — known as the Kishanganga on the Indian side — forming its central artery. The valley is the longest and most visually dramatic in Pakistan-administered Kashmir, stretching from Muzaffarabad to the high-altitude village of Taobat near the administrative boundary with Gilgit-Baltistan. The following six destinations are arranged geographically from south to north.
Keran: Where Two Kashmirs Meet
Keran is a village of singular geopolitical resonance. Situated on the western bank of the Neelum River at approximately 5,000 feet, it lies directly across the water from a settlement in India-administered Kashmir. The Line of Control runs through the river here, making it one of the few places where visitors can visually comprehend the human division of Kashmir.
The village is located 250 kilometers (155 miles) from Islamabad and 94 kilometers from Muzaffarabad. The journey follows the Neelum Valley Road, which clings to the mountainside above the river for much of its length. Along the way, travelers pass Jabbar Waterfall and Dhani Waterfall, both of which make worthwhile stops.
In summer, Keran’s temperatures range from 18°C to 30°C (64°F to 86°F) — warmer than the higher-altitude destinations but still pleasant. Winters are cold but not extreme. The village has developed a modest tourism infrastructure, with riverside resorts, hotels, and restaurants. Accommodation typically starts from around $14 per night, making it one of the more affordable options in the valley. The riverside setting and the novelty of its location make Keran particularly popular with families.
Upper Neelam: The View from Above
A 10- to 15-minute drive uphill from Keran brings visitors to Upper Neelam, an older settlement that predates its riverside counterpart as a population center but has only recently been developed for tourism. At 5,900 feet, the village offers an elevated perspective over the Neelum River, Keran below, and the surrounding forested mountains.
Upper Neelam has become notable for its range of accommodation, from basic guesthouses at approximately $11 per night to luxury properties charging up to $123 — a price range that reflects the destination’s emerging status as a premium location within Pakistan-administered Kashmir.
The village serves as a logistical base for excursions to Ratti Gali Lake and Baboon Top, two higher-altitude attractions that require additional travel time.
Authentic Kashmiri cuisine is available at local restaurants, including dishes such as rogan josh, yakhani, and the region’s distinctive pink-hued kehwa. Summer temperatures range from 15°C to 28°C (59°F to 82°F).
Sharda Valley: The Weight of History
No destination in Pakistan-administered Kashmir carries the historical significance of Sharda. Located 280 kilometers (174 miles) from Islamabad at 6,500 feet, the village is home to the ruins of Sharda Peeth — an 8th-century temple and center of learning that scholars believe was one of the most important educational institutions in medieval South Asia.
Historical records, including accounts by the Chinese pilgrim Xuanzang in the 7th century and the Persian historian Al-Biruni, describe Sharda as a flourishing center of Hindu and Buddhist scholarship. The temple complex, constructed in the Kashmiri stone-temple style between the 6th and 12th centuries CE, was renowned for its library and its association with the Sharada script — from which the Kashmiri language takes its name. Hindu tradition recognizes Sharda as one of the 18 Maha Shakti Peethas, believed to mark where the goddess Sati’s right hand fell.
Today, the ruins consist of a partially preserved stone structure with a nine-foot-wide staircase of 63 steep steps. The site is maintained by the Pakistan Army unit stationed nearby, which has helped prevent further deterioration. Excavations have revealed artifacts dating from the prehistoric period through the Bronze Age, underscoring the area’s deep human history.
The Neelum River widens considerably at Sharda, slowing its current and creating conditions suitable for boating. Summer temperatures range from 16°C to 30°C (61°F to 86°F). Hotels charge between $11 and $53 per night, and restaurants cater to both day-trippers and overnight guests. The proposed opening of a cross-border pilgrimage corridor — which would allow worshippers from India-administered Kashmir to visit the shrine — remains under diplomatic discussion, though no timeline has been established.
Adangkhel: Kashmir’s Hidden Village
Beyond Sharda, the valley narrows and the road becomes more demanding. Adangkhel, located approximately 315 kilometers (196 miles) from Islamabad at 7,874 feet, exemplifies the rewards of persevering into the upper Neelum Valley. The village sits on a high ridge above the town of Kel, accessible only by a traditional palki — a covered litter carried by porters — that takes approximately 40 minutes from the roadhead.
The journey is part of the experience. Visitors ascend through dense forest, emerging into open meadows surrounded by peaks that seem to float above the cloud layer. In summer, when temperatures range from 15°C to 30°C (59°F to 86°F), the landscape is intensely green. In winter, heavy snowfall isolates the village entirely.
Adangkhel has begun to develop a small tourism infrastructure, with wooden cottages and guesthouses charging between $21 and $123 per night. The accommodations are simple but comfortable, and the setting — what locals describe as “standing among the clouds” — offers a level of natural immersion that no lower-altitude destination can match.
Taobat: The Last Village
At approximately 350 kilometers (217 miles) from Islamabad and 7,217 feet above sea level, Taobat marks the practical end of the Neelum Valley road. Beyond this point, the terrain becomes too rugged for conventional vehicles; four-wheel-drive jeeps are required for the final stretches, and even these cannot operate reliably outside the summer months.
