There are many tragedies born from the Indo-Pak tension. Rukhsar’s story is just one, but it is a story that should make even the hardest hearts weep
ATTARI BORDER —Tears have no borders. Grief knows no nationality. Yet on the cold, dusty grounds of the Attari border, a mother’s broken heart bleeds in silence, unseen by the powerful and untouched by the world.
Rukhsar — a name now whispered with sorrow — sits alone on the Indian side of the border, her arms empty, her soul shattered. Only a few metres away, across the cruel invisible line, her four small children cry out for her, but she cannot reach them.
This is the human cost of growing tensions between India and Pakistan after the attack in Pahalgam. As governments clash, it is the innocent mothers and the children who are left behind to suffer unspeakable pain.
“I have four children,” Rukhsar sobbed, barely able to speak through her tears. “My youngest daughter is only three years old. How can she survive without her mother’s arms to hold her?”
Her voice choked, the words heavy with a grief no language can truly capture. In one hand, she clutched a worn-out bag — the same bag she had packed with toys and sweets for her children, believing they would be travelling together. In the other, she held a crumpled photograph of her babies, now unreachable across the border.
The Indian government’s order was clear: Pakistani citizens must return home immediately. Rukhsar’s children, holding Pakistani passports, were allowed to cross.
But Rukhsar — born in India, still carrying her Indian passport — was left behind.
Her children crossed into Pakistan with their father, their tiny hands reaching back toward their mother even as they were pulled away. Witnesses described scenes of unbearable heartbreak: Little faces pressed against the barbed wires, screaming, “Ammi! Ammi! “Tiny fingers stretching out helplessly. A mother falling to her knees, begging, weeping, praying. No one listened. No one answered.
Rukhsar had only come to India to meet her own ailing mother after 13 long years. She never imagined that this simple act of love would end with such devastation.
“I had come only to see my mother,” she cried, trembling. “Now I am being punished for loving my family.”
The dusty ground beneath her bore witness to her agony as she sat there, hour after hour, refusing to move, waiting for a miracle, a kind-hearted officer, or maybe a simple act of humanity.
“I cannot live without my children,” she said, her voice a broken whisper. “Every second away from them feels like death.”
In the midst of political orders and security measures, Rukhsar’s plea is heartbreakingly simple:
“Let me go to my children.”
Speaking to the media, she begged, “I request the Indian government, I fold my hands before you. Please allow me to join my children. They are so small. They need their mother.”
Her appeal, so full of raw pain, so human, so basic — yet as of now, remains unheard. The authorities have given no indication that her case will be reconsidered.
Meanwhile, Rukhsar spends her nights without sleep, haunted by the image of her crying children. She wonders if her three-year-old daughter, who still needs help even to button her little frock, will remember her lullabies. She wonders if her sons will blame her one day for not being there. She wonders if — or when — she will ever see them again.
The attack in Pahalgam has created fresh waves of hostility between India and Pakistan. But beyond political headlines, people like Rukhsar pay the real price.
They lose what matters most — family, love, and hope.
Every hour, hundreds pass through the Attari and Wagah borders. But for Rukhsar, time has stopped.
She is trapped in a limbo of unimaginable sorrow — neither truly in India, nor able to reach her home in Pakistan.
“I came with dreams of reuniting with my mother, and now I have lost my children instead,” Rukhsar said, her voice dissolving into tears.
There are many tragedies born from the conflict. Rukhsar’s story is just one. But it is a story that should make even the hardest hearts weep.
Until someone, somewhere, hears her cries. Until a mother’s arms are once again allowed to hold her children. Until mercy crosses the border that cruelty built.
