Peace Dividend: How Keran Cashed in on the LoC Ceasefire

Imagine a hamlet of barely a hundred homes perched on the banks of the Kishanganga river, its days once punctuated by the distant thud of artillery. That place is Keran, and in an almost cinematic turn of events it has become Kashmir’s newest travel‑magnet.

Since the border opened to civilians in early 2023, the numbers have spoken louder than any official press release. Between May and July this year alone, more than 50,000 domestic tourists trekked up the valley. In plain terms, the high‑altitude window from June to August now feels like a season of its own – a rush hour that swells from a steady 1,000‑1,500 daily footfalls to a packed 4,000‑5,000 on weekends.

“It’s 4 p.m. and already 3,500 tourists – locals, city‑slickers, you name it – have streamed through the checkpoint,” remarks an army officer stationed at the entry gate, his voice a mix of pride and vigilance. The military’s presence, while strict, has oddly become the catalyst for the civilian revival.

Peace, however, is not just a headline about the 2021 India‑Pakistan ceasefire. Here in Keran, the guns have been silent since 2016. Even the 2024 Operation Sindoor, a major cross‑border maneuver, left this slice of the front untouched.

Majaz Khan, the 60‑year‑old numberdar of the village, remembers the older, scarred days. “We lived through 25 tough years,” he says, his eyes scanning a now‑bustling market he helped turn from a modest shop into a lively bazaar. “Shells used to land in our lanes. Today, tourists are the ones making a line outside my shop.”

The shift in livelihood is stark. Yesterday, most young men earned a meager living as army porters; today they run their own homestays, tea stalls, and even modest hotels. The state tourism board has yet to lay down parks, pathways, or public toilets, so the locals have rolled up their sleeves and built them themselves. Dozens of family‑run homestays now charge anywhere between ₹1,000 and ₹2,500 per night – a price that feels like a bargain compared to hill‑station resorts elsewhere.

Geography, it turns out, is a double‑edged sword. Lower Keran hugs the roaring Kishanganga, its waters marking the actual Line of Control. Directly across, the PoK side flaunts its own tourist huts and parks, offering a curious glass‑window view of the other side. Because the river doubles as a border, water‑sports like rafting are off‑limits, pushing visitors toward gentle river‑bank walks and treks up to Upper Keran, perched a thousand metres higher.

Getting there is an adventure in itself. The 150‑kilometre drive from Srinagar snakes through the Ferkian Top, a mountain pass that rewards any weary driver with sweeping panoramas of the Pir Panjal range. Thanks to a massive road‑building push by the Border Roads Organisation last year, the highway is now mostly smooth, with just a six‑kilometre stretch still feeling a bit rugged.

Travel isn’t completely free‑wheeling, though. Indian tourists must obtain a physical permit from the Kralpora police station in Kupwara, flashing an Aadhaar card or any valid ID. One night‑and‑two‑day stay is the sweet spot for most – enough time to breathe the crisp mountain air without getting stuck when the snow comes.

Modern comforts remain a work‑in‑progress. While the village finally enjoys reliable electricity, internet is practically non‑existent and mobile signals are fickle at best. Healthcare is limited to a small hospital staffed by five doctors, who now juggle routine cases and the occasional tourist injury.

Yet, even without Wi‑Fi, the evenings buzz with a different kind of connection. Every Saturday night the 6 Rashtriya Rifles regiment rolls out an open‑air screen, projecting movies in the “Rooh‑e‑Hind” park. Villagers and visitors gather on makeshift blankets, sharing popcorn and applause under the starlit sky.

“We were braced for artillery fire, for some war‑like atmosphere,” admits Anmol Shinde, a family traveller from Maharashtra. “Instead, it feels like a quiet, pristine escape. We’re staying the night, then heading back tomorrow.”

Entrepreneurial spirit is thriving too. Raja Farhad, who recently opened Keran’s first modern 12‑room hotel, says the summer is his proof‑of‑concept. “The army paved the way, the youth built the homes, the state now needs to step in with proper civil infrastructure and back us up,” he asserts.

Keran’s story is still being written, but one thing is clear: a decades‑long silence on the border has morphed into a bustling peace dividend, and the villagers are cashing in, one homestay at a time.