Taobat’s appeal is its extremity. The village sits in a broad meadow basin, surrounded by hills and nourished by streams that feed the Neelum River. Summer temperatures range from 10°C to 20°C (50°F to 68°F), and the pace of life is dictated entirely by the seasons. Winter snowfall blocks the roads, and the population shrinks as families move to lower elevations.
Wooden guesthouses and cottages charge between $14 and $18 per night — among the most affordable in the upper valley. Food is basic and locally sourced. The journey from Sharda to Taobat requires several hours of driving on rough roads, making this a destination for committed travelers rather than casual tourists.
Taobat Bala: The Meadow Above
A 20- to 25-minute uphill walk from Taobat brings visitors to Taobat Bala, a high meadow at 8,500 feet that represents the upper limit of accessible tourism in the Neelum Valley. The area is characterized by open grassland, flowing streams, small waterfalls, and an almost total absence of human presence.
Summer temperatures mirror those of Taobat below, between 10°C and 20°C (50°F to 68°F). Winter conditions are severe, with heavy snowfall rendering the area inaccessible for months.
Tourism infrastructure at Taobat Bala remains minimal — a handful of guesthouses charging from approximately $5 per night cater primarily to hikers and nature enthusiasts. The destination suits travelers seeking solitude and physical engagement with the landscape, rather than those requiring comfort and convenience.
Practical Considerations: Planning a Visit
When to Travel
The optimal window for visiting Pakistan-administered Kashmir runs from late April through early October. Within this period, May through September offers the most reliable weather and open road conditions. July and August represent peak season, with higher accommodation prices and greater visitor numbers. October brings autumn colors to the forests, while November through March is generally viable only for the lower-altitude destinations due to snow-blocked roads in the upper valleys.
Getting There
Islamabad is the primary gateway. The Murree Expressway and Kohala Bridge provide the main road access to Muzaffarabad, the territorial capital. From Muzaffarabad, the Neelum Valley Road runs north to Taobat, while the Poonch district — including Rawalakot, Bagh, and their associated destinations — is accessed via separate roads to the southwest.
Public transport is available but limited; most visitors hire private vehicles with experienced drivers familiar with mountain conditions. Four-wheel-drive is recommended for the upper Neelum Valley beyond Sharda.
Costs and Currency
Pakistan-administered Kashmir remains one of South Asia’s most budget-friendly mountain destinations. As noted throughout this guide, accommodation typically ranges from $5 to $123 per night depending on location and standard. Meals are inexpensive by international standards. A four-day organized tour covering Rawalakot, Banjosa Lake, and Toli Pir costs approximately $550 per person, based on 2025-2026 pricing from established operators.
The official currency is the Pakistani rupee (PKR). Foreign visitors should exchange currency in Islamabad before traveling, as banking facilities in the region are limited.
Permits and Security
Foreign nationals require a No Objection Certificate (NOC) to enter certain areas of Pakistan-administered Kashmir, particularly those near the Line of Control. The permit application process should be initiated at least two weeks before travel through the Ministry of Kashmir Affairs and Gilgit-Baltistan in Islamabad. Domestic Pakistani tourists do not require permits.
The security situation has improved significantly in recent years, but travelers should monitor official travel advisories and avoid areas close to the Line of Control unless specifically authorized.
Conclusion: Tourism’s Double Edge
The surge in visitor numbers — 1.5 million in 2025 alone — brings both opportunity and risk to Pakistan-administered Kashmir. The economic benefits are tangible: employment in hotels, transport, and food services; investment in infrastructure; and a growing recognition of the region’s value beyond its geopolitical symbolism. The Department of Tourism and Archaeology has indicated that new destinations are being prepared for promotion ahead of the 2026 season.
Yet the very qualities that draw visitors — the unspoiled landscapes, the quiet villages, the sense of discovery — are fragile. The experiences described in this guide remain authentic because much of the region has, until recently, been difficult to reach. As roads improve and visitor numbers climb, the challenge for authorities and communities alike will be to manage growth without sacrificing the essence of what makes these places worth visiting.
For now, Pakistan-administered Kashmir offers something increasingly rare: a genuine mountain experience at a human scale. The ten destinations profiled here represent the best of what the region has to offer — from the accessible serenity of Banjosa Lake to the remote meadows of Taobat Bala. The journey requires effort, patience, and a tolerance for basic conditions. The reward is a landscape that justifies its ancient reputation as paradise on earth.
Everyone has access to AI image generators now. Midjourney, DALL-E, Stable Diffusion—the names are familiar. But here’s what nobody talks about: control.
You want a specific style. A consistent character. A particular aesthetic that matches your brand or vision. So you craft elaborate prompts, add negative prompts, tweak parameters, and still get results that feel… generic. Like they came from the same machine everyone else is using. Because they did.
The real power in AI creation isn’t generation. It’s training. Teaching the machine your specific visual language so that even simple prompts produce results that feel uniquely yours. But model training has historically required Python scripts, GPU rentals, and enough technical knowledge to make most creators quit before they start.
That changed when I found ModelScope Vision.
What Is ModelScope Vision?
ModelScope is Alibaba’s open-source AI model ecosystem—think of it as GitHub specifically for artificial intelligence models. Within this ecosystem sits ModelScope Vision, a browser-based platform that handles image generation, video generation, and—crucially—custom LoRA model training entirely through a web interface.
No code. No installations. No credit card required.
