When India launched Operation Sindoor in May 2025, it wasn’t just another military action—it was a bold statement of strength. In just a matter of days, the operation dismantled nine terror hideouts nestled in the rugged terrain of Pakistan-occupied Kashmir. More than 100 terrorists, including senior commanders responsible for the Pahalgam terror attack, were eliminated. These weren’t just statistics. These were scores settled. A message written in fire that said—India remembers. And India responds.

In the aftermath, Prime Minister Narendra Modi stood before the nation with unwavering clarity and conviction: “This is New India. We do not tolerate terror, and we certainly do not negotiate with it.” The words hit home. For soldiers on the frontlines. For families who had buried their sons in silence. For citizens who had once cried out in frustration, unheard.

But even as the airstrike’s precision reshaped the map of terror, another sound emerged—a familiar and frustrating chorus from the Congress party. Rahul Gandhi, true to his political rhythm, raised doubts about the timing, questioned the strategy, and demanded proof. “Where is the evidence?” he asked. “Why now?” he wondered. Instead of questioning the enemy, he questioned India’s own soldiers.

For many, it wasn’t oversight—it was insult. A bitter flashback to previous moments in India’s security history when Congress had responded with doubt, not decisiveness—after the 2016 surgical strikes, after the 2019 Balakot airstrikes, and now, even after Operation Sindoor.

And with those questions, came the ghosts of a darker time. A time of unthinkable brutality. A time when India’s brave hearts were not just martyred, but disrespected—even in death. A time the country would rather forget—but never should.

Beheading of Lance Naik Hemraj (2013): Sequence of Events and Aftermath

In the frozen tension of January 2013, as the Himalayan winds cut through the Line of Control in Jammu and Kashmir, Lance Naik Hemraj Singh was out on patrol. A soldier like any other—alert, proud, and ready to serve. But what happened that day would become one of the most gruesome and horrifying chapters in Indian military history.

Hemraj was brutally killed and beheaded by Pakistani troops during a cross-border attack. It wasn’t just a killing. It was a mutilation of humanity itself. Reports from the border revealed that Pakistani soldiers had carried away Hemraj’s severed head, leaving behind a scene that stunned the Army—and scarred the nation.

The public reaction was one of sheer outrage. But that outrage turned to anguish and betrayal when the Congress-led UPA government failed to respond forcefully. There were no swift actions, no punitive measures, not even a visit to console the family. The nation cried for justice, but the leadership answered with silence. The result was a growing anger that seeped through the homes of ordinary Indians.

Cross-Border Attack and Beheading (January 8, 2013)

On January 8, 2013, a Border Action Team of the Pakistani Army silently breached the Line of Control in the Poonch sector. They crept nearly 600 meters into Indian territory. Their target: an unsuspecting patrol of the 13 Rajputana Rifles.

In the brutal clash that followed, two Indian soldiers—Lance Naik Hemraj Singh and Lance Naik Sudhakar Singh—were martyred. But what set this incident apart was its unthinkable savagery.

The Pakistani raiders mutilated both bodies. And Hemraj’s was decapitated. Indian Army sources later revealed that as the attackers retreated, they took Hemraj’s head with them—like a trophy of terror.

The Army reacted with outrage. Official statements called the assault “yet another grave provocation” by Pakistan. Senior officers described the beheading in no uncertain terms—as “barbaric,” “gruesome and an unpardonable act.”

India’s military diplomacy went into motion. The Director-General of Military Operations (DGMO) contacted Pakistan’s top command. The External Affairs Ministry summoned Pakistan’s envoy. Prime Minister Manmohan Singh was briefed urgently. The Defence Ministry issued a strong public demand, asking Pakistan to “honor the ceasefire agreement” and discipline its forces.

But in response, Pakistan took the easiest route—it denied everything. It flatly rejected the accusation, stating that no soldiers had crossed the LoC and dismissing the credible, detailed reports as nothing more than “Indian propaganda.”

When Lance Naik Hemraj’s body arrived at his home, it was not a moment of closure—it was the beginning of another nightmare.

The body was headless, mutilated, and so disturbing that the Army did not allow his wife Dharamvati or his mother Meena Devi to see it up close during the funeral. It was not an act of secrecy—it was an act of mercy.

But it tore the family apart. Without the head, they could not be sure. They could not truly say goodbye. They could not perform the final rites with dignity. And in that moment of pain, Meena Devi said only one thing:
“At least bring me my son’s head… I am not asking for anything more.”

It was not just a plea. It was a mother's demand for the one thing every fallen soldier deserves—respect.

The villagers supported the family. They too demanded that Hemraj’s head be returned. It was essential, they said, for his final rites. For closure. For peace.

