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Nov 22, 2025
Dr. Nidhi Shendurnikar

Baramulla: Face the Ghosts of the Past and the Truth of a Forgotten Genocide

The genocide and exodus of the Kashmiri Pandit community in Bharat has always been a difficult subject of conversation in the cultural, political and social realms. While some have simply denied the reality of persecution and human rights violations faced by the community, others have cleverly attempted to downplay the impact of events building up to the 1990s in Kashmir, wherein threats of Raliv. Galiv. Chaliv. [Raliv, Tsaliv ya Galiv] i.e. Convert. Flee. Or Die echoed in the valley and culminated in lakhs of Pandits abandoning their homes and fleeing for the lives they had built over many centuries in their ancestral homeland. Indian cinema, especially Bollywood [Mission Kashmir (2000), Fanaa (2006), Shaurya (2008), Haider (2014), Shikara (2020) has shied away from showcasing the truth about Kashmir by glossing over the dark past of Islamic oppression and the harsh reality of radicalisation and Islam inspired terrorism plaguing the region through a tinge of romanticisation of Kashmir’s natural beauty and landscape. Mani Ratnam’s Roja (1992) is perhaps the only film that depicted the Kashmir of the 1990s reeling under militancy and low-intensity conflict waged by Pakistan. The Kashmir Files [2022] by Vivek Agnihotri challenged this cinematic template, and Baramulla [2025] by Aditya Jambhale builds on to uncover discomforting truths about the region’s past. Produced by Jio Studios & Aditya Dhar, the film, streaming on Netflix, initially comes across as a story involving supernatural, paranormal elements that create havoc in the life of Ridwaan Sayyed and his family. Ridwaan, essayed to perfection by Manav Kaul, is a police inspector sent from Reasi to Baramulla to investigate the kidnapping of an ex-MLA’s son. He is accompanied by his wife, Gulnaar (Bhasha Sumbli) and two children. While struggling to overcome the memories of an encounter with terrorists which has his daughter Noori traumatised, Ridwaan sets out earnestly to uncover the truth behind Baramulla’s missing children. While on the case, Ridwaan has to deal with his family adjusting to a new place – a town that is soaked in darkness, misery, loneliness and fear – and a house that is haunted by the ghosts of the past. The cold, deserted, and gloomy ambience in Baramulla is reminiscent of Kashmir’s past, which its current-day inhabitants refuse to acknowledge and reconcile with. Ridwaan also bears the burden of working for the Indian State – the reason for a tense relationship with his daughter and for being a ‘kaafir’ (infidel, non-believer) – a label that ushers in ugly memories of how the Muslims of Kashmir treated its indigenous population – with disgust, contempt, inhumanity. As Ridwaan dives deeper into the murky reality of ‘Maqsad-e-Azaadi’ – a so-called noble goal cloaked in terrorism, radicalisation and brainwashing of young minds in Baramulla, deftly aided by those on the other side of the border, he and Gulnaar come to terms with a strange set of individuals and happenings in their haunted house. While discovering the nexus that operates behind the disappearance of young children aided by their own loved ones, local terror handlers and elements in Pakistan, the couple sense the presence of otherworldly beings, spirits in the house. It shakes their understanding and belief about Kashmir’s history. The film narrates the story of a region that, till today, continues to deny the truth about its past while dreaming of turning Kashmir into ‘jannat’ (heaven). There are several high points in the film which manage to shock the viewer and question their understanding of what Kashmir is all about. The set-up, locales, art direction, music, background