The platform operates on a credit system: 200 free credits upon signup, plus 100 additional credits daily. For context, a standard image generation costs a fraction of a credit, and model training is completely free. Watermark-free exports don’t trigger paywalls. Advanced generation with negative prompts and multiple model selections runs without subscription nagging.
In an industry where “free” usually means “free until you need quality,” this feels almost suspicious.
The Feature That Changes Everything: LoRA Training
LoRA (Low-Rank Adaptation) training allows creators to teach AI models specific visual styles using just 10-15 reference images.
Why Custom Models Matter
Here’s the scenario. You run a faceless YouTube channel. Your content requires a consistent 2D cartoon aesthetic. Without custom training, every prompt becomes a negotiation: “2D cartoon style, flat colors, thick outlines, anime-inspired but western…” You write paragraphs. The AI interprets differently each time. Consistency becomes a battle.
With LoRA training, you upload 10 to 15 images representing your desired style. You name the model. You set a trigger word. The platform trains for free. And suddenly, typing “a man walking in a river” produces exactly your aesthetic—no style descriptors needed.
The workflow transforms from prompt engineering to creative direction.
How the Training Works
The process is deliberately simple:
Navigate to the training section
Select a base reference model (the foundation the AI builds upon)
Name your LoRA model and set a trigger word
Upload 10-15 representative images
Click “Start Free Training”
Training completes in minutes to hours depending on queue length. Once finished, the model appears in your personal library, accessible during any generation task by filtering for “My Models.”
I trained a 2D illustration model using a curated set of cartoon references. The result? Typing “detective examining clues” produced an image that looked like it belonged in the same universe as my training set—without mentioning art style, medium, or visual references once.
Image Generation: Beyond the Basics
The landscape of AI image generation has exploded, but few platforms offer the depth of control available through ModelScope Vision.
Instant vs. Advanced Generation
ModelScope Vision offers two generation modes:
Instant Generation handles quick outputs with basic parameters—prompt, size, quantity. It’s fast, functional, and produces quality suitable for most social media content.
Advanced Generation is where professionals live. This mode adds:
Negative prompts (specify what you don’t want)
Multiple model selection (combine base models with your custom LoRA)
Reference image input (use your face or existing artwork as structural guidance)
Enhanced parameter control for fine-tuning output characteristics
I tested advanced generation using a complex cinematic prompt from ChatGPT—something involving dramatic lighting, specific camera angles, and atmospheric elements. The output matched the prompt with surprising fidelity, maintaining coherent physics and proper light sourcing that often breaks in lesser tools.
The Watermark Surprise
Most “free” AI platforms watermark outputs and demand payment for clean versions. ModelScope Vision offers watermark-free generation as a standard option. Clicking it doesn’t redirect to a pricing page. It simply generates without the logo. This alone saves creators hours of post-processing or subscription fees.
Face Swapping and Character Consistency
Upload a reference image of yourself, select a model, and generate. The platform maintains facial structure while applying the requested scenario. I generated a “detective” version of myself that preserved recognizable features while adopting the requested mood and setting. For creators building personal brands or consistent characters, this eliminates the randomness that plagues standard generation.
Video Generation: The Final Frontier
Text-to-video technology represents the next evolution in AI content creation, with open-source platforms leading accessibility.
ModelScope Vision doesn’t stop at images. The platform offers three distinct video generation approaches:
Image-to-Video
Upload a static image and animate it using text prompts. I tested this with a generated action scene, prompting “man running and shooting with a gun.” The resulting video maintained character consistency while adding fluid motion—no morphing, no sudden identity shifts, no nightmare fuel.
First Frame + Last Frame
This is where it gets cinematic. Upload two images representing your opening and closing shots. The AI generates the transition between them. I created a sequence showing a character in two different poses, and the platform produced a smooth, logical movement connecting the states.
The quality impressed me. Motion felt intentional rather than algorithmic. Physics remained coherent. For creators building narrative sequences or music visualizers, this feature alone justifies exploration.
Text-to-Video
Direct generation from text prompts without image inputs. While currently less controllable than image-based methods, it offers genuine utility for abstract concepts or when source imagery isn’t available.
All video outputs are watermark-free. Length and resolution parameters are adjustable. And the entire pipeline runs within the same credit system—no separate “video credits” or premium tier requirements.
The Technical Backbone: Why This Actually Works
Advanced models like DeepSeek and Qwen power ModelScope’s ecosystem, offering capabilities that rival proprietary alternatives.
ModelScope isn’t a scrappy startup burning venture capital. It’s backed by Alibaba’s DAMO Academy, one of the world’s largest AI research organizations. The platform integrates models that others charge premium rates for:
DeepSeek (advanced language and multimodal models)
Qwen (Alibaba’s flagship LLM series)
Stable Diffusion variants optimized for specific use cases
Custom community models uploaded by researchers and creators
The free API tier offers 2,000 daily calls for advanced models. For developers building applications or automating workflows, this replaces paid API subscriptions that typically cost hundreds monthly.
Mobile-First Design
Everything runs in browser. No app installation. No desktop GPU requirements. I tested the entire workflow—model training, image generation, video creation—on a mid-range Android phone. Performance remained smooth, proving that sophisticated AI work no longer requires hardware investments.
The Credit Economy: How Far Do Free Credits Actually Go?