But even as search efforts were launched, it became evident that Pakistan had no intention of returning the head. The Army’s attempts came up empty. The Pakistani side gave no answers. No apology. No cooperation. Just silence.

Family’s Hunger Strike for the Soldier’s Head

With no progress from the government, and no return of their son’s remains, the family took a desperate step.

On January 13, 2013—just five days after the attack—Meena Devi and Dharamvati began an indefinite hunger strike. At their home in Shernagar village, Mathura, Uttar Pradesh, they declared that they would neither eat nor drink until Hemraj’s head was returned.

The strike was not symbolic. It was serious. So serious that Dharamvati had to be put on intravenous fluids by a local doctor. She had refused all sustenance. The family’s message to the government was unwavering:
“If the body was indeed his, then his head be brought back.”

The hunger strike sent shockwaves across the country. It forced the media to pay attention. It brought public sympathy flooding in. But it also exposed a painful truth—that even after such a barbaric act, the government had taken no effective steps.

Hemraj’s cousin Narendra voiced the family’s frustration:
“We are not going to call off our fast if a leader just comes here and requests.”
Only one thing would end it—“an assurance from the Army Chief to get the head back.”

Even as television cameras captured the emotion, no senior leader from the UPA government came to visit.

They were alone.

And the country was watching.

On January 13, 2013—five days after the brutal killing of Lance Naik Hemraj—his mother, Meena Devi, and his widow, Dharamvati, took a stand not with speeches, but with silence and suffering. From their modest home in Shernagar village, Mathura, they began an indefinite hunger strike. They declared that they would not eat or even drink until the Indian government brought back Hemraj’s severed head from Pakistan.

It wasn’t symbolic. It wasn’t political. It was real. And it was deadly serious. So serious that Dharamvati’s body began to fail her. A local doctor had to step in and put her on intravenous fluids. Still, she refused to consume anything by mouth. Their condition alarmed villagers, but their message was simple and clear. They told the government they would not perform any final rites, no funeral, no closure—not until “if the body was indeed his, then his head be brought back.”

This heart-wrenching protest turned attention back to what many were calling the government’s inexcusable silence. Days had already passed, and still, there was no concrete effort made to recover the head. No high-ranking official had visited the grieving family. There was no response that could be considered worthy of the soldier’s sacrifice.

The family’s cousin, Narendra, was direct and firm. “We are not going to call off our fast if a leader just comes here and requests,” he said. Their trust now lay only in the soldiers. He explained that only an assurance from the Army Chief—and no one else—would make them end their hunger strike.

The family’s determination was felt across the country. It brought sympathy and attention. But it also laid bare what many saw as a deep failure of empathy and leadership.

By the end of that same week, the grief in Khairair village had become a storm of anger. Residents pointed out that no political leader from either the state or central government had come to share the family’s sorrow—even four days after the killing. There was a heavy silence where there should have been solidarity.

The anger was amplified when villagers compared Hemraj’s treatment to that of Sudhakar Singh, the other soldier killed in the same attack. Sudhakar Singh’s home state, Madhya Pradesh, under a BJP-led government, had shown full honor. The Chief Minister attended his cremation, and his family received swift support and public recognition.

But Hemraj’s village? “Ignored and insulted,” as some residents put it. There were no such honors initially. Only after public outcry and media coverage did the Uttar Pradesh government quickly announce a compensation amounting to Rs 20–25 lakh.

The visit that eventually did come—from the Congress party on January 11—only deepened the sense of betrayal. Pradeep Mathur, a local Congress MLA, tried to meet the family. It did not go well. Irate villagers chased him away. Hemraj’s mother, speaking for many in the village and across the country, lashed out with fierce grief:
“Your leaders should have replied to Pakistan in the same way that Hemraj was murdered. But your leaders do not care about the soldier!”

That single line hit the nation like a punch. It captured what many had been feeling. And by then, it was too late to undo the damage.

As the outrage spread, protests erupted in several cities. In Jammu, BJP and Shiv Sena activists took to the streets. They burned Pakistan’s flags and effigies, calling out the government's “weak-kneed” response. For many across India, the incident no longer represented just a tragedy at the border—it had become a symbol of how the Congress-led UPA government had failed to respect and respond to one of its own.

It wasn’t just citizens who were outraged. The beheading incident escalated rapidly into a political firestorm. The opposition seized the moment, criticizing the UPA for not taking a strong stand against Pakistan.

On January 14, a high-profile team from the BJP visited Hemraj’s village. Sushma Swaraj, the Leader of the Opposition, came with BJP President Nitin Gadkari and Rajnath Singh, who would later serve as Home Minister. Their presence wasn’t just symbolic. It was a direct challenge to the Congress government's passivity.

