Rakshit Sharma
At Dras, beneath the towering ridgelines of Tiger Hill and Tololing, the silence is deceptive. Twenty-five years ago these slopes shook with the thunder of artillery, the air torn by the crack of rifles during the Kargil War. Today, visitors file through the Kargil War Memorial, reading plaques, touching names carved into stone, and gazing at peaks that have become shorthand for sacrifice. What was once a theatre of conflict is now a destination under the banner of “Battlefield Tourism”, a movement that is rapidly reshaping the landscapes of Jammu & Kashmir.
Globally, battlefields have long drawn visitors. Gettysburg in the United States, Gallipoli in Turkey, and the Normandy beaches in France attract millions who come to honour memory, study history, or simply confront the enormity of past wars. In India, a similar trend is emerging, centred not on distant history but on living memory. From the Battle of Imphal and Kohima memorials in the North-East, to the Haifa Cemetery commemorating Indian cavalrymen, and Rezang La in Ladakh, examples abound of how valour and sacrifice are remembered through tourism. The mountains of Kargil, the icy expanse of Siachen, and even sectors of the Line of Control (LoC) are being recast as heritage, adventure, and patriotic destinations. Unlike Europe’s settled memorials, however, these landscapes remain militarised and socially sensitive.
From War Zones to Tourist Maps
The push for battlefield tourism in J&K has gathered pace in recent years, encouraged by both the Army and the Government of India. Under schemes such as Bharat Ranbhoomi Darshan and Project Shaurya Gatha, 77 border sites across the country have been earmarked for development, 11 of them in Jammu & Kashmir. These include the Kargil battlefields of Tololing and Tiger Hill, Rezang La in eastern Ladakh, and the forbidding Siachen Glacier, often described as the world’s highest battlefield.
For the Army, the argument is twofold. One is patriotic, to let citizens witness where soldiers endured hardship and laid down their lives, thereby deepening respect for the armed forces. The second is pragmatic as tourism can provide new livelihoods in frontier regions, steering youth away from militancy by anchoring local economies in services linked to heritage, guiding, transport, and hospitality.
The results are visible. The Dras War Memorial now receives more than 200,000 visitors a year, far more than a decade ago when its audience was mostly veterans and military families. Controlled trekking expeditions on Siachen have begun, allowing civilians a glimpse into conditions where soldiers still serve in temperatures that plunge below -50°C. Even the Galwan Valley, synonymous with the deadly 2020 clash with China, has been mentioned as a potential site for carefully managed visits.
History and Geography: Memory in the Mountains
Nowhere is military history so tightly woven into geography as in Jammu & Kashmir. The Zoji La Pass recalls the armoured advance of 1948; Haji Pir, captured in 1965, stands as a reminder of sacrifice in monsoon-clad hills; and Dras, Tololing and Tiger Hill embody the summer of 1999 when Operation Vijay recaptured territory in Kargil. These are not distant fields preserved for posterity rather they remain living sites, many still garrisoned.
Memorials and plaques generally dot the high valleys. Be it the Amar Jawan wall at Dras, the regimental shrines in Ladakh, and smaller cairns maintained by units along the LoC. For the visitor, they are part classroom, part pilgrimage. For planners, however, the terrain dictates heavy responsibilities as roads must be widened without scarring fragile slopes, sanitation systems installed where oxygen is thin, and rescue services guaranteed in zones where a tourist may collapse from altitude sickness. Equally, the J&K Police remain the first responders in such fragile zones, assisting stranded visitors, regulating access, and safeguarding memorial events.
Soft Power, Hard Power
Battlefield tourism is never only about leisure. It is also a matter of symbolism. For India, inviting citizens to Siachen or Kargil is a way to showcase endurance and sovereignty. This is what scholars call the interplay of soft and hard power: tourism that simultaneously builds patriotic feeling and signals control to neighbours. Retired Brigadier S.K. Chatterji has argued that when civilians climb Tiger Hill and see its daunting approaches, “they see more than a view, they see the cost of holding it.” That very recognition strengthens national security by reinforcing public understanding of the armed forces’ sacrifices. In equal measure, the visible sacrifice and daily vigilance of J&K Police fortify the confidence of visitors and sustain the possibility of tourism in sensitive zones.
But the narrative is delicate. In regions where sovereignty is contested and local identities complex, tourism can easily slip into triumphalism. International examples show both opportunities and risks. Gallipoli evolved into a shared site of remembrance for Turks, Australians, and New Zealanders; Normandy balanced tales of military strategy with accounts of civilian suffering. J&K’s memorials will need similar sensitivity if they are to endure as more than instruments of a single story.
Communities at the Crossroads
For the people of J&K, battlefield tourism offers both promise and peril. On the one hand, it can create jobs for guides, drivers, hotel owners, and handicraft artisans. Programmes like the Army’s Sadbhavana projects and the recent “Soul of Steel” treks attempt to integrate locals into the tourism economy, training them in mountaineering, rescue, and interpretation.
