"Will Hunt Them to the Ends of the Earth": PM Modi's Fierce Warning After Pahalgam Terror Attack 2
In a fiery response to the Pahalgam terror attack, Prime Minister Narendra Modi declared that India will identify, track, and punish every terrorist involved and their backers, promising retribution “beyond their imagination.” Addressing a public gathering in Bihar during the National Panchayati Raj Day programme, Modi stated emphatically that terrorism would not go unpunished and that the enemies of the country had dared to strike at the very soul of India.
“Today, from the soil of Bihar, I say to the whole world—India will not spare those who kill innocents. We will hunt them down to the ends of the earth,” Modi said to thunderous applause, marking his first public reaction since the heinous attack in Baisaran, Pahalgam, where at least 26 people, mostly tourists, were killed by terrorists.
Calling for unity and resilience, the Prime Minister said, “India’s spirit will never be broken by terrorism. Every effort will be made to ensure justice is served. Terrorism will be crushed with full force.” Modi also extended his gratitude to global leaders and nations standing in solidarity with India during this time.
At the event, Modi and the audience observed a moment of silence to pay tribute to the victims, whom he referred to as “our family members.” Modi urged the public to remain seated in silence, honoring those who lost their lives in the brutal act of terror.
Bihar Chief Minister Nitish Kumar also condemned the attack and reiterated that the entire nation stands united in the fight against terrorism. Union Panchayati Raj Minister Rajiv Ranjan Singh expressed confidence in Modi’s leadership, assuring the public that a strong response to the attackers was imminent.
How Many More Pahalgams? When Will Accountability Begin? 4
How many more Pahalgams must be written into our national tragedy before someone in power finally stands up—not with hollow statements or political blame games but with real accountability? The horrific terrorist attack in the serene Baisaran Valley of Pahalgam has once again shattered the illusion of normalcy in Kashmir. Twenty-six innocent lives were extinguished in a hail of bullets, and the question that echoes louder than the gunfire is, ‘Why was this allowed to happen again?
With every such attack, we witness a predictable ritual: condemnation from the government, outrage on social media, candlelight vigils, and then silence. Until the next massacre. But this is not just about public mourning—it is about institutional failure at the highest level. The intelligence agencies, armed forces, and the government machinery were caught napping again. Why is our response always reactive, never preventive?
This massacre was not an isolated incident—it was a calculated, symbolic strike, executed during the high-profile four-day visit of US President JD Vance. Have we learnt nothing from the past? The Chittisinghpura massacre of 2000 happened on the eve of President Clinton’s visit. Thirty-five Sikh villagers were massacred by men in army fatigues who introduced themselves as Indian soldiers before lining up the victims and executing them. Even today, the truth of who perpetrated that attack remains murky, shrouded in state secrecy and political expediency.
In 2017, Lt Gen KS Gill openly claimed that a report was submitted to the then Home Minister L.K. Advani. Where is that report now? Why hasn’t it been made public? Why has no action followed? If our own institutions cannot come clean about past failures, how can we expect justice for today’s victims?
Kashmir has become a carefully curated news cycle of blood and apathy. Pulwama, Chittisinghpura, Uri, Nowgam, and now Pahalgam—each tragedy is consumed with outrage, only to be forgotten and replaced. We call these “incidents” when in reality they are manifestations of a broken security doctrine, repeated proof that something is deeply wrong with our intelligence gathering, counter-terror strategy, and political will.
The “Kashmir Resistance” group, which claimed responsibility for this latest attack, cited “demographic change” as the reason, referring to the settling of 85,000 outsiders. How is it that armed militants have access to such precise grievances while our agencies remain clueless? How does a group penetrate such a sensitive tourist zone and operate with impunity in a highly militarised region?
Despite the abrogation of Article 370 and the promise of peace and integration, what we are witnessing is not normalcy—it’s managed chaos. Kashmiris are caught between two extremes: foreign-backed terror and domestic political manipulation. And now, tourists too have become collateral damage in this game of blood and betrayal.