Let’s break down the math because “free” means different things on different platforms:
Table
Activity
Credit Cost
Free Tier Capacity
Standard image generation
~0.5-2 credits
100-400 images daily
Advanced generation
~2-5 credits
40-100 images daily
Model training
Free
Unlimited models
Video generation (8 sec)
~10-20 credits
10-20 videos daily
API calls (advanced models)
2,000/day
Separate quota
With 200 signup credits plus 100 daily refills, casual creators can generate substantial content without spending money. Heavy users can link Alibaba Cloud accounts for an additional 50 daily credits.
The invitation system adds another layer: using a referral code during signup grants double initial credits (400 instead of 200). Both parties benefit, creating genuine incentive for community growth rather than extraction.
Real-World Use Cases: Who Actually Benefits?
Faceless YouTube Creators
Train a consistent character model. Generate unlimited variations. Animate for B-roll. The entire pipeline—from concept to final video—happens within one platform without subscription stacking.
Indie Game Developers
Rapid prototype character designs. Generate texture variations. Create promotional artwork in a unified style. The LoRA training ensures visual consistency across hundreds of assets.
Social Media Managers
Produce daily content without quality degradation. Train brand-specific aesthetics. Generate video content for Reels, TikTok, and Shorts from static campaign imagery.
Writers and Concept Artists
Visualize scenes without artistic skill. Maintain character appearance across multiple illustrations. Explore mood and atmosphere through rapid iteration.
Developers and Startups
Build AI-powered applications using the free API. Prototype features without infrastructure costs. Scale only when revenue justifies investment.
The Limitations Nobody Talks About
Transparency requires acknowledging boundaries:
Queue times vary. Free users share processing resources with millions of others. During peak hours, generation might take minutes rather than seconds. Patience becomes part of the workflow.
Model training quality depends on input curation. Uploading random images produces random results. The 10-15 training images need curation, consistency, and clear representation of your desired output.
Video length caps exist. Current generation limits hover around 8-12 seconds per clip. Longer narratives require stitching multiple generations, which demands additional editing.
English interface support is functional but occasionally awkward. ModelScope originates from China, and while the web interface translates reasonably well, some advanced documentation remains Chinese-language.
Account verification requires email access. The verification email sometimes lands in spam folders. Users need to check thoroughly before requesting resends.
How to Get Started: A Practical Walkthrough
Step 1: Account Creation
Visit ModelScope Vision through the official portal. Create an account using email registration. During signup, enter an invitation code if available—this doubles your initial credits from 200 to 400.
Critical note: Check your spam folder for the verification email. It doesn’t always arrive in primary inboxes.
Step 2: Explore the Interface
Familiarize yourself with three main sections:
Image Generation (instant and advanced modes)
Video Generation (image-to-video, text-to-video, first/last frame)
Model Training (LoRA creation interface)
Step 3: Train Your First Model
Collect 10-15 images representing your desired style
Navigate to training, select a base model
Name your model and set a trigger word (e.g., “MYSTYLE”)
Upload images and start training
Wait for completion notification
Step 4: Generate Content
Use your trained model in advanced generation by selecting it from “My Models.” Test with simple prompts first—let the LoRA handle the stylistic heavy lifting.
Step 5: Scale Strategically
Link an Alibaba Cloud account for bonus credits. Use the API for automated workflows. Build a content calendar around your daily credit refresh.
The Bigger Picture: Open Source vs. Proprietary AI
Open-source models like DeepSeek are increasingly competitive with proprietary alternatives, challenging the paid subscription model.
ModelScope Vision represents something larger than a single tool. It’s evidence that open-source AI ecosystems can match—and sometimes exceed—proprietary alternatives without paywalling creativity.
While Western platforms race to monetize every generation, Chinese tech companies have pursued a different strategy: ecosystem building. By making advanced tools freely accessible, they cultivate user bases, gather training data, and establish platform loyalty. The long game isn’t subscription revenue; it’s becoming infrastructure.
For creators, this creates a window. These tools won’t remain unlimited forever. Platforms eventually monetize. But right now, the combination of genuine functionality, generous free tiers, and no-code accessibility makes ModelScope Vision arguably the most creator-friendly AI platform available.
Final Assessment: Should You Use It?
If you’re a casual user who generates occasional AI art for entertainment, ModelScope Vision is overkill. Stick with ChatGPT’s DALL-E integration or Bing Image Creator.
But if you’re a serious creator building consistent content, this platform solves problems that cost hundreds monthly elsewhere. Custom model training alone justifies exploration. Add watermark-free video generation, daily credit refreshes, and API access, and the value proposition becomes undeniable.
The learning curve is gentle. The output quality is professional. The price is genuinely zero.
In an industry where “free” usually means “free trial,” ModelScope Vision offers something radical: free capability. And that might be the most disruptive thing in AI right now.
Have you trained custom AI models before? What challenges did you face? Share your experience in the comments below.
The Hidden Cost of “Free” AI Video Tools If you’ve spent any time searching for AI video generators, you’ve seen the same recycled recommendations. Tools promising “unlimited free videos” that turn out to be barely watchable. Platforms that demand a new signup every two generations. The reality? Most “free” AI video tools are loss leaders designed to funnel you into expensive subscriptions.