and characters – all hint at a dark underbelly of the region which has been purposefully hidden from the rest of Bharat and carve a separate identity for Kashmir from mainland India. This rips Kashmir away from the soul of ‘dharmic civilisation’ and convinces Kashmiris of an imagined land, time and space where they are distinct from Bharat. Baramulla, the town, represents all of what Kashmir has come to be as a result of the erasure of ‘identity’, ‘dharma’, ‘heritage’ and its Hindu past. Kashmir’s difficult and challenging circumstances also find a place in the director’s narrative. Stone-pelting, confrontation with the Indian Army, brainwashed young minds who believe they will attain ‘jannat’ (heaven) through ‘shahadat’ (laying down their lives for a holy cause ordained in Islamic theology), obsession with ‘Azaadi’, hatred for anything ‘Indian’, and the dilemma of surrendered militants dehumanised as ‘kaafirs’. Kashmir’s political economy and society are entrenched in the business of terrorism, wherein a school and its innocent students are led into falsehood by the very people who are supposed to provide, protect and mentor them for a good life and career. The story progresses to lead its viewers to an action packed, emotionally intense and gripping climax sequence which unfolds the mystery that drives the film’s focal narrative – who inhabits the haunted house, who lived there originally, whom did Kashmir actually belong to before it was Islamized and how mercilessly were Pandits driven out of their homeland on the fateful night of January 19, 1990. Ridwaan and Gulnaar see this playing out in front of their eyes – and are shocked by the monumental, grave injustice done to Kashmiri Pandits in their own homeland. It is at this point in the film that they understand the reality behind the mysterious disappearance of children, traces of chopped hair, falling lotus petals – Kashmir and its soul wither away as they uncover what their ancestors did to the Pandits. The bond of trust and neighbourly affinity is seen shattered in each frame of the climax. Betrayal by those who once lived with the Pandits, those whom they considered as friends and well-wishers, screams aloud as an undeniable reality of the exodus. Those who were expected to safeguard the lives of Pandits were, in fact, the ones responsible for their brutal slaughter. Baramulla is the story of a genocide told with sheer brilliance, flawless acting, impeccable cinematography, but more importantly, a script that stays true to events in Kashmir, especially from the early nineties. Here, it is noteworthy that Hindus in Kashmir have been victims of ‘Seven Exoduses’ between the 15th and the 20th century. And while it is difficult for any film to capture the extent of loss and humiliation suffered by a group of people over such a long period of time, Baramulla delivers a stark message of what this means for times to come if radicalisation, terrorism, violence and religion-inspired hatred is not nipped in the bud to protect, preserve India’s ancient civilisation. As ‘The Kashmir Files’ (2022) and ‘The Bengal Files’ (2025) convey, there will be several Kashmirs and Bengals in Bharat if urgent course correction to politics, policy, society, systems and institutions is not taken seriously. Baramulla is a sincere, significant and first-of-its-kind attempt, considering Bollywood and pop culture’s sustained efforts at silencing and manipulating the truth about Kashmir in popular consciousness. It is important to narrate ‘factual’ stories about national and civilisational history if grave mistakes of the past are to be avoided. Baramulla tells this story subtly, with creativity and empathy – it represents an unfinished and painful task of justice not being served. A masterpiece for those with an appetite for brilliant cinema.

