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With US president Donald Trump announcing a full and immediate ceasefire on X, life in the Punjabi town of Adampur, which had come to a standstill overnight, began slowly returning to normal. Residents stepped out cautiously, and shops that had remained shut since morning reopened their shutters by evening.
In Kathar village, Dayant Kaur, chatting with neighbours in her courtyard, welcomed the news. “Chalo, Trump finally did something right,” she said. “He may have deported so many Punjabis, but at least he did this.”
Adampur, home to India’s second-largest Air Force base, has been on edge for days. On Friday night, villages surrounding the town were rocked by a series of explosions from the Pakistani side, as multiple drones and missiles targeted the area. The first drone struck the IAF base at 1:30 am on Saturday. Soon after, more drones and missiles continued to rain down, with the most intense wave of attacks occurring around 9:30 am. Later that morning of the 10th Missiles and debris reportedly fell across agricultural fields and residential areas.
TNM independently verified missile remnants in Dhogri and Isharwal villages, as well as debris fallout in Mohaddipur and Kangniwal. Residents described a sleepless night as shockwaves from an explosion and shrapnels shattered windows, damaged rooftops, and sent panic across the region.
The announcement of an immediate ceasefire by US president Donald Trump brought a fragile sense of relief to residents of Kangniwal, one of the worst-hit villages near the Adampur air base. “We would have died from panic alone,” said Surjit Kaur, whose home suffered extensive damage. “In the morning, we were thinking of leaving for Delhi to stay with relatives for a few days. But I’m glad no one has to be displaced from their own homes now.”
Just the night before, fear had gripped the village after a massive explosion shook the area at 1:36 am, sending shockwaves that shattered window panes, dented metal gates, and burst water tanks across several houses.
Kaur recalled the moment vividly. “First we heard a loud blast, and then flashes of light lit up the sky for a few minutes,” she said, speaking to TNM. “I had just gotten up to use the loo when the shockwave hit me so hard it threw me to the ground.”
By morning, residents were walking up to mangled cars, inspecting walls scarred with marks, as if hit by grenades or gunfire. Kaur’s house saw a steady stream of neighbours and relatives since dawn, many of whom had also felt the brunt of the blast. “We couldn’t even process what had happened. No one lit a stove or cooked anything all day,” she said. “It’s already 4 in the afternoon, and in two or three hours it’ll be dark again. We’re not ready for another night like that.”
But as news of the ceasefire travelled through the village, the mood began to shift. “We’re now preparing a dinner with basmati,” Kaur smiled. “We didn’t think our fate would turn this quickly.”
Though there was a brief sense of respite, it didn’t last long. Even as cautious smiles spread and residents began stepping out of their homes, the nights in Adampur and its neighbouring villages remained cloaked in darkness. Power had returned, but most people kept their lights off, continuing to observe a self-imposed blackout. That anxiety quickly returned when news began circulating that Pakistan had violated the ceasefire.
“The few moments of relief we managed to catch turned into panic again,” said Amarjeet Singh, 72, from Dhogri village. “We tried to sleep, chanting Waheguru’s name, but even that wasn’t enough to calm us. We don’t know if there will be another attack in Punjab.”
Around midnight, a missile reportedly landed in a field just behind Singh’s house. “Last night [May 9] was terrifying,” he said. “We kept hearing explosions until 7 am. I counted nearly 9 to 11 blasts starting around 2 in the night.” While there were no reported injuries, the streets of Dhogri remained eerily silent through the day, with even locals avoiding stepping out in broad daylight—something TNM witnessed firsthand.
“We were born here, and we’ll stay here,” Singh added. “We’ve spent our lives in these homes, on this land, with these tubewells and neighbours. Even if we leave now, life won’t be better anywhere else. Whether the shells fall or not, we’re not going anywhere.”
Inside homes, even subdued celebration had started fading before it could mean anything real. A lingering sense of betrayal hung in the air. Many were struggling to trust a leadership that had launched a war without their consent—only to call it off just as suddenly, as if it were no more than a game.