By Girdhari Lal Raina
At its core, the displacement of Kashmiri Pandits is not merely a story of political mismanagement or administrative collapse. It represents a profound failure of the Indian nation-state to uphold its most basic constitutional and civilisational obligations—obligations that were willfully neglected by those entrusted with power in Jammu & Kashmir.
The Indian Constitution does not treat citizenship as conditional upon religious demography, political convenience, or regional sentiment. Article 14 guarantees equality before the law; Article 15 prohibits discrimination on religious grounds; Article 21 enshrines the right to life with dignity; and Article 25 protects freedom of conscience and religion. When an indigenous community is selectively targeted, terrorised, and driven out of its ancestral homeland, these provisions cease to be abstract ideals—they become binding tests of governance.
Farooq Abdullah’s administration failed this test. The primary obligation of a state government is the protection of life and liberty. That obligation is non-negotiable and cannot be deferred to political negotiation, sentiment, or appeasement. By allowing an environment in which religious minorities were systematically targeted—and by failing to act decisively against those responsible—the government abdicated its sovereign responsibility.
The National Conference and the Forfeiture of Legitimacy
Political legitimacy in a constitutional republic does not flow merely from electoral success. It derives from adherence to constitutional duty, moral accountability, and the protection of all citizens—especially the most vulnerable. Measured against this standard, the National Conference forfeited its claim to legitimacy long ago.
A party that presides over the targeted elimination and mass displacement of an indigenous minority, and later seeks to normalise that displacement through rhetorical indifference or historical denial, cannot claim the mantle of democratic representation. Elections do not absolve constitutional failure. Power does not erase responsibility.
In constitutional terms, the National Conference stands indicted not for what it claims, but for what it failed to do. It failed to protect life. It failed to uphold equality before the law. It failed to preserve civilisational continuity. And it failed to accept responsibility. These failures are cumulative—and without truth and accountability, irredeemable.
History is unforgiving to regimes that survive by erasing their victims. The political legitimacy of the National Conference collapsed not because of ideological disagreement, but because it abandoned the first duty of the state and then sought to rewrite memory itself.
Dynasty, Volatility, and Political Abdication
Farooq Abdullah has long cultivated the image of a mercurial and unpredictable leader—an image sustained over decades. He has demonstrated an extraordinary capacity for contradiction: defending India’s position on Kashmir at international forums while, at other times, invoking the prospect of external—Chinese—intervention. This oscillation is not ideological evolution; it is political opportunism driven by personal relevance rather than principle.
Behind this cultivated casualness lies something more entrenched: a deeply self-preserving political dynasty. In this respect, Farooq Abdullah differs little from his father, Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah, who abandoned even his closest associates—including Mirza Mohammad Afzal Beig—when dynastic control was at stake. Loyalty within this political tradition has always been transactional.
It is within this framework that the fate of Kashmir’s religious minorities—particularly Kashmiri Pandits—must be understood. Historically demonised, excluded, and marginalised, they became the principal victims of a politics that legitimised grievance while delegitimising coexistence. Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah’s characterisation of Kashmiri Pandits as “fifth columnists” in Atish-e-Chinar laid the ideological groundwork for their later targeting.
Violence Under Watch, Silence in Power
Farooq Abdullah’s recent scepticism about whether displaced Kashmiri Pandits would even wish to return must be read against this history. It is not a concern; it is normalisation of a crime.
He presided over an era in which the embers of ethnic cleansing reignited. After his return to power in October 1996, targeted violence against minorities resumed with chilling clarity. On 21 March 1997, seven Kashmiri Pandit villagers were massacred in Sangrampora, Budgam. The case was later closed as “untraced.” In January 1998, terrorists struck Wandhama in Ganderbal, executing 23 Kashmiri Pandits—including women and children—after gathering them under false pretences.
The Chittisinghpura massacre of 35 Sikh villagers in March 2000 occurred during the same tenure, underscoring a broader collapse of minority security. The release of 70 ISI-trained terrorists during his Chief Ministership further emboldened precisely the forces responsible for terror and displacement.
This was not merely administrative failure. It was abdication—and, at best, culpable negligence.Farooq Abdullah therefore possesses no moral authority to speculate on the wishes of a community he failed to protect.
Civilisation, Citizenship, and the Burden of Justice
Beyond the constitutional framework lies a deeper civilisational contract. Kashmir is not merely a geopolitical territory; it is a civilisational space—Sharada Peeth, a historic centre of Sanskrit learning, philosophy, and pluralistic coexistence that predates modern political identities by millennia. Kashmiri Pandits are not migrants or interest groups; they are the indigenous custodians of this legacy.
Their erasure from the Valley represents not just demographic displacement, but an attempted severing of Kashmir from its historical and cultural moorings.
A modern nation-state derives legitimacy not only from elections but from its capacity to protect civilisational continuity while ensuring constitutional equality. When an elected government allows the most ancient community of a region to be expelled through terror, it forfeits both moral authority and historical legitimacy.
Farooq Abdullah’s suggestion that the return of Kashmiri Pandits depends on their “willingness” inverts constitutional logic. In a functioning republic, the state does not wait for citizens to ask for safety; it guarantees it. Rights are not negotiated—they are enforced.
Return, restitution, and rehabilitation are not acts of political benevolence. They are obligations flowing directly from citizenship.
Conclusion
The return of Kashmiri Pandits is not a matter of electoral arithmetic or regional sentiment. It is a test of India’s constitutional integrity and civilisational self-respect. A nation that cannot protect its most ancient indigenous minority in one of its most symbolically significant regions risks surrendering both moral authority and historical conscience.
Kashmiri Pandits will return to Kashmir not because a political party permits it, but because the Indian Constitution demands it—and because civilisation remembers those who were driven out, and those who stood silent while it happened.
(Girdhari Lal Raina is a former Member of the legislative council of erstwhile Jammu Kashmir and spokesperson of the BJP JK-UT)
