Veer Nari Legacy Gives Operation Sindoor Its True Meaning...
Shimla/Delhi –
When the Indian Army decided to name its swift and strategic retaliation against cross-border terror as Operation Sindoor, it wasn’t about headlines.
It was about our history long heritage of valour symbolized in a mythical 'Devtas vs Asuras' battle- our collective assertion of how we look at the victory of "good, over evil", terrorism and its proxies operating across the border.
And that heritage traces back to homes like that of Ravinder Randhawa, who didn’t just survive her husband’s martyrdom in 1997—but turned it into purpose.
With her baby’s cradle in one arm and a death certificate in the other, she stepped into a world few dare to enter.
Most collapse under such grief. She rose. She wasn’t the kind to wait for sympathy.
She walked to the Army's highest women’s wing. She said she wanted to wear the olive green. She became the first war widow to serve as a commissioned officer.
From a grieving young mother to a decorated soldier, her journey redefined what a Veer Nari could be and operation Sindoor could mean to veer naris of India.
So, when the Army christened its latest operation ‘Sindoor’, it wasn’t picking a word. It was invoking a legacy.
While Politicians Sparred, the Army Acted
Operation Sindoor was triggered by the brutal Pahalgam terrorist attack, which killed 26 tourists from across India in April.
The response wasn’t delayed. The Ruling Modi government was in the defensive on intelligence failure and slack security in the Valley coming back to normalcy with locals reaping harvest from increasing tourist foot falls.
Being UT, responsibility of security rests with Amit Shah, home Minister not squarely on Omar Abdullah, Chief Minister of UT Jammu and Kashmir. The police comes under the central government control along with the central security forces.
The operation wasn’t leaked in advance. And it didn’t wait for cameras. Between May 7 and 9, the Indian Army dismantled over nine terror bases in Pakistan and PoK.
As the Army informed, nearly 1,000 incoming drones and missiles from Pakistan were neutralised mid-air. This wasn’t vengeance. It was a clean, calculated military reply.
And through it all, there was no chest-thumping. Only quiet, professional execution shown with concrete evidence.
Parliament Turned Into a Stage, But the Real Fight Was Elsewhere
As the Army completed its mission, Parliament erupted into a familiar spectacle as we all have witnessing on TVs and on social media. MPs across party lines picked their sides—not of strategy, but of scoring points.
Every mention of past wars became a tool. 1948, 1962, 1965, 1971, Kargil, Balakot—even surgical strikes—everything was dragged into the ring of political memory.
The House wasn’t debating national security. It was staging a contest of perception.
Prime Minister Narendra Modi, in a fiery reply, said:
“We don’t shout from rooftops. Our soldiers don’t speak; they act. Operation Sindoor is a message—India will not tolerate terror anymore. The days of helpless diplomacy are over and operation is still continuing.”
He added: “Earlier governments hesitated even to name Pakistan. Today’s India believes in hitting terror at its roots, not issuing empty warnings.”
But Leader of Opposition Rahul Gandhi hit back hard:
“The government uses the Army as a political shield. You named it ‘Operation Sindoor’, but you didn’t even own it publicly until you were questioned. The Army deserves respect, not exploitation.”
He accused the ruling party of “hiding behind soldiers while failing to secure peace”:
“When 26 civilians died in Pahalgam, where was the leadership? When Manipur burned, where were your words then? Stop using defence ops to run PR campaigns.”
The clash intensified. But outside that noise, ex-soldiers, defence analysts, and strategic thinkers were drawing a very different line.
From TV panels to defence columns, their message was blunt—India’s armed forces need greater freedom, deeper trust, and insulation from political theatrics.
They called for strengthening the professional spine of the Army. No backseat commands. No agenda-driven optics.
Just the kind of clarity we’ve known in our oldest mythological wars—like those between Devtas and Asurs. In those mythological or historical battles, the good never wavered.
The righteous didn’t shout. They acted with purpose. That’s how armies must function—even now.
Symbolism of Sindoor vs Spectacle of Statements
In all the crossfire of speeches and spin, the symbolism of Sindoor risked getting drowned.
But the Army didn’t name this operation casually. It chose a word that means commitment, not convenience. A colour that stands for life lived with dignity—and loss carried with pride.
In a way, it wasn't a name—it was a mirror. A reflection of all those who never sat in Parliament, yet carried the cost of its failures and the burden of its decisions.
The Real Honour Doesn’t Sit in the House, It Stands at the Border
The political class debated timelines, motives, and aerial footage. But the soldier on ground needed no validation.
Lt Randhawa did not fight for claps. She doesn’t march for votes. They act, cleanly and quietly, often under orders shaped by people far removed from the terrain.
Which is why voices from within the defence community are getting louder—don’t dilute operational integrity with political noise.
Let strategy belong to soldiers. Let stories of valour remain untouched by electoral needs.
When the Next Call Comes, There Will Be No Hashtags. Operation Sindoor isn’t over, as PM said. It’s not a campaign. It’s a signal.
That even as we argue and polarise, the Army still functions like a truth-seeking arrow—sharp, silent, and sure.
And when the next call comes, it won’t be Parliament that answers. It won’t be a trending hashtag. It’ll be someone at the LoC.
Or someone getting ready for that last posting. Not for politics. But for the country.
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