But a new wave of AI video generators is changing the game. After extensive testing of dozens of platforms, we’ve identified five tools that deliver genuine value—allowing creators to produce 8 to 10 high-quality videos per account without spending a dime. Some require creative workarounds. Others are legitimately free with no strings attached. All of them produce content worth watching.
Whether you’re building a faceless YouTube channel, creating social media content, or experimenting with AI filmmaking, this guide breaks down exactly what works, what doesn’t, and how to maximize your output without violating terms of service.
1. Slop.club: The Unlimited Workhorse (With Caveats)
The landscape of AI content creation tools is expanding rapidly, with new platforms emerging monthly for video generation.
Let’s start with the most controversial entry. Slop.club won’t win any awards for video quality, but it offers something rare: genuinely unlimited generations with the right setup. For creators prioritizing volume over cinematic perfection—think meme compilations, basic animations, or experimental content—this platform fills a niche.
How It Works
The platform operates on a credit system. New accounts receive eight free credits, with an additional seven available through simple tasks. Each video generation consumes two credits, meaning approximately seven videos per account before hitting the limit.
The key to unlimited use lies in IP rotation. When credits expire, users can disconnect and reconnect their VPN to obtain a fresh IP address, then open a new incognito browser session. This creates a technical reset that allows continued free access.
The Reality Check
Slop.club offers two usable models: LTX (which currently has stability issues) and 12.2 Turbo. Video quality is, frankly, average. Motion coherence is inconsistent, and prompt adherence varies. But compared to the flood of subpar tools promoted across social media, Slop.club delivers functional results.
Best for: Bulk content creation where perfection isn’t the priority. Think B-roll footage, background animations, or rapid prototyping.
The catch: This method exists in a gray area of platform terms. Use it for experimentation, not for building a business that depends on consistent access.
2. YT Creates: The Mobile Animation Specialist
Not every creator needs cinematic realism. For the booming market of 2D animation, cartoon-style shorts, and vertical video content, YT Creates offers a surprisingly robust solution—completely free and currently unlimited.
Available on the Google Play Store, this mobile application leverages VO3 technology to transform static images into animated shorts. The interface is deliberately simple: upload an image, select your animation style, and generate. Within minutes, you have a vertical video ready for TikTok, Instagram Reels, or YouTube Shorts.
Technical Limitations
There’s one significant constraint: aspect ratio lock. Even if you upload a 16:9 widescreen image, the output defaults to 9:16 vertical format. This makes it useless for traditional filmmaking but perfect for the short-form content dominating social media algorithms.
Exporting is straightforward. Navigate to the “used videos” section, tap the arrow icon, and the file saves directly to your gallery. No watermarks. No credit limits. No upsells.
Best for: Faceless animation channels, explainer shorts, and social media content farms.
Quality assessment: VO3 produces smooth, stylized motion. Don’t expect Pixar, but the output exceeds most “free” mobile alternatives by a significant margin.
3. Google Flow: The Hidden Enterprise Solution
Google Flow represents the tech giant’s entry into AI video generation, offering cinematic quality through the Google Pro ecosystem.
Here’s where things get interesting. Google Flow is technically a premium product. But for millions of users in specific markets, it’s completely free—and not through any hack or workaround.
The Jio Pro Method
In India, telecommunications giant Jio bundles 18-month Google Pro subscriptions with standard mobile recharges. This isn’t a special promotion; it’s included with basic calling and data plans. For creators willing to do minimal legwork, this translates to approximately 1,000 monthly credits per Google account.
Here’s the math that matters: Google recently launched a “light” model for video generation costing just 10 credits per video. With 5,000 to 6,000 credits available across multiple accounts, that’s 500 to 600 videos monthly at zero cost.
The Setup Process
Install the MyJio application
Log in with any Jio number (yours, a family member’s, or a friend’s)
Scroll to the “What’s New” section
Select Google Gemini → “No More”
Create or link a Google account
Activate Google Pro on that account
The entire process takes under five minutes per number. With Jio’s built-in account switching, you can chain multiple activations efficiently.
Quality Assessment
Google Flow sits at the professional end of the spectrum. The light model sacrifices some fidelity compared to the full version, but the output remains broadcast-quality for most use cases. Character consistency, camera motion, and prompt adherence are industry-leading.
Best for: Professional creators, narrative filmmaking, and anyone needing reliable, high-quality output without platform-hopping.
Geographic limitation: This method is currently restricted to Jio’s operational markets, primarily India.
4. Grok AI: The Premium Trial Strategy
Grok Imagine offers advanced AI video generation capabilities through xAI’s platform, with support for image-to-video animation and cinematic prompts.
Elon Musk’s xAI entered the video generation space with Grok AI, and the results are impressive. The platform supports image uploads with animation prompts, generates up to 10-second clips in 720p resolution, and produces some of the most physically coherent motion in the industry.
The challenge? Grok discontinued its free tier. But the platform offers a three-day free trial of its Super Grok subscription—and with proper management, this trial can be rotated indefinitely.
The Trial Activation Method
Visit Grok’s website and initiate the free trial
At payment selection, choose UPI (India) or equivalent local payment
Complete the ₹1 authorization transaction
Immediately cancel auto-renewal through your payment app (PhonePe, Google Pay, etc.)
