One Year After Pahalgam: No Bunkers, Lingering Trauma In Border Areas

Two days ago, when a mock drill was announced in the border areas of Poonch district, Tahir Zaman did what many along the Line of Control have quietly normalised over the past year, he brought his sister and her children back home from a village along the border.

“She was so scared,” Zaman says. “Even now, when such announcements are made, people feel shelling could start at any moment.”

Hundreds of kilometres away in other border districts, the fear takes different shapes but stems from the same memory. In Poonch, residents say even wedding celebrations have had to adapt, firecrackers, once routine, are now avoided or outright banned because the sound sends people scrambling for cover. In one recent instance during a cricket match celebration, families instinctively ducked under beds, convinced firing had resumed, says Waqar Ahmad, a resident of Poonch. 

A year after Operation Sindoor brought intense cross-border shelling to villages along the LOC including villages in Uri, Kupwara and Poonch in the aftermath of the Pahalgam terror attack, the violence may have subsided, but its after-effect lingers in bodies, routines, and decisions. The trauma has reshaped daily life. Markets shut earlier, nights are quieter, social habits have changed.

“In the past year, many people I know, including myself, are having difficulties sleeping at night, shops close around 7-8 and people just seek refuge in their houses. There is a constant fear,” says Zaman. 

Almost half of the central government funds meant for building underground bunkers to protect border residents in Jammu and Kashmir have not been spent over the past five years, according to data shared under a Right to Information (RTI) application. The disclosure comes at a time of renewed concern over civilian safety following Operation Sindoor and heavy cross-border firing in 2025.

In response to an RTI filed by Jammu-based activist Raman Kumar, the Jammu and Kashmir Home Department revealed that ₹242.77 crore was allocated between 2020–21 and 2024–25 for bunker construction. However, 46.58 per cent of this amount remains unutilised.

While districts like Rajouri and Poonch, among the worst affected during shelling, did see some expenditure, the overall pace of construction has lagged far behind both allocations and need. Of the Rs 242.77 crore released, only Rs 129.67 crore has been spent so far. The claims are, however, denied by locals.

The numbers sit uneasily against the scale of vulnerability. India shares a 744-km-long LoC with Pakistan in Jammu and Kashmir, where ceasefire violations, despite the 2021 reaffirmation, have historically placed civilians in direct line of fire, with the most recent incident taking place in 2025 when both India and Pakistan exchanged retaliatory steps, closing borders, suspending visas, downgrading diplomatic ties.

The war-like situation escalated with strikes and counter-strikes, culminating in India’s Operation Sindoor on May 7–8, marking the peak of tensions before a ceasefire days later. It was a result of a terror attack in Pahalgam that claimed the lives of 26 civilians, setting off a four-day escalation between nuclear-armed neighbours India and Pakistan before a ceasefire was reached on May 11.

“I would say this is negligence on the part of the government. Promises were made, but not even 1 percent of them have been fulfilled,” says Zaman. 

‘Two Bunkers For 1,000 People’

In the days following the ceasefire in May 2025, political assurances came quickly.

Jammu and Kashmir Chief Minister Omar Abdullah acknowledged the gap, stating that while community bunkers existed, “no new bunker has come up in many years,” and promised a policy for individual bunkers in vulnerable areas.

On 13 May last year, Abdullah said that it appeared that civilian areas were deliberately targeted in this instance, endangering more lives. “...we are working diligently to assess damage and extend help wherever needed. We will draft a policy for more individual underground bunkers in border areas.” Around the same time, Atal Dulloo, visiting shelling-affected areas in Rajouri, reiterated that more bunkers would be constructed for the safety of border residents, noting the extent of damage caused by shelling in civilian areas.

But on the ground, residents say little has changed.

In Uri’s Karkote village, barely 3.5 km from the border, 40-year-old Shabir Ahmad is unequivocal, “Not a single bunker has been built here.”

His house was partially destroyed during the shelling. The government provided Rs 1 lakh as compensation, but repairs cost him nearly ₹ Rs 3.5 lakh, forcing him into debt.

“The money was almost nothing compared to the damage,” he says, adding that even then, what the people needed more than compensation were the underground bunkers. “What we need most is safety. Even if we didn’t get money, bunkers would matter more.”

In Kupwara, Zaman echoes the sentiment. “Promises were made, private bunkers, community bunkers, but not even one percent has been fulfilled,” he says. “Right now, those promises feel like a dream.”