It is no longer enough to blame Pakistan for every failure. That script is tired. Yes, Pakistan sponsors terror. Yes, they harbour criminals. But what about us? What about the state’s responsibility to prevent attacks on its soil? What about the promises made by leaders, the declarations of peace, development, and security?
Every time Kashmir bleeds, the response is a display of state power after the fact—flag marches, helicopter evacuations, increased troop deployment. But by then, the blood has already soaked the soil, and the dead can no longer hear the speeches.
Where are the heads rolling in Delhi? Who has resigned? Who has been sacked? Who has taken moral responsibility? Why are bureaucrats and ministers still in office after repeated security collapses? If this were any other democracy, there would be public enquiries, resignations, and swift corrective action. Here, there is silence.
The people of India deserve better. The people of Kashmir deserve justice. And the victims of Pahalgam deserve far more than our sympathy—they deserve truth, accountability, and above all, a system that values their lives enough to prevent the next massacre.
Until that happens, Kashmir will remain a graveyard of promises—where the only constant is grief, and the only question that remains unanswered is: how many more must die before someone is held accountable?
Terrorists Forced My Father to Recite Islamic Verse Before Shooting Him, Says Daughter in Kashmir Attack 6
In a heart-wrenching account from the recent terror attack in Pahalgam, Asavari Jagdale, 26, recounted how terrorists brutally murdered her father, Santosh Jagdale, 54, in front of her. The Pune businessman, along with his family, was enjoying a vacation at the scenic Baisaran Valley near Pahalgam when terrorists opened fire on tourists. Asavari, speaking in a telephonic interview to PTI, described how the terrorists forced her father to recite an Islamic verse before shooting him thrice—once in the head, again behind the ear, and finally in the back.
The family, terrified and huddling inside a tent for cover, watched as the assailants turned on her uncle, who was lying beside her, and shot him multiple times in the back. The attack, which claimed the lives of 26 people, mostly tourists, marked one of the deadliest incidents in Kashmir in recent years.
Asavari, who works as an HR professional in Pune, said the family had been in the valley, often called “Mini Switzerland,” when they heard gunshots. Initially assuming the firing was a confrontation between terrorists and security forces, they took shelter inside a nearby tent. But the gunmen soon approached, ordering her father out of the tent and accusing them of supporting Prime Minister Narendra Modi. After demanding he recite an Islamic verse, and when he couldn’t, they executed him in cold blood.
Asavari and her mother, along with another relative, were spared, and locals and security forces evacuated them to Pahalgam Club. However, Asavari remains uncertain about the condition of her father and uncle, as they have yet to receive any medical updates.
Terror Attack in Pahalgam: 26 Dead, Mostly Hindu Tourists, in Kashmir's Deadliest Assault Since Pulwama 8
In a gruesome act of terror, 26 people, including two foreigners and two locals, were killed in Kashmir’s Pahalgam on Tuesday afternoon. The attack occurred at the picturesque Baisaran meadow, a popular tourist spot near Pahalgam, as terrorists opened fire on unsuspecting tourists. The assailants targeted those enjoying their day with pony rides, picnicking, and strolling near the eateries.
Witnesses described the horrifying scene of gunfire echoing through the meadow, with people frantically seeking cover, but there was nowhere to hide in the open space. Many of the victims were tourists from various states, including Karnataka, Maharashtra, and Gujarat. Among the dead was a businessman from Shivamogga, Karnataka. Over 20 people were also injured in the assault.
The terrorist group, The Resistance Front (TRF), an offshoot of the banned Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT), claimed responsibility for the attack. Authorities suspect that the terrorists might have crossed over from Kishtwar in Jammu and reached Baisaran through Kokernag in south Kashmir.
