Drones, Data, and the Kashmir Divide

By Abid, MTM 2025 Fellow

with original reporting from Jammu and Kashmir

When the first shell landed on the outskirts of Poonch on May 7, 2025 in India-administered areas of Jammu and Kashmir, few could have predicted how quickly a decades-old border would turn into a live wire of missiles, drones, misinformation, and mass panic.

Line of Actual Control at Keran sector in Jammu and Kashmir. Photo credit: Hilal Ahmed.

By the time the firing stopped four days later, 21 civilians were dead across Jammu and Kashmir. Dozens more were injured. Thousands were displaced. Entire neighbourhoods, some previously untouched by shelling, lay in ruins. Among the dead were four children.

The Indian government dubbed its response “Operation Sindoor,” describing it as a "new normal." But for residents in Poonch, Uri, Tangdhar, and even parts of the Jammu city region, there is nothing normal about watching their homes collapse, or losing loved ones as they ran for shelter that did not exist. 

Since the 1947 partition, Kashmir has remained one of the most heavily militarized and politically contested regions in the world. Divided between India and Pakistan since 1947, both countries claim it in full but govern only parts of it. The region has seen multiple wars, armed insurgency, and widespread crackdowns, leaving civilians trapped between geopolitical ambitions and daily insecurity.

The 4-day war in May 2025 was not just another skirmish. It was a digital-age military conflict, fought with precision weapons, artificial intelligence, weapons-jamming technologies, satellite-enabled fighter jets, and propaganda bots on social media. The people who paid the highest price were not in cockpits or command rooms. They were families, farmers, migrant workers, teachers, and children. 

Death, Displacement, and Delay

At Kashmir borders, residents live on the razor’s edge. They always whisper how difficult it is to live on the volatile border. They also speak about fire trails, midnight evacuations, and neighbors buried in rubble.

In the town of Poonch, a region with a storied past and once-strong cross-border ties, grief has taken a new form: silence. The family of Qari Mohammad Iqbal, a schoolteacher, is still in mourning. Iqbal was killed by a Pakistani shell while trying to get his family to safety. But what broke them more than his death was how national media framed him as a “terrorist,” without any evidence.

“That label killed him again,” his brother told the media reporters. “We lost him to the war, and then we lost his dignity to the news channels.” The damage was not limited to villages. For the first time in years, even city centers in border districts were within direct range. 

Drones, Missiles, and Cyber Skirmishes

India’s military operation, launched in retaliation after the Pahalgam attack, showcased its growing reliance on sophisticated military tech.

For the air strikes, the Indian Air Force deployed Rafale jets armed with Scalp cruise missiles and Hammer glide bombs. SCALPs, built for long-range and low-altitude precision, were reportedly used to hit terror infrastructure deep in Pakistan, including a Jaish-e-Mohammad facility in Bahawalpur. The missiles are designed to fly under radar detection and home in on their targets using infrared imaging, with minimal risk of collateral damage.  

Complementing them were HAMMER bombs, capable of punching through reinforced structures and resistant to GPS jamming, something India anticipated, knowing Pakistan’s growing cyber-electronic capabilities, particularly with support from China. 

Then came the loitering munitions: Harpy  and Israel-made Harop drones, that hover before locking onto and destroying enemy radar or targets. But even as India showcased aerial supremacy, it ran into hurdles. The Pakistan Air Force (PAF), officials admitted off the record, successfully jammed some of India’s communication loops. Reports suggest Pakistan leveraged Chinese radar systems and cyberwarfare techniques to disable Indian radars during critical hours. For the Indian jets, which were guided through Vayulink, a secure digital communication channel developed in 2023 using India’s own satellite navigation system (IRNSS), this was a shock.  

In his national address after the ceasefire, Prime Minister Narendra Modi lauded the armed forces and labelled Operation Sindoor a “doctrinal shift.” He framed the operation as a matter of national honour, invoking sindoor, the vermillion worn by married Hindu women, as a metaphor for India's sacred duty to protect itself.

Line of Actual Control at Keran sector in Jammu and Kashmir. Photo credit: Hilal Ahmed.

When the War Comes Home

While both militaries fought high above and beyond the Line of Control (LoC), the war came crashing into people’s homes. In Tangdhar (Karnah), close to the frontier  Kupwara district in the northern part of Kashmir, families spent nights huddled in cowsheds and dried-up irrigation.

“The shelling didn’t spare anyone. We thought our distance from the actual LoC would protect us, but no place feels safe,” an elderly whose house was damaged by Pakistani shelling told me. 

What made the situation worse was the lack of preparedness. In many areas, community bunkers promised by the government remain unfinished or poorly maintained. “There’s a scandal behind this delay,” one village leader in Uri said. “Had those bunkers been ready, we would have fewer funerals.”

Relief efforts were slow. In some places, officials had not even visited by the time the ceasefire was declared. The Internet remained suspended. Livelihoods disappeared overnight.

The Digital Battlefield

The bombs were real, but so was the misinformation that accompanied them. If 2019’s Pulwama-Balakot episode was a textbook case of uncontrolled WhatsApp nationalism, the May 2025 conflict was a masterclass in weaponized misinformation: intentional, organized, and professionally targeted. Right-wing influencers with hundreds of thousands of followers began circulating fake videos of Indian military men "seizing Karachi", or of "mass surrenders" by the Pakistani Army, none of which happened. 

The difference this time: Disinformation was not just tolerated. It was promoted with a strategic design. Far-right Hindu influencers openly called it “information warfare” and likened it to patriotism. 

Costs of War 

In Bandipora, hundreds of migrant workers from Bihar and Uttar Pradesh packed up and left overnight, fearing further escalation. Some said they remembered Pulwama and did not want to be caught in a repeat. Many left wages unpaid.

Meanwhile, Kashmiris working in different parts of the country started returning home. In Mussoorie, 16 shawl sellers were beaten by mobs. In Delhi and Jaipur, Kashmiri students faced verbal abuse and intimidation. With no safe space outside or within, they had nowhere to go.

“What are we supposed to do?” one returning student asked. “We are not safe in Kashmir. We are not safe outside Kashmir.”

Where Do We Go From Here?

The recent conflict was short, but it revealed just how much the nature of war in South Asia is changing. Drones armed with AI, satellite-guided missiles, and cyberattacks were not just tools: they shaped the entire fight, both on the ground and in the minds of millions watching online. But if technology made the strikes more precise, it did little to protect civilians. In places like Kashmir, the line between combatant and bystander, fact and fiction, grew dangerously thin. As the dust settles, one thing is clear: the battlefield is no longer just physical. It is networked, coded, and always on.