Use the full three days without future charges
The critical step is cancellation. In PhonePe, navigate to Profile → Manage Payments → Auto Pay → Delete “X AI LLC.” This ensures zero charges post-trial while maintaining full access during the trial period.
The Email Challenge
Grok blocks most temporary email providers. Verification codes simply don’t arrive. The solution requires premium temporary email services that use real Gmail domains rather than obvious throwaway addresses.
Services like Smail Pro Premium ($3 monthly) or Email Nater provide Gmail addresses that bypass Grok’s filters. These same emails work across multiple platforms, making the small investment worthwhile for serious creators.
Best for: High-quality image-to-video animation, cinematic B-roll, and creators comfortable with trial rotation.
Resolution cap: 720p maximum, though upscaling tools can enhance output.
5. Bite Plus: The Quality King
If you prioritize absolute video quality above all else, Bite Plus is the current champion among accessible AI video generators. This platform offers Cidance 1.5—one step below the industry-leading Cidance 2.0 but still producing results that rival professional animation software.
What Makes It Different
Bite Plus provides 2 million free tokens upon signup. An 8-second video at 720p consumes approximately 1.77 million tokens, yielding roughly 10 high-quality videos per account. Reduce resolution or duration, and that number jumps to 40+ videos.
The platform supports:
First frame and last frame conditioning (control start and end states)
1080p output for premium subscribers
12-second maximum duration
Precise prompt adherence with minimal motion artifacts
Animation Quality
During testing, Bite Plus demonstrated exceptional character consistency and physics simulation. When prompted with “person speaking naturally,” lip sync remained coherent throughout the clip. Background elements maintained spatial relationships without the warping common in lower-tier tools.
The Unlimited Path
Like Grok, Bite Plus blocks standard temporary emails. The same premium email strategy applies: invest in Smail Pro Premium or Email Nater’s 3-day trial (₹410 with UPI payment available), generate unlimited Gmail addresses, and rotate accounts as tokens deplete.
Best for: Professional faceless channels, high-end social media content, and creators building portfolios.
Token efficiency tip: Generate at 720p, then use separate AI upscaling tools for final resolution. The quality difference is negligible, but token consumption drops significantly.
The Ethics and Sustainability of Free AI Video Generation
Comparative analysis of leading AI video generators reveals significant variations in cost, quality, and accessibility across platforms.
Let’s address the elephant in the room. The methods described above—trial rotation, IP switching, and premium temporary emails—exist in ethical and legal gray zones. Platforms offer free tiers and trials as loss leaders, expecting conversion to paid subscriptions. Systematic circumvention undermines their business models.
However, the current AI video market presents a genuine accessibility problem. Professional-grade tools like Runway Gen-3, Pika 1.5, and Sora cost $20 to $200 monthly—prohibitive for creators in developing economies, students, and experimenters. Until pricing models democratize, these workarounds serve as on-ramps to the creator economy.
Sustainable Alternatives
For creators generating revenue, consider:
Google Flow’s Jio method (legitimate and sustainable)
YT Creates (genuinely free with no workarounds)
Investing in one premium tool rather than gaming multiple trials
The trial rotation strategy works for learning and portfolio building. But businesses built on perpetually resetting accounts face inevitable disruption when platforms tighten verification.
Technical Requirements and Setup
Essential Tools
VPN Service: Urban VPN (free tier sufficient for Slop.club rotation)
Premium Email: Smail Pro ($3/month) or Email Nater (₹410/trial)
Payment App: PhonePe, Google Pay, or PayPal for trial activations
UPI ID: Required for Indian payment processing
Workflow Optimization
Batch your generation. Don’t create one video per session. Maximize each account’s credits before rotating.
Prompt engineering matters. Even free tools produce better output with detailed, structured prompts. Specify camera angles, motion types, and lighting conditions.
Post-process consistently. Use CapCut, DaVinci Resolve, or similar tools to color-grade, add audio, and refine AI-generated footage.
The Future of Free AI Video Generation
The landscape shifts weekly. Google is aggressively expanding Flow’s capabilities. OpenAI’s Sora promises eventual public release. Startups like Kling, Hailuo, and Luma Dream Machine are racing to capture market share with competitive free tiers.
For creators, this means today’s workarounds are tomorrow’s standard features. The platforms that currently require trial gymnastics will likely offer legitimate free tiers as competition intensifies.
The smart strategy? Use these tools to build skills, audiences, and revenue. Then reinvest in legitimate subscriptions to the platforms that serve your specific needs. The creators who thrive won’t be those who best exploit free trials, but those who master the underlying craft of AI-assisted filmmaking.
Final Verdict: Which Tool Should You Choose?
Table
Tool
Best For
Videos/Account
Quality
Effort Level
Slop.club
Bulk experiments
Unlimited (with rotation)
⭐⭐
High
YT Creates
Mobile animation
Unlimited
⭐⭐⭐
Low
Google Flow
Professional work
500+/month
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Medium
Grok AI
Image animation
Unlimited (trial rotation)
⭐⭐⭐⭐
High
Bite Plus
Premium quality
10-40
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Medium
For pure beginners: Start with YT Creates and Google Flow (if Jio is available). For quality-focused creators: Bite Plus justifies the email service investment. For maximum volume regardless of quality: Slop.club remains the unlimited option.
The AI video revolution isn’t coming. It’s here. And for now, at least, you don’t need a Hollywood budget to participate.