Union Home Minister Amit Shah briefed Prime Minister Narendra Modi, who is visiting Saudi Arabia, and soon after, an urgent security review meeting was held. Prime Minister Modi condemned the attack, expressing condolences to the families of the victims and vowing that the perpetrators would be brought to justice.
The attack, which unfolded as Kashmir’s tourist season was gaining momentum, comes just days after increased tourist arrivals in the region. The attack is the deadliest since the 2019 Pulwama suicide bombing, which killed 40 CRPF personnel. The shockwaves of the Pahalgam attack have left the region on edge, with both local authorities and national security agencies on high alert.
SC to Hear Contempt Plea Against BJP's Nishikant Dubey Over CJI 'Civil War' Remark 10
The Supreme Court on Tuesday said it will hear next week a contempt plea filed against BJP MP Nishikant Dubey for his controversial remarks blaming Chief Justice of India (CJI) Sanjiv Khanna for “civil wars” in the country. The matter was brought before a Bench comprising Justice B.R. Gavai and Justice Augustine George Masih by a lawyer who highlighted that the Attorney General had not responded to the request for sanction to initiate contempt proceedings.
“The remark is viral. Dubey says CJI responsible for civil wars. No reply from Attorney (General),” the lawyer said, prompting Justice Gavai to respond, “List it next week.”
Dubey had sharply criticized the judiciary, claiming that if the Supreme Court continues to frame laws, then Parliament and state assemblies might as well be shut down. His comments came after the Centre assured the court that it would hold off on implementing controversial provisions of the Waqf (Amendment) Act, following judicial scrutiny.
The BJP was quick to distance itself from Dubey’s explosive comments. Party president J.P. Nadda called the statements personal opinions and reiterated the BJP’s “utmost respect for the judiciary,” instructing party leaders to refrain from such remarks in the future.
In a dramatic development nearly a year after the Porsche car crash in Pune that killed two software professionals, the Maharashtra Medical Council (MMC) has suspended the licenses of two doctors involved in tampering with evidence. Dr. Ajay Taware and Dr. Shrihari Halnor, both employed at the government-run Sassoon General Hospital at the time, were arrested for allegedly swapping blood samples of the teenage driver involved in the fatal accident.
The incident, which occurred on May 19, 2024, involved a 17-year-old driver, reportedly under the influence of alcohol, who ran over two IT professionals on a motorcycle in Pune’s Kalyani Nagar. To avoid detection of alcohol, the doctors are accused of swapping the juvenile’s blood sample with that of his mother, according to police.
The MMC took suo motu cognizance of the matter after the doctors were booked for their involvement in the tampering. Despite their detention in judicial custody, the council proceeded with the suspension of their licenses, effectively barring them from practicing medicine. The suspension will remain in effect until the case reaches its final resolution.
In addition to the two doctors, hospital staffer Atul Ghatkamble has also been arrested for his role in the alleged evidence manipulation. The juvenile driver, the son of a real estate developer, has since been released from an observation home, while ten others, including his parents, hospital staff, and alleged middlemen, remain in judicial custody as the investigation continues.
Thackeray Cousins Reunite Over Hindi Row: Language Politics or Last-Ditch Relevance? 14
In Maharashtra, the politics of identity has long revolved around the pillars of language, region, and legacy. The recent uproar over the introduction of Hindi as a third compulsory language in Marathi and English medium schools under the National Education Policy (NEP) 2020 is not just about education policy—it’s a reflection of deep-rooted tensions, old rivalries, and a political script that has been running for decades.
At the heart of the latest storm are two familiar names—Raj Thackeray and Uddhav Thackeray, cousins and once the joint inheritors of Balasaheb Thackeray’s Hindutva-driven, Marathi-pride narrative. Their fallout in 2005 led to the formation of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) by Raj, who felt sidelined in the Shiv Sena’s new power structure. While Uddhav softened Shiv Sena’s image to appeal to a broader electorate, Raj took up the baton of aggressive Marathi identity, turning his party into a firebrand voice for “sons of the soil”.