Further south in Poonch, Waqar Ahmad from Dingla, a village almost 3 kilometres away from the LoC says surveys were conducted to identify bunker sites, but “there has been no action at all.” Across regions, the pattern is consistent: assessments, announcements, and assurances, but little visible construction.

This gap persists despite earlier central approvals. In 2018–19, the Union government sanctioned over 14,000 bunkers at a cost exceeding ₹415 crore, later expanding the plan to include thousands more in north Kashmir districts. Officials say around 9,500 bunkers have been built so far, but these are unevenly distributed, often insufficient, and in many places, inaccessible.

For villages with populations in the thousands, a handful of small community bunkers offer limited refuge. “If there are two bunkers for a thousand people, where will the rest go?” Waqar asks.

Outlook reached out to Jammu and Kashmir government spokesperson Nasir Sogami, who disconnected the call after being informed about the nature of the query. Queries were also sent to several members of the Jammu and Kashmir National Conference and to Chief Minister Omar Abdullah. The story will be updated if a response is received.

The LoC, formalised after the Simla Agreement that followed the Indo-Pak War of 1971, remains one of the most militarised boundaries in the world. Though a ceasefire agreement was first reached in 2003 and reaffirmed in 2021, violations have been frequent, with civilians often bearing the brunt.

In border villages like Degwar in Poonch, the LoC is not an abstraction but a constant presence. Surveillance drones, distant firing, and sudden escalations shape everyday life. Even in periods of calm, uncertainty lingers. Bunkers, in this landscape, are not just infrastructure, they are survival tools. Designed to shield civilians from artillery and mortar fire, they have long been part of military planning. But for civilians, access remains uneven.

Historically, people have improvised, hiding in makeshift shelters, or neighbours’ basements during shelling. Today’s push for individual and community bunkers reflects an attempt to formalise that instinct for survival.

‘Always Ready To Leave’

If the absence of bunkers exposes a physical vulnerability, the deeper, less visible impact is psychological. Across Uri, Kupwara, and Poonch, residents describe a shared condition: hyper-alertness, disrupted sleep, and an inability to distinguish between past and present danger. “Even if a firecracker bursts, we get frightened,” says Shabir Ahmad. “When I remember that day, my body still trembles.”

In Kupwara, Zaman recounts how he had to move his mother to a makeshift neighbourhood bunker where so many people were hiding simultaneously that his old mother felt hyper-ventilated and had a severe anxiety attack. The episode, he says, has still not left her and she still feels scared about the thought of artillery shelling and hiding. Yet, bunkers remain the most essential thing the community requires. 

The lack of institutional mental health support compounds the problem. Residents say no structured interventions, counselling, community support programmes, or outreach, have been offered by the government in the aftermath. Instead, reminders of conflict persist in everyday triggers,  army drills, distant explosions, even news of wars elsewhere.

“When we see conflicts happening in other parts of the world, especially the recent West Asia war, we start thinking, what if it happens here again?” says Waqar Ahmad.

The trauma has also altered long-term decisions.

Many families now maintain parallel lives, one in their native villages, another in safer towns like Srinagar or Baramulla. Renting small accommodations in cities, often at Rs 5,000 or more per month, has become common.

“Half our belongings are already in Srinagar,” Zaman says. “We are always ready to leave.”

This dual existence comes at a cost. Financially, it doubles expenses. Emotionally, it fragments belonging. People hesitate to invest in their homes or businesses in border areas, uncertain if they will endure the next escalation. Yet leaving entirely is not an option.

“Because it’s our motherland,” Zaman says. “We feel peace here.” That tension, between attachment and fear, defines life along the LoC.

Even those who return after displacement carry the experience forward. Many spent months away after the shelling, housed in government schools or with volunteers. Coming back did not restore normalcy. “Outwardly, things are calm,” Waqar Ahmad says. “But internally, the trauma has not left.”

For children, the impact is particularly acute. Many have been sent away to study in safer areas, separating families and reinforcing the sense that home is no longer secure.

A year after Operation Sindoor, the border is quieter, but not at peace, Zaman tells Outlook.  Shelling has stopped, but the anticipation of its return has not. Government promises of protection remain largely unfulfilled. Funds lie partially unused. Bunkers, where they exist, are too few. For many, survival now means living in two places at once, emotionally rooted in their villages, physically prepared to flee at a moment’s notice.

“Peace is here, but safety is in Srinagar,” says Zaman.