'Only those who live through these situations understand the true cost of war.'
Nearly 35 kilometres from Amritsar and close to the Attari-Wagah border lies a quiet monument tucked into the last BSF outpost before the no-man's land that leads to Pakistan.
Known locally as Pul Moran -- or Pul Kanjari, after a dancing girl -- it's both bridge and memory, built by Maharaja Ranjit Singh over the Ravi canal.
Pul Moran village (named after the bridge), once a key trade stop between Amritsar and Lahore, is rooted in the 19th-century love story of Ranjit Singh and Moran, a Kashmiri dancer.
When she lost a silver slipper in the canal and refused to perform, the king had a bridge built.
Though damaged in the 1971 War, parts still remain.
More than two centuries later, the village's ties with Pakistan are far from historical.
Its proximity to the border has made it reliant on tourism, which has now faltered.
Two weeks after a conflict broke out between India and Pakistan, and days after an understanding on easing tensions was reached, Pul Moran and neighbouring villages remain uneasy.
Tourists have only just begun to trickle in, but livelihoods have already been bruised.
"This is the third conflict that I've seen here," says 70-year-old Harpal Cheema, a long-time resident.
"We moved here after the 1965 War as my father got land at subsidised prices. Due to its proximity to the river, land is fertile here. I was here during the 1971 War and the Kargil War. In 1999, we had mines in some areas. We didn't leave the village then, and there is no question of leaving now."
Still, the cost of staying is high.
"We sent the women and children away. They've not returned -- there's nothing for them to come back to. There's no work. Only those who live through these situations understand the true cost of war. We just hope things get better."
The shutdown of trade at the Attari-Wagah border has sparked concern among local shopkeepers and activists, prompting letters to the prime minister urging financial aid for those affected.
One shopkeeper, whose store sits near the border, puts it plainly: "People have taken loans. They can't afford daily expenses. My rent is Rs 10,000 a month. Normally, we manage. But for the past 20 days, there's been zero income."
The letter to the prime minister calls for direct monthly transfer of financial aid into affected individuals' bank accounts until normalcy returns.
Estimated losses in the region, locals claim, stand at nearly Rs 12,000 crore (Rs 120 billion).
In Amritsar's Heritage Street, signs of life returned last Saturday for the first time in weeks.
About 20 per cent of hotels in the old city saw bookings after a two-week lull. Prices, though, have been slashed by half.
Phulkari shopkeepers near the Golden Temple haven't restocked in days, instead focusing on clearing unsold inventory that's quietly piled up.
Tourism has taken a sharp blow. Reports suggest a 70 per cent decline in footfall at the Golden Temple, where normally 100,000 to 125,000 devotees visit daily -- more on weekends and festivals.
In recent days, Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee-run sarais (inns) have seen over 80 per cent of their bookings cancelled.
"The businesses will need three-four months to recover," one shopkeeper says.
"Our main source of income was international tourists. Since the airport was shut, no foreigner has visited this place for some time. Even now, the crowd is mostly local. It's a start -- but it's going to be a rough few months. Summer vacation usually brings visitors, but we don't expect much until September."
A hotelier in the Old City echoes the sentiment.
"Amritsar's hotel industry is sensitive to India-Pakistan tensions. One border scare and we're the first to suffer. After the Pahalgam terrorist attack, people had already begun cancelling bookings, even before the tensions here escalated."
Tensions between India and Pakistan have cast a shadow over the daily beating retreat ceremony at the Attari-Wagah border.
The spectacle, which typically attracted around 15,000 visitors a day -- and up to 30,000 on weekends and national holidays -- now sees a fraction of that crowd.
With footfall dwindling, many shopkeepers and porters are struggling to get by.
Several shops have shuttered, while others have relocated to the city.
Vendors who once earned around Rs 1,200 a day selling garments, snacks, tattoos, and flags now mostly serve BSF personnel and labourers passing through for work.
In Khai Pheme Ki village, just over 10 kilometres from Ferozepur, villagers speak of a new threat that's become familiar: Drones.
In the days after the understanding, sightings have resumed.
"Some carry weapons. Others, drugs. But all of them bring dread," says a local.
"A drone fell on the day of the understanding," recalls Harcharan Singh, a resident of the village.
"We'd turned off our lights, as the government told us. But one family was cooking with dim lights. Three people got burnt and their Alto car and other belongings caught fire. The woman succumbed to her injuries. Maybe the drones detected heat signatures."
He pauses, then adds, "Where can we go? Our homes are 6 to 7 kilometers from the border. If they can hit places farther away, they can hit us too. We sent our women and children. But we stayed -- to be with the army."
Feature Presentation: Aslam Hunani/Rediff
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