Nov 22, 2025
Rudra Dubey

The Swastika, A Sacred Sanskrit Symbol Misidentified in the West

All Government Agencies Must Use the Correct Term “Hakenkreuz” for the Nazi Emblem The word swastika—from the Sanskrit स्वस्तिक (svastika)—is one of the most ancient and revered symbols in Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism. It means “that which brings good fortune,” “well-being,” “auspiciousness,” and “universal harmony.” For thousands of years, this symbol has been used in temples, rituals, festivals, weddings, religious scriptures, and global cultural artefacts. It is a sacred emblem of peace, prosperity, and universal goodwill. Yet in modern Western discourse, the English word swastika has been incorrectly redefined due to a 20th-century historical accident—an accident so severe that the original meaning has been virtually erased in American public vocabulary. The Nazi symbol was never a swastika. The correct German term—used in German history, German government documents, and German scholarship—is Hakenkreuz, meaning “hooked cross.” Calling the Nazi emblem a “swastika” is both factually wrong and deeply disrespectful to millions of Hindu, Buddhist, and Jain practitioners. It is therefore essential that all government bodies, including the U.S. Coast Guard, immediately discontinue the incorrect use of the word “Swastika” when referring to Nazi imagery. How the Word “Swastika” Was Wrongly Hijacked due to Profuse Use by the British since the Colonial Era: A Historical Breakdown The confusion did not happen because the symbols were the same. It happened due to the British use during the colonial era and the English-language media, in the absence of rationality, misused the Sanskrit word Swastika. This mistake was detrimentally amplified by the West as a result of World War II trauma. Pre-1930s – “Swastika” in English meant only the ancient auspicious symbol When British scholars introduced Sanskrit terminology into English, swastika entered the language in the 1870s. It was widely used across the U.S. and Europe as a positive good-luck emblem: Coca-Cola promotional tokens Boy Scout badges Postcards and jewellery Architecture and household items U.S. military insignia (e.g., the 45th Infantry Division until 1938) It’s abundantly documented that at this time, NO one used the word Swastika to refer to the German political symbol. The German word was Hakenkreuz. 1920–1933 – The Nazi Party adopts the Hakenkreuz The German term for the Nazi emblem was always Hakenkreuz. However, when English newspapers, due to a lack of understanding and carelessness, reported on German politics, they began incorrectly using “swastika” simply because that was the only familiar English word for a similar geometric shape. This deliberate linguistic shortcut laid the foundation for decades of misidentification. 1933–1939 – Asian religious organisations protest the mislabeling As the Nazi regime grew more visible, Hindu, Jain, and Buddhist groups in the U.S. and Britain protested that their sacred symbol was being misrepresented in English coverage. Their protests were largely ignored by Western media, either to not correct their mistake of to defame Hindu sacred symbol Swastika. Inflexion point: 1939–1945 – World War II and the solidification of the mistake During the war, English-language propaganda misused the term millions of times. In today’s context, it’s purely a Hinduphobia! For the Western public, the incorrect usage became entrenched. The ancient sacred symbol—used for millennia—became unmentionable in Western society due to an error in terminology. Post-1945 – The English definition of “Swastika” is overwritten Dictionaries eventually adopted a second definition: Ancient symbol of auspiciousness AND the Nazi emblem (incorrectly and Hinduphobic) By the 1970s and 1980s, the second meaning had completely overtaken the first in Western consciousness. Present Day – Most of the West and U.S. institutions still use the incorrect term In 2025, American English overwhelmingly uses “Swastika” to mean the Nazi emblem. This is: historically false linguistically inaccurate religiously offensive culturally damaging The correct word—Hakenkreuz—exists and carries none of the sacred connotations of the Sanskrit swastika. Why the U.S. Coast Guard Must Remove the Word “Swastika” from Its Recent Memo 1. The Hakenkreuz Nazi emblem is not a Swastika Using the swastika to denote a hate symbol is a fundamental error. It misidentifies the Nazi emblem and misrepresents a religious symbol of peace. 2. The sacred Hindu symbol and Sanskrit word Swastika predates Nazi Germany by at least 5,000 years It appears in: Vedic literature Hindu, Buddhist, and Jain temples Ancient Indian seals Tibetan prayer flags East Asian art Indigenous cultures worldwide 3. Mislabelling harms entire religious communities, and at the least it is Hinduphobic Incorrect usage leads to: harassment of Hindu, Jain, and Buddhist temples misunderstanding of a sacred symbol discrimination against practitioners fear of using their own religious iconography 4. U.S. federal agencies have a responsibility to use culturally accurate terminology The government should not perpetuate historical errors, especially when they cause harm. Using Hakenkreuz instead of Swastika aligns with: academic accuracy interfaith respect cultural sensitivity historical truth 5. It sets a corrective precedent and helps reduce Hinduphobia By adopting the correct terminology, U.S. agencies can help undo decades of misunderstanding and restore the original meaning of a sacred word. We as the Hindu community, deserve Accuracy, Respect, and Responsibility The Swastika is—and always has been—a Sanskrit symbol of well-being, peace, and prosperity. It belongs to the spiritual traditions of millions of people and predates Nazi Germany by thousands of years. The Nazi emblem, by contrast, is the Hakenkreuz, a German political symbol of the 20th century. The two should never be conflated. To honour cultural truth and religious dignity, the U.S. Coast Guard must revise its memo and replace the incorrect reference to “swastika” with: Hakenkreuz (German Nazi hooked cross) This correction is not political—it is factual, respectful, and necessary.