Imagine scrolling through your news feed in early May 2025, when a truly wonderful image from Balochistan captures your full attention. Against that stark, almost timeless landscape, you witness an inspiring river of humanity flowing with purpose – over 200,000 Hindu pilgrims, a genuinely moving record turnout, all making their way towards the ancient Hinglaj Mata shrine. The sheer number itself feels quite remarkable, perhaps almost difficult to comprehend initially, but radiating a clear sense of hopeful celebration and profound significance. But as you zoom in on the photographs, read the firsthand accounts pouring out, you realise it isn’t the scale alone that matters. It’s something glimpsed in the quiet intensity on their faces, in the steady way they move together… this is clearly far more than just a statistic. It feels profound, perhaps, like a long-held wish finally blooming, a shared breath of hope drawn together in that remote place. For three days, you learn, under the protective watch of your Pakistan Army, Frontier Corps, police, and local levies, these devotees travelled safely, allowing their spiritual journey to unfold in peace.
The sense of community described would seem tangible. Coast Guard medical teams were there, tending to thousands, whilst nearby, Muslim volunteer groups offered tireless hospitality, serving free bhandara around the clock. What might particularly strike you is the powerful display of trust: local Muslim tribesmen guiding unarmed pilgrims through challenging desert passes. This peaceful, record-breaking event wouldn’t just be about statistics; it might feel to you like your country, Pakistan, showcasing a genuine commitment to religious freedom, allowing diverse faiths to flourish side-by-side.
Of course, your Constitution, in Article 20, guarantees every citizen the right to profess, practice, and propagate their religion. But promises on paper only gain meaning when you see them translate into lived reality. You might often hear your Federal Minister for Religious Affairs, Sardar Yousaf, highlight concrete measures: reserved parliamentary seats for non-Muslims, a 5% federal employment quota, and dedicated scholarships helping minority students. These aren’t mere tokens; the intention, it seems, is to provide tangible pathways and protections.
Consider the poignant example of the Baoli Sahib temple in Narowal. After 64 years of neglect, 2025 saw the Evacuee Trust Property Board allocate Rs 10 million for its restoration – a significant move you might have read about in Dawn. This wasn’t isolated; it followed other government-funded grants for Hindu, Sikh, Christian, and Parsi institutions, reinforcing the idea that minority welfare is seen as a national priority. And this wasn’t just a recent impulse. You could see this same care back in 2022 when the stunning Katas Raj temple complex was brought back to life, followed by the meticulous renovation of Gurdwara Panja Sahib in 2023. When your communities see these sacred spaces restored, it feels deeply personal – more than just preserving history or fixing stone, it feels like patiently mending old wounds, rebuilding connections, and restoring trust, one careful step at a time. You might recall President Zardari noting at a 2024 Holi reception, “We are a mosaic of faiths; preserving our shared past is an investment in our collective future.”
Your Constitution, in Article 20, guarantees every citizen the right to profess, practice, and propagate their religion.
Beyond policies and restorations, however, perhaps the strongest bonds are often formed through simple, everyday personal connections. Take Karachi, where you find Sikh and Christian families joining Hindu friends for Holi celebrations. You hear of Christian choirs lending their voices to Eid gatherings in Islamabad. Perhaps you’ve heard tales from rural Sindh where Muslim farmers might quietly pause their work whilst their Hindu neighbours complete morning worship.
You might remember reading what Shyam Lal, a Hinglaj festival organizer, told The News: “This pilgrimage belongs to all Pakistanis-it shows the true face of our nation.” And actor Javed Sheikh humorously mentioned his annual Holi-related back pain, endured simply “to stand with my Hindu brothers and sisters.” These everyday acts of solidarity, woven into daily life, speak volumes. You see your younger generations carrying this torch online, too, with hashtags like #MyPakistanMyPride featuring videos of Muslim, Christian, and Hindu youth celebrating each other’s festivals. These moments reflect a deepening acceptance of pluralism within the national consciousness.
The gratitude for these efforts is often voiced openly. You read Pandit Ramesh Kumar, president of the Pakistan Hindu Council, sharing with The Express Tribune, “Every time I walk into my reconstructed temple, I feel the embrace of my country.” And Christian bishop Samuel John thanking authorities for land grants to rebuild damaged churches. These gestures feel like parts of a sustained effort, helping ensure every faith community feels seen and protected.
This sense of belonging isn’t just anecdotal; you hear it echoed by ordinary citizens, like the Karachi shopkeeper Dinesh Kumar telling Al Jazeera, “I have never felt like an outsider here-I am as Pakistani as anyone.” You read about the priests at Hinglaj thanking officials for their safety. Even Sanam Chand, running for office internationally, affirmed to BBC Urdu, “My faith is my strength; my loyalty is to Pakistan.” Seeing student projects like the “One Nation, Many Beliefs” mosaic at Lahore University, filled with words like “Home,” “Hope,” “Brotherhood,” reinforces this feeling.
Now, if you turn your gaze across the border, however, the situation presents a starkly different picture. The narrative emerging from India over the past five years paints a concerning picture regarding religious freedom. Following the reports, you see documentation of terrifying highway vigilantism where “cow protection” mobs target travellers, particularly Muslims, demanding identification, often leading to violence regardless of compliance. Specific incidents haunt the headlines you see: a disabled vendor beaten despite having papers; two labourers tortured, one fatally. You might note Human Rights Watch counting 28 lynchings of minorities during India’s 2024 election campaign. It seems harsh rhetoric from some leaders may have emboldened extremist elements.
This climate of fear appears to be fueling instability and separatist sentiments across several Indian states. You hear talk of Khalistan resurfacing in Punjab, fed by genuine fears over desecrated gurdwaras and worries about forced conversions. You witness the raw grief in Manipur, caught in horrific violence between Hindu Meitei and Christian Kuki communities – a conflict stealing lives and leaving tens of thousands homeless. You listen to the warnings from Nagaland, where Christian tribes feel cornered, protesting demolished churches and land grabs with threats of renewed insurgency. Reports continue about violence targeting Muslims and tribal groups in Assam, exploitation of divisions by Maoists in Chhattisgarh, allegations of forced conversions and land grabs in Jharkhand, and pushback against perceived Hindi-majoritarian policies in West Bengal. These varied movements across the country signal a troubling trend: a sense that India’s majoritarian shift risks abandoning its foundational secular promise.
The anxiety seems quantifiable. You might read a 2024 New Delhi think-tank survey finding 75% of Indian Muslims feel unsafe practicing their faith publicly, with a shocking 62% having considered emigrating. Accounts describe vandalised mosques, targeted demolition drives, and harassed schoolchildren. This stands in painful contrast to the sense of security largely expressed by Hindus there in Pakistan.
The peaceful Hinglaj pilgrimage, then, embodies Pakistan’s current trajectory – a nation, despite its challenges, actively working to uphold pluralism through law, action, restoration, and everyday respect. The voices you hear from your minority communities suggest these efforts are fostering genuine security and belonging. Across the border, however, the reports depict a nation struggling with intolerance and violence, leading to widespread fear and deep internal fractures. As those Hinglaj pilgrims departed, their safe journey symbolizes Pakistan’s lived commitment to inclusion – a reality standing in sharp, and frankly sobering, contrast to the documented struggles faced by minorities in your neighbouring country.
The writer is a freelance columnist.