On the other hand, the distribution of benefits is uneven. Towns on highways and near memorials gain most, while remote hamlets may see little. Sacred spaces risk being commodified, a family’s grief turned into a backdrop for tourist selfies. And rapid influxes of outsiders can disrupt local norms, from dress codes to land use. Sociologist Dr. Gowhar Fazili warns that “if tourism becomes another instrument of control, it risks alienating the very communities it needs to engage.” The lesson from Belfast’s “Troubles” tours is relevant: only when tours avoid one-sided narratives and include local voices do they foster dialogue rather than deepen divides. At the same time, it must be remembered that over 1,800 personnel of the J&K Police have laid down their lives in service; their sacrifice underpins the stability in which tourism now takes root.
Security and the Fragility of Confidence
Policing and law-and-order are inseparable from the tourism equation in J&K. Battlefield tourism is not a casual weekend trip; it involves travel through militarised zones, checkpoints, and convoys. The risks are real, and here the J&K Police shoulder the frontline responsibility of immediate response, rescue, investigation, and reassurance. The deadly attack on tourists in Pahalgam in spring 2025 underscored the fragility of visitor confidence. A single incident led to widespread closures, cancellations, and losses for hotels and guides just as the valley was recovering from years of slow business. It revealed the need for integrated planning: Police, Army, Paramilitary, local administration, and tour operators must choreograph access, vet visitors, and prepare contingency protocols. International models suggest that visible but non-intrusive security is key. Egypt’s management of heritage sites, for instance, shows how to reassure visitors without overwhelming them with checkpoints. Kashmir’s own experience with sudden curfews highlights the importance of transparent criteria for closures and compensation schemes for affected businesses.
The Psychological Landscape
The act of visiting battlefields is charged with psychology. For veterans and families of the fallen, it is often a ritual of remembrance, catharsis, or even trauma. For younger tourists, it can be a blend of patriotism and thrill and the allure of standing where history was made.Psychologists studying “dark tourism” caution that unstructured visits can veer into voyeurism. Without interpretation, visitors may reduce sites of sacrifice into spectacle. The Kigali Genocide Memorial in Rwanda offers a model of care: its exhibits acknowledge trauma but frame them within reconciliation. For J&K, similar design ethics will be essential, presenting both military valour and civilian suffering, and providing context that goes beyond flag-waving.
Environment and Logistics: Fragile Frontiers
J&K’s battlefields lie in some of the most fragile ecologies on earth. The Siachen Glacier is already retreating due to climate change; increased human presence risks adding pollutants, waste, and erosion. High-altitude sites cannot absorb heavy tourist traffic without strict rules. Carry-in carry-out waste policies, limits on visitor numbers, and investment in eco-friendly shelters will be critical.
The logistics are costly. Evacuation helicopters, medical teams, and mountain rescue units are expensive public goods. Policymakers must decide whether to subsidise them, recover costs through visitor fees, or develop public-private partnerships. In all cases, regulation is essential to prevent private operators from extracting profits while leaving environmental and security costs to the state.
Geopolitics at the Edge
Unlike battlefields in settled Europe, J&K’s are not just heritage sites; they are still borders in motion. A photograph at a LoC post can be recast abroad as provocation. Proposals to open Galwan Valley touch directly on India’s relationship with China. Siachen and Kargil are likewise entwined with Pakistan. In that sense, battlefield tourism becomes foreign policy by other means: a performance watched not only by domestic audiences but also by adversaries.
Governing the Future
If battlefield tourism is to succeed in J&K, governance must rest on five pillars. Multi-stakeholder participation involving Police, Army, local communities, and tourism departments is essential. Community benefit-sharing ensures that villagers see tangible gains. Ethical interpretation requires museums and plaques that present layered narratives rather than propaganda. Environmental stewardship must be built in from the outset. And contingency planning from closure protocols to compensation funds must be institutionalised to withstand shocks.
Former Northern Army Commander Lt Gen D.S. Hooda has remarked that “every visitor to Kargil or Rezang La becomes an informal ambassador for the armed forces.” That opportunity is real but only if tourism honours memory while respecting communities and ecosystems.
Closing Reflections
As dusk falls in Dras, the tricolour catches the evening light, and visitors pause before the Amar Jawan wall. A boy asks his father, “Did they all fight here?” The father nods. It is in these quiet, reflective moments that battlefield tourism’s potential emerges not as spectacle, but as remembrance. And in every such remembrance, one must also acknowledge the silent, steadfast presence of the J&K Police, whose sacrifice and service make these journeys possible.
Jammu & Kashmir’s battlefields are places of sacrifice, sovereignty, and story. If managed wisely, they can become bridges between regions, between civilians and soldiers, between past and future. If mismanaged, they risk becoming shallow spectacles, alienating locals and trivialising memory.
Battlefield tourism here is ultimately a test: of governance, of sensitivity, of the nation’s ability to turn scars of war into lessons for peace. The stones of Dras and the snows of Siachen will bear witness. Whether they become sites of shared remembrance or contested propaganda will depend on the choices made today.
(The author is Rimcollian in J&K Police)
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