A pause for ice cream, a sip of tea: Tourists from Bengaluru recall narrow escape from Pahalgam terror attack

“We were so excited to see Pahalgam,” Bhat recalled. “Our guide called it Mini Switzerland dotted with lush meadows and snow-capped peaks. We couldn’t wait to explore.”

On horseback, the group rode through the valley until one small indulgence changed their plans. “We decided to stop for ice cream,” Bhat said. “It was just a moment of fun — licking cones, joking around. That pause kept us behind the rest of our group.”

That moment of levity distanced them from a terrorist attack that would claim the lives of 26 people — including three residents of Bengaluru — just three kilometres ahead.

Unaware of the chaos unfolding, the group was alerted when their horse handlers suddenly turned frantic. “They shouted at us to get off and go back, then disappeared. We were stranded, scared, with no idea what was happening,” Bhat said.

Gripped by fear and confusion, they began a tense three-km trek back to their hotel. “Every step was heavy with dread. We didn’t know if we were safe, but we kept moving, holding onto each other,” she said. “More than the ice cream, it was the time that saved us.”

For another group of tourists, it wasn’t dessert, but a tea break that became an unlikely shield against tragedy.

Stanley Gnanam, a resident of Bengaluru’s Ramamurthy Nagar, had travelled to Kashmir with two other families, including his friend Madhusudhan Somisetty, a 42-year-old tech professional from Nellore. The families were five days into a six-day itinerary that included stops in Srinagar, Pahalgam, Gulmarg, Sonmarg, and Doodhpathri.

Paramilitary soldiers stand guard at the banks of Dal Lake as Indian tourists take boat rides in Srinagar. (Photo: AP)

On April 22, they reached Baisaran Valley and paused around 1:50 pm for lunch — Maggi, parathas, and pulao — at a food tent. Somisetty and his wife wandered further into the valley for photographs while others stayed behind to sip tea. It was a decision that would separate life from death.

“At 2:20 pm, we suddenly heard a loud shot,” Gnanam recalled. “When we asked about it, an old man replied that it was customary in Kashmir to burst crackers for anniversaries. But seconds later, continuous firing broke out, and people began screaming and running in panic.”

Panic swept the valley. Shopkeepers and pony owners rushed toward them, yelling for everyone to flee. “I grabbed my son and my friend’s son and told them to run without looking back,” Gnanam said. “I shouted for my wife and my friend, telling them to run straight toward the exit and reach the group as quickly as possible. We were in shock —surrounded by the sound of gunfire, the sight of blood and the chaos of people fleeing.”

Somisetty did not survive.

In the moments that followed, Gnanam said it was the local Kashmiri community that responded first, not security forces. “As the chaos unfolded, it was the local pony owners, food vendors, and shopkeepers who were the first to react. They didn’t think twice — they rushed toward us, guiding and urging us to run toward safer areas,” he said. “Some even offered shelter behind rocks and temporary stalls, putting themselves at risk to help tourists they didn’t even know.”

Eventually, the survivours made it to a safer zone near a Central Reserve Police Force base, where local men brought water. “Their quick thinking and calm demeanour helped prevent a worse situation, especially for the children in our group,” Gnanam said.

Back in Bengaluru, Gnanam said the experience had left a deep emotional imprint. “The experience taught us to never take life or moments with loved ones for granted,” he said. “The simple joy of having everyone safely back together that evening felt like a blessing. We held each other a little closer, spoke a little more kindly, and appreciated the gift of being alive.”