Now, almost two decades later, the proposed inclusion of Hindi as a third compulsory language from classes 1 to 5 has reignited the old flames—and unexpectedly offered a chance for reconciliation. Raj Thackeray, sensing a threat to Marathi cultural primacy, called out the Fadnavis government’s decision and declared that MNS will oppose its implementation. He criticised the so-called imposition of Hindi in schools that historically balanced between Marathi and English. Uddhav, too, aligned himself against the policy, warning against bowing to linguistic hegemony that might erode Marathi pride.
The irony here is stark. Hindi—the language that connects India’s heartland and has served as a national bridge across linguistic divides—is now being vilified in Maharashtra under the pretext of cultural protection. This isn’t the first time such resistance has played out. For years, Shiv Sena and MNS workers have attacked North Indian migrants, particularly from UP and Bihar, accusing them of stealing jobs, not learning Marathi, and overburdening the city’s infrastructure. Violent protests, mob beatings, and open threats were justified in the name of defending Marathi asmita (identity).
What makes the present moment significant is the broader political context. Raj Thackeray, who had aligned with the NDA during the 2024 Lok Sabha elections in a last-ditch attempt to remain politically relevant, is now signalling a potential thaw with Uddhav Thackeray—despite years of bitter rivalry. Both cousins have expressed willingness to set aside “small quarrels” to protect Marathi language and culture. This reunion, if it materialises, could reshape Maharashtra’s political landscape. A united Thackeray front would hold symbolic power, particularly in Mumbai and the Konkan belt, where the legacy of Balasaheb still commands loyalty.
But the controversy itself reveals the paradox of regional politics. The inclusion of Hindi as a third language—not the first, not the primary—is being projected as an attack on local identity. The NEP’s goal is to promote multilingualism and national integration, not diminish regional languages. Marathi remains the mother tongue in schools. English continues to be the language of aspiration. Hindi, in this scheme, is merely an addition—intended to improve communication and mobility across states. Yet political parties have twisted this into a cultural invasion, fueling fears for political mileage.
This manufactured outrage has once again exposed how regional parties in Maharashtra use language politics not to preserve identity but to consolidate power through division. Hindi-speaking citizens are not invaders—they are fellow Indians. And to see them as threats simply because of their mother tongue is both regressive and discriminatory.
The Thackeray cousins may find common cause in opposing the NEP provision, but the real question is: are they uniting to truly protect Marathi, or simply to revive their own sinking political fortunes? Because while the people of Maharashtra worry about employment, inflation, and infrastructure, their leaders are still stuck debating which language a six-year-old should learn first.
In the end, the politics of language must not be allowed to fracture the unity of the nation. India thrives because of its diversity, not despite it. Maharashtra has given this country great thinkers, reformers, and leaders—it should not reduce itself to linguistic parochialism at the hands of desperate dynasts.
The Curse of Bhringi: A Mumbaikar's Memory and the Forgotten Balance of Shiva-Shakti 16
As a child growing up in the vibrant heart of Mumbai, my mornings began not with alarms or mobile screens but with the gentle hum of mantras, the scent of agarbatti curling through our modest home, and the soft ringing of the temple bell as dawn broke across the city. My grandmother, ever serene in her silk saree, would sit before the twin idols of Shiva and Shakti, her fingers counting beads, her eyes closed in prayer — lost in a world where the divine was not distant but intimately near.
I, impetuous and curious, would often dash in, drawn to the silent calm of the Shiv Linga — the cosmic stillness of the Lord of Kailash. I would fold my hands hurriedly before Shiva and turn to leave, but every time, my grandmother would gently pull me back.
“Don’t forget Ma Shakti,” she’d whisper. “You cannot worship Shiva without Shakti, my child.”
Back then, I didn’t understand. Shiva looked peaceful, powerful, and complete. Why did I need to bow to another?
And so she would tell me a story. The story of Rishi Bhringi — a tale that danced into my memory like sacred music and has echoed there ever since.
