LAHORE: The skies may be quieter now, but not long ago, they were filled with the sound of shelling and the ominous hum of drones. For those living in the frontline areas of the India-Pakistan conflict, each explosion was more than just noise—it was a petrifying reminder of the vulnerability of civilians caught in the darkness of war.
Following India’s aggressive attack and drone incursions into Pakistan, the two nuclear rivals quickly teetered on the edge of war. As the security situation deteriorated, airspaces were closed, schools were shut down, exams were cancelled, and offices switched to remote work, leading to a sudden dip in business activity.
While sensationalist war coverage by Indian media and nerve-wracking propaganda on social media spread panic across the country, for residents in the border-adjacent areas, the conflict was much more than just a headline. In Lahore’s eastern villages, including Wagah, Laban Wala, Bhanu Chak, Naroor, Bhasin, Dayal, Minhala, and Padhana, normal activities resumed during the day, but fear dominated the nights. Many families were forced to relocate to areas farther from the border for safety.
Rana Tariq Mahmood, a local resident, described India’s attacks as cowardly, always occurring under the cover of darkness. “Several drone attacks were carried out by India in Lahore, but we had no fear or panic during the day. However, at night, we had to move our women and children behind the BRB canal,” he said.
Similarly, locals were forced to halt their agricultural work near the zero line. Muhammad Sabir Numbardar, a resident of a village near the Zero Line, shared that his wheat crop was ready for harvest but remained uncollected. “After the air strikes and drone incursions, security officials prohibited us from going near the Zero Line,” he explained.
The tensions also disrupted the education of children living in border cities. The government shut down schools twice during the week, and board and Cambridge exams were cancelled. Students like Zainab and Mubeen, who were scheduled to take practical exams, were left uncertain about when they would be held again.
Asma Aftab, a mother from a border area, recounted her anxiety when India carried out a drone attack while her children were in school. “I was extremely anxious as I waited for my children to return home safely. Later, we moved to Lahore for safety. During the 1965 war, the enemy had reached the BRB canal, but our army prevented them from advancing further. People consider the BRB a defensive line for Lahore,” she said.
Muhammad Hussain Mayo, a resident of Wagah, felt that areas further from the border were just as dangerous. “This wasn’t a conventional land war, since both countries were engaged in air combat. In this situation, people living near the border were actually safer than those in the cities, as missiles would likely target other areas,” he remarked.
The fear extended to residential areas behind the BRB, including Askari, Barki, and DHA, where recurrent drone attacks left many residents in panic. Although security agencies and the district administration had not issued any evacuation orders, fake news and social media notices led many people to flee.
Following the ceasefire, life in these areas began to return to normal, but the collective trauma of the past days still lingers. Every sudden sound, whether from construction machinery or a door banging, reignites the fear of war. As the nation recovers from the conflict and the loss of innocent lives, many hope that the retaliatory actions of Pakistan’s armed forces will make aggressors think twice before resorting to violence again.
