Bridges are not just made of steel. They are built of intent, of imagination, and will. The Chenab Bridge, the world’s highest railway arch, unveiled last week in Jammu and Kashmir by Prime Minister Narendra Modi, is a triumph of engineering. But it is also something more: A national statement. That India will connect, invest, include — even in the face of terror, trauma and turbulence.
The Valley is no stranger to moments of hope disrupted by violence. The recent terrorist attack in Pahalgam was not just an act of brutality, it was a message. The timing was no accident. Terror knows when to strike: Just when peace feels plausible.
But this time, India did not blink. Operation Sindoor was a firm military reply. Historians will analyse its long-term impact. Yet, the more out-of-the-box response came through words. A parliamentary delegation travelled to world capitals with a simple truth: The violence was not a cry of grievance, but a campaign of subversion — designed, funded, and fuelled from across the border.
Yes, the diplomacy was choreographed, and the jury may still be out about how well it worked. But in today’s world, choreography is power. If India does not write its own script, someone else will — often with distortion, sometimes with malice.
Pakistan’s game is unchanged — public declarations of peace, private sponsorship of terror. Perpetual instability is its goal, not for the sake of the people of Kashmir, but for the politics of Rawalpindi. And in that game, every moment of progress in the Valley is a threat to Pakistan’s script of victimhood. It thrives on narratives of woundedness, not healed communities.
And yet, against all odds, India builds.
The Chenab Bridge is not just a rail link. It is a civilisational message. That we will connect where others divide. That we will include where others exclude. That we will invest where others instigate. It is a span of steel, but also of sovereignty and solidarity. A bridge that pierces terrain and cynicism alike. It rises not only from Earth but from a resolve to redeem. Much like Adi Shankara, who travelled to Kashmir in the eighth century to debate, learn and unify philosophical traditions, this bridge represents a modern yatra, not of conquest, but of connection.
PM Modi’s approach to Kashmir is often flattened into a single frame: Security. That framing is not only outdated, it is inaccurate. Yes, his government has responded firmly to terror. But it has also poured unprecedented investment into the region’s long-neglected civic infrastructure. In just a few years, thousands of kilometres of rural roads have been built. Electricity has reached villages long resigned to kerosene. Schools and health centres have seen real, visible upgrades. Tourism, once in freefall, was, before Pahalgam happened, witnessing an unprecedented revival.
The Chenab Bridge crystallises this vision. A structure that was once dismissed as impossible is now not only real, it is operational. That is not just governance. It is political will translated into steel. This marks a break from the era of token gestures and annual visits. Development is no longer an addendum to security — it is a strategy in itself. The goal is not just to pacify, but to empower. Not just to integrate, but to inspire. In Kashmir, that change matters. Because promises have been made before. What is different now is execution and expectation.
Still, let us not deceive ourselves. Steel can bind mountains, but only trust can bind people. What Kashmir needs is not just infrastructure. It needs empathy. It needs restoration. It needs a political imagination that moves from managing resentment to enabling partnership. From surveillance to self-worth. From control to confidence.
Let us speak honestly. Kashmiris have been let down, by militants who promised azaadi and delivered ashes, by political leaders who ruled like feudal custodians, and by an administration that often confused governance with control. And yet, the people endure.
The teacher in Budgam who walks miles to open a one-room schoolhouse. The farmer in Baramulla coaxing apples from stubborn soil. The university professor in Ganderbal working through internet cuts and security alerts. The real reporter who writes what she sees, not what she’s told. The shawl weavers of Kanihama who live to produce their art. The Pandit who stayed behind, despite the threats, because the Valley is her soul’s address. These are not just vignettes. They are the warp and weft of Kashmir’s dignity.
These individuals do not speak in slogans. They live real lives. They want peace, yes, but also justice, jobs, and agency. They do not need to be managed; they need to be trusted. It is they who must be the centre of any sustainable strategy, not as passive recipients, but as active agents of renewal.
Kashmir is not only about its grand narratives; it is about its quiet continuities. It is time policy recognised this reality.
This year’s Kheer Bhawani Mela, though muted, whispered of a pluralism not yet extinguished. That flicker of coexistence, of faiths entwined, must not be allowed to die. It is what makes Kashmir not just a conflict, but a civilisational crossroads. The spirit of Lal Ded, who sang in mystic verse of truth beyond division, still echoes in the Valley — a voice that united Muslim and Hindu, scholar and shepherd, in a language of shared humanity.
India must not, however, make the mistake of assuming that silence is acceptance. That the absence of bullets means the presence of peace. A secure Kashmir is not a subdued Kashmir. It is a Kashmir that speaks, votes, disagrees, dreams.
Pakistan will try again. It will send men, money, misinformation. It will exploit every gap, every grievance. That is why this is a moment of reckoning.
We can retreat, once again, into a familiar cycle of grief, blame, and bureaucracy. Or we can build. Slowly, steadily, with steel and with soul.
Let the Chenab Bridge remind us: No chasm is too wide if we dare to span it. As someone whose life has been shaped by this land, as a scholar, a resident, a son of the Valley, I say this: Do not reduce Kashmir to security jargon or poetic cliché. It deserves more. It demands more. It is time to restore its place, not on the margins, but at the heart of the Indian idea.
The Valley stands today between a tragedy in Pahalgam and a triumph in Chenab. One reveals our vulnerabilities. The other, our possibilities.
Let us choose wisely.
The writer is professor and dean of the School of International Studies at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, and honorary professor at the University of Melbourne, Australia
Kashmir is not only about its grand narratives; it is about its quiet continuities. It is time policy recognised this reality. (Illustration by C R Sasikumar) 
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