Rishi Bhringi was no ordinary sage. He was one of Shiva’s fiercest devotees, a member of the Ganas — the celestial attendants who lived at Mount Kailasha, serving the Lord with absolute loyalty. But Bhringi’s devotion, though deep, was incomplete. He worshipped only the masculine, only the unchanging, meditative Shiva. To him, Parvati — the goddess, the Shakti, the flowing, fiery essence of life — was a distraction. An attachment. An illusion.
One day, the sage ascended Kailash to perform his sacred pradakshina, the circumambulation that symbolises surrender, reverence, and spiritual unity. But when he saw Shiva sitting with Parvati — the eternal Ardhanarishwara — he made it clear he would walk only around Shiva, excluding Shakti.
Parvati, graceful yet fierce, decided to teach him a lesson. The next time Bhringi came, she sat on Shiva’s lap, her presence inescapable. But Bhringi, unwavering in his one-eyed devotion, transformed into a bird and flew only around Shiva’s head. When the divine couple merged into one — one form, half-male, half-female — the sage turned into a bee and tried to pierce a hole through their fusion, desperate to avoid the feminine.
That was the moment the goddess’s patience wore thin.
“If you reject Shakti”, she declared, “then you shall live without what she gives — your blood, your flesh, your vitality.”
With her words, Bhringi was reduced to a skeleton. Hollow. Weak. He could no longer stand.
The sage, humbled and broken, cried out to Shiva. And Shiva, ever compassionate, did not undo Parvati’s curse. Instead, he bestowed upon Bhringi a third leg — a symbol of balance, of understanding, of support. Not a negation of Shakti, but a reminder that without her, even the fiercest devotion crumbles.
This story, my grandmother would say, isn’t just from some ancient scripture — it lives in our world today. And as I grew older, walking Mumbai’s crowded lanes, breathing in its dreams and disappointments, I began to see just how true that was.
We are a generation of Bhringis. We worship intellect, ambition, technology, and logic — the masculine energies of Shiva. But we forget compassion, emotion, and intuition—the feminine grace of Shakti. We strive for progress but abandon peace. We race for success but forget to pause for love. And like the sage, we find ourselves skeletal—alive, but not whole.
Mumbai, my Mumbai, once rich with spiritual rhythm, now pulses with imbalance. The temples still stand, but the hearts are distracted. We chase after light but forget the warmth. Our youth drown in rave parties and screen-lit nights, seeking joy in illusions, stimulation in place of serenity.
And yet, just like Bhringi, there is hope. Shiva’s grace never dies. The universe, in its divine patience, always offers a chance to restore our lost balance.
We only need to remember.
To honour not just the god who meditates but the goddess who moves. To respect not only wisdom but also feeling. To walk not just with power, but with grace.
From my grandmother’s quiet prayers to the chaos of my city’s streets, this story has stayed with me. A sacred reminder. A timeless lesson.
Worship Shiva. But never forget Shakti. For without her, even divinity cannot dance. And neither can we.
"Hindi Zor Zabardasti Nahi Chalegi in Maharashtra": Uddhav Thackeray Slams Language Imposition 18
Shiv Sena (UBT) chief Uddhav Thackeray on Saturday made it clear that his party will strongly oppose any attempt to impose Hindi in Maharashtra. Reacting to the state government’s recent move to make Hindi a compulsory third language for students from Classes 1 to 5, Thackeray declared that such compulsion would not be tolerated.
Speaking at an event of the Bharatiya Kamgar Sena, the workers’ wing of his party, Thackeray emphasized that while he holds no hostility towards the Hindi language, he firmly questioned the need to impose it forcefully in schools. His comments come in the backdrop of growing outrage from opposition parties and cultural groups over the state’s decision, which marks a shift from the longstanding two-language policy followed in Marathi and English-medium schools.
Thackeray’s sharp response adds fuel to the intensifying political debate over regional identity, education policy, and cultural autonomy in the state.