Have you found other genuinely free AI video generators? Share your discoveries in the comments below.
Kampala, Uganda — In an extraordinary diplomatic episode that has left foreign policy experts scrambling for explanations, Uganda’s army chief has issued a 30-day ultimatum to Turkey demanding $1 billion in cash and the hand of the country’s “most beautiful woman” in marriage, threatening to sever all diplomatic ties if his demands are not met .
General Muhoozi Kainerugaba, who also happens to be the son of Uganda’s long-serving President Yoweri Museveni, posted the demands on X (formerly Twitter) over the weekend, sparking a firestorm of international condemnation and social media ridicule while raising serious questions about the stability of one of Africa’s most strategically important military partnerships.
The Ultimatum: Cash and a Bride
In a series of now-deleted posts that nonetheless went viral, Kainerugaba demanded the payment as a “security dividend” for Uganda’s nearly two-decade military presence in Somalia, where Ugandan troops have been deployed under African Union missions combating the Al-Qaeda-affiliated militant group Al-Shabaab .
“On top of the $1 billion from Turkey, I want the most beautiful woman in that country for a wife!” the general wrote in one post that garnered over 2.6 million views within hours .
The threat was explicit: comply within 30 days or face the closure of Turkey’s embassy in Kampala, the suspension of Turkish Airlines operations in Ugandan airspace, and a complete termination of diplomatic relations . “For Turkey it’s a really simple deal… Either they pay us or I close their embassy here,” Kainerugaba wrote .
From Ally to Antagonist
The bizarre demands mark a dramatic deterioration in relations between two countries that have historically maintained close military and economic ties. Turkey has invested heavily in Ugandan infrastructure and maintains significant commercial interests in the region.
Kainerugaba accused Turkey of profiting from infrastructure deals in Somalia—including ports and airports in Mogadishu—while Uganda shouldered the security burden . “Who needs a friend who keeps stabbing you in the back,” he wrote, advising Ugandan citizens to “avoid all travel to Turkey. For your own safety” .
The Turkish Foreign Ministry has remained conspicuously silent on the matter, while social media users in Turkey responded with a mixture of mockery and outrage. One Turkish user noted that Uganda’s entire GDP is smaller than that of Izmir, Turkey’s third-largest city . Another suggested the general should “ask for a brain” from Turkish doctors .
Pattern of Provocation
This is far from the first time Kainerugaba has triggered diplomatic crises through social media. The general has developed a reputation for what observers call “Twitter diplomacy”—a series of increasingly erratic online statements that have repeatedly forced his father to issue formal apologies to foreign governments.
In October 2022, he offered 100 Ankole cows—described as “the most beautiful cows on earth”—in exchange for the hand of Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni, threatening to “capture Rome” if his offer was refused . President Museveni was forced to publicly rebuke his son for interfering “in the internal affairs of brother countries” .
That same year, Kainerugaba threatened to invade neighboring Kenya, boasting that “it wouldn’t take us, my army and me, two weeks to capture Nairobi” . The remarks led to his temporary removal as Chief of Defence Forces and another formal apology from his father.
Other controversial posts have included homophobic threats of violence, offers to deploy 100,000 Ugandan soldiers to defend Israel, and bizarre declarations about nuclear powers .
The Succession Question
The incidents have fueled speculation about Kainerugaba’s political ambitions. As the son of one of Africa’s longest-serving leaders—Museveni has ruled Uganda since 1986—the general is widely seen as a potential successor in a country where power has never changed hands through free elections.
His behavior raises troubling questions about what a Kainerugaba presidency might look like. “This isn’t just about one man’s Twitter account,” says Dr. Angela Okello, a Kampala-based political analyst. “It’s about whether Uganda’s military establishment is being primed for a dynastic transition that could destabilize the entire Horn of Africa.”
International Implications
Uganda’s military partnership with Western powers, particularly the United States, has come under increasing scrutiny. The country receives significant security assistance and maintains troops in Somalia as part of counter-terrorism operations. Yet Kainerugaba’s erratic behavior and apparent affinity for authoritarian strongmen—including his expressed admiration for former U.S. President Donald Trump’s social media style—complicate these relationships .
The Turkey incident also highlights the growing phenomenon of “social media diplomacy”—where military and political leaders bypass traditional diplomatic channels to make inflammatory statements that can trigger real-world consequences. In an era of heightened global tensions, such unfiltered communications pose significant risks to international stability.
The Silence from Kampala
As of publication, neither President Museveni nor the Ugandan Foreign Ministry has issued any statement clarifying whether Kainerugaba’s demands represent official government policy or personal opinion. The silence has been deafening.
For Turkey, the episode presents a diplomatic dilemma: respond and risk elevating the situation, or ignore it and potentially embolden similar behavior from other actors. For now, Ankara appears to have chosen the latter course, hoping the 30-day deadline passes without incident.
But the incident serves as a stark reminder that in an age of social media and authoritarian consolidation, the line between personal delusion and state policy has never been thinner. As one Turkish social media user noted: “We have an expression in Turkish—the most accurate translation is ‘A dog whose death is due realises it, urinates on the mosque wall'” .
The world will be watching to see whether Uganda’s military establishment chooses restraint—or whether the general’s 30-day clock becomes a countdown to diplomatic disaster.