Ananth Mahadevan's 'Phule': A Brave, Brilliant Tribute to India's First Social Revolutionaries 20
In a time when cinema often seeks the safety of commercial formulas, director Anant Mahadevan yet again proves why he stands apart as one of India’s most fearless and refined storytellers. His latest offering, Phule, is not just a biopic — it is a bold and moving cinematic testament to the unvarnished truth of India’s most neglected revolution. The recently released trailer, wrapped in controversy and courage, is a glimpse into a film that dares to speak what society often prefers to bury.
Phule brings to life the monumental yet largely overshadowed journey of Mahatma Jyotirao Phule and Savitribai Phule — visionaries whose reformist fire lit up 19th-century Maharashtra and gave India its first push toward grassroots social justice. Savitribai, India’s first female teacher, and Jyotiba, her unshakeable partner in reform, waged a war not against an external oppressor but an internal one — the tyranny of caste, patriarchy, and ignorance. They opened the first girls’ school in 1848 at Bhidewada in Pune — a quiet, historic act that would go on to challenge centuries of institutional darkness.
The trailer begins with a line that reverberates like a thunderclap through the conscience of this nation. A Brahmin man mocks Phule: “You think educating girls will bring revolution? Fight for the country’s freedom instead!” To this, Phule’s calm yet cutting reply echoes through time — “The British enslaved us for a hundred years. The slavery I fight is three thousand years old.” In that one sentence, the essence of the film and the enormity of the Phules’ mission is laid bare. Their resistance was not merely social — it was civilisational.
Ananth Mahadevan, with his seasoned eye for nuance and narrative, has chosen a subject that most filmmakers wouldn’t dare touch — not just because of its controversial edge, but because it demands an unflinching gaze and a heart committed to truth. The dialogues are piercing, the screenplay gripping, and the storytelling unwavering. In a landscape where caste continues to bleed silently into the lives of millions, this film arrives as a necessary jolt — not to incite, but to awaken.
Patralekha delivers a soul-stirring performance as Savitribai. Her eyes alone carry the weight of generations of suppressed voices. Her measured grace, her simmering defiance, and her luminous presence make her portrayal unforgettable. She doesn’t just play Savitribai — she becomes her. Pratik Gandhi brings sincerity to the role of Jyotiba, although his natural persona occasionally seeps through. Yet the chemistry between them and the ideals they embody are beautifully brought alive by Mahadevan’s deft direction.
The film, originally set to release on April 11 — Jyotiba Phule’s birth anniversary — faced backlash from Brahmin organisations offended by a two-minute scene in the trailer where a Brahmin boy hurls cow dung at Savitribai. Their rage, ironically, validates the very message the film seeks to convey. The attempt to stall the film’s release underlines how uncomfortable India still is with its own history of caste oppression. Mahadevan has confirmed that the Censor Board demanded a few changes, and the film will now release on April 25.
What’s most heartbreaking — and revealing — is that even today, while politicians from across the spectrum line up to garland statues of Phule, Ambedkar, and Gandhi for votes, a film that earnestly brings their stories to life is met with resistance and outrage. This contradiction speaks volumes about the tokenism we’ve wrapped our revolutionaries in, choosing memory over movement and tribute over transformation.
Phule is not just a film — it’s a mirror. A reminder. A reckoning. It’s a cinematic revolt wrapped in art, asking us to reflect, to remember, and most importantly, to restart the conversations that Savitribai and Jyotiba began more than 150 years ago. And only a director of Anant Mahadevan’s calibre could have treated such a theme with the honesty, elegance, and empathy it deserves.
As we await the film’s release on April 25, the two-minute trailer alone is enough to stir the soul. It speaks of a forgotten legacy, of voices that cracked the silence long before social media hashtags, and of battles that are still being fought — not just in villages and slums, but in hearts and minds. Stay tuned. This is more than a movie. It is history reborn.