Kochi, India — In a move that legal scholars say exposes deepening fractures in India’s federal structure, a police team from the central state of Madhya Pradesh has launched an unprecedented cross-state operation to seize a 16-year-old tribal woman whose interfaith marriage has become a flashpoint in the country’s culture wars.
Monalisa Bhosle—whose striking appearance at the 2025 Kumbh Mela religious festival made her an overnight social media sensation—married Muslim actor Farman Khan on March 1 in a Hindu temple ceremony in Kerala, India’s southernmost state. What began as a private union has since erupted into a national controversy testing the boundaries of state autonomy, religious freedom, and the rights of women from marginalized communities.
The four-member police squad employed surveillance techniques typically reserved for counter-terrorism operations, tracing the couple through mobile phone data to a location in Thrikkakara before demanding their appearance before authorities.
Upon the team’s arrival in Kochi, the couple immediately sought protection from local police, with Bhosle submitting a formal complaint requesting she not be forcibly returned to her home state where she alleges facing threats from right-wing groups.
Kerala Police Commissioner C.H. Nagaraju confirmed that his officers had provided the visiting team with a copy of the Kerala High Court order staying any arrest until May 20.
Yet sources within the investigation suggest the Madhya Pradesh team’s objectives include taking Bhosle into custody—despite Kerala having independently verified her documents and recognized the marriage as legally valid.
“This represents a direct challenge to state jurisdiction,” says Dr. Priya Sharma, a constitutional law expert at Delhi University. “When one state disregards another’s judicial processes, we enter dangerous territory for federal governance.”
The Age Question: Documentary Chaos
At the heart of the dispute lies a bureaucratic nightmare emblematic of India’s fragmented identity systems. Bhosle and Khan submitted Aadhaar cards and birth certificates to Kerala authorities showing her date of birth as December 30, 2006—making her 18 at marriage.
Her family, however, claims she is 16, citing school records.
The National Commission for Scheduled Tribes (NCST), conducting a parallel investigation, determined her birth date as December 30, 2009—making her 16 at marriage—and directed police to file charges under the Protection of Children from Sexual Offences (POCSO) Act.
Notably, police have only registered an abduction case under Section 137(2), stopping short of the more severe charges.
The discrepancy highlights a systemic issue: in India’s tribal communities, where birth registration remains inconsistent, multiple official documents often exist for the same individual. “The state is essentially choosing which document to believe based on political convenience,” notes tribal rights advocate Dr. Ananya Roy. “This selective enforcement disproportionately targets interfaith couples.”
When Marriages Become National Security Threats
The wedding drew national attention not for the couple’s union, but for the political machinery that descended upon it. Senior Communist Party of India (Marxist) leaders attended the ceremony—a presence that immediately triggered accusations of “Love Jihad” from Hindu nationalist groups.
The term—describing an alleged conspiracy by Muslim men to marry and convert Hindu women—has been repeatedly debunked by India’s own National Investigation Agency (NIA), yet remains a potent political weapon.
At least 11 Indian states have enacted anti-conversion laws since 2020, with the United Nations Special Rapporteur on Freedom of Religion calling them “tools of persecution” that violate international human rights standards.
At a press conference, Bhosle rejected these allegations: “We got married according to Hindu rites at a temple. Everyone in the country knows that… I respect all religions”. She and Khan have also accused filmmaker Sanoj Mishra—who had signed Bhosle for a film project—of harassment and death threats.
The case highlights an alarming erosion of state autonomy in India’s federal structure. Kerala authorities, having independently verified the couple’s documents, recognize the marriage as legally valid. Yet Madhya Pradesh’s continued investigation—spanning over 1,500 kilometers—suggests a determination to override local jurisdiction.
“This is not about one marriage,” says Dr. Sharma. “It’s about whether states in India retain any meaningful sovereignty over matters within their territorial jurisdiction, or whether political agendas in ruling-party states can override local legal processes.”
The Kerala High Court’s interim protection order expires on May 20, creating a window for potential confrontation. For now, the couple remains in legal limbo—married in one state, potentially criminalized in another.
International Law vs. Domestic Practice
India’s treatment of interfaith couples stands in stark contrast to its international obligations. Article 16 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights guarantees the right to marry “without any limitation due to race, nationality or religion,” while Article 18 protects freedom of religion, including the right to change one’s faith.
The International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR)—to which India is a party—similarly prohibits religious discrimination in marriage. Yet India’s domestic anti-conversion laws require government registration for religious changes, effectively criminalizing personal spiritual decisions.
“The Special Marriage Act of 1954 was meant to provide a secular route for interfaith couples,” explains legal researcher Samriddhi Chatterjee. “But its 30-day public notice requirement exposes couples to societal interference, effectively turning marriage bureaus into surveillance tools for vigilante groups”.
The Human Cost
Beyond the legal technicalities lies a stark reality: a young woman from the Pardhi tribal community—a historically marginalized group often classified as “criminal tribes” under British colonial law—whose moment of viral fame has made her a target.
The same media ecosystem that celebrated her “Mona Lisa eyes” at the Kumbh Mela now scrutinizes her personal choices, her religious identity, and her right to self-determination. The case serves as a barometer for India’s democratic health—testing whether constitutional protections for minorities, women, and federal principles can withstand majoritarian political pressures.