And Sushma Swaraj’s words were unforgettable. She said, “If Pakistan does not return the head of our martyred soldier, India should get at least ten heads from their side!” It was bold. It was blunt. But for many across the country, it was exactly what they wanted to hear.

She continued with a sharp indictment of the government’s behavior. “The question is: will we sit without any reaction and still engage in dialogue [with Pakistan]? This should not happen,” she warned. She didn’t stop there. “Today, the nation is demanding: don’t prove to be a weak government.” Her words struck a national nerve.

Calling the UPA’s reaction unacceptable, she said the government “should apologise for the apathy”—not only to the soldier’s family but to the entire country. She ended with a demand that resonated everywhere: “take revenge for this incident.”

In Hemraj’s hometown, villagers nodded along. Many had already said they believed the government had “undermined Hemraj’s sacrifice.”

The pressure worked. Between January 14 and 15, more political leaders arrived. Akhilesh Yadav, then Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh from the Samajwadi Party, also came to meet the family. He said, “to support and respect the family is the duty of the government.”

At last, a representative from the Centre showed up. Jitendra Singh, the Union Minister of State for Defence, visited the family. He announced that the Centre would give an enhanced compensation of Rs 46 lakh, and even promised a petrol pump allotment to Hemraj’s family.

But the hunger strike continued. Meena Devi and Dharamvati were not impressed by visits, speeches, or offers of compensation. Their demand was simple, and it remained unchanged: only an assurance from the Army Chief to recover Hemraj’s head would convince them to eat again.

As cameras flashed and politicians spoke, the mother and widow of Lance Naik Hemraj still waited. Weakened, but not broken. Waiting, not for sympathy—but for justice.

Army’s Stance and “Measured” Response

As nationwide outrage continued to rise following the beheading of Lance Naik Hemraj, the Indian Army finally addressed the public. On January 14, Army Chief General Bikram Singh held a rare and sharply worded press conference. He extended the Army’s solidarity with Hemraj’s grieving family and expressed unfiltered anger at Pakistan’s brutality. Speaking plainly, he said, “Beheading of our soldiers is unacceptable and unpardonable. It is barbaric. It defies all logic and civilized behavior.” He went on to emphasize that India “reserved the right to retaliate” for the heinous act, and firmly warned that the Army would not remain passive if provoked again. He revealed that local commanders on the LoC had been given freedom to act aggressively if necessary.

Despite this powerful statement, the public saw no direct or immediate retaliation. There were no strikes, no covert operations, and no show of force that would signal retribution. General Singh, in the same breath, hinted at a restrained approach, explaining that any response would be “calibrated” to avoid uncontrolled military escalation. While the Army was prepared to act again if provoked, the underlying tone was one of caution.

In practice, the Congress-led UPA government leaned on diplomacy. It lodged official protests, made firm statements, and held talks at the DGMO level between India and Pakistan. The two sides agreed to de-escalate tensions after additional minor skirmishes that occurred later that January.

However, this approach left the public deeply dissatisfied. To many Indians, Pakistan had literally gotten away with murder—and not just any murder, but the mutilation of a soldier of the Indian Army. The response from New Delhi was seen as limited to cancelled events, press conferences, and delayed condemnation.

Prime Minister Manmohan Singh remained silent for over a week before finally stating, “After this barbaric act, there cannot be business as usual with Pakistan.” His words came too late and rang hollow for a population desperate for justice. Although the visa-on-arrival scheme for Pakistani senior citizens was suspended as a symbolic measure, no other significant diplomatic or military punishment followed.

There was no downgrading of diplomatic relations, no cross-border retaliation, and no policy shift. Critics quickly labeled the government's stand as “flip-flop and feeble”, accusing it of saying one thing in press conferences while still pushing for dialogue in backroom meetings. Even Singh’s strong-sounding “no business as usual” remark was quickly diluted when he added, “we will keep trying” for peace and emphasized that India’s options would not be discussed publicly—a clear signal of the UPA’s overly cautious posture.

Family Ends Fast After Assurances

On January 15, 2013, after nearly seven days without food or water, Hemraj’s widow and mother finally ended their hunger strike. This happened only after receiving direct and personal assurances from the highest levels of the Indian Army and political leadership.

General Bikram Singh himself travelled to their village in Uttar Pradesh and met the family face-to-face. He promised them that “Hemraj’s sacrifice would not be in vain”, and assured that the Army stood behind them. His visit brought a measure of solace and dignity that had been missing from earlier political efforts. No UPA minister had shown this level of urgency in personally meeting the grieving family when it was needed the most.

The same day, a stream of political figures followed. The Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Akhilesh Yadav, the Minister of State for Defence Jitendra Singh, and several opposition leaders made their way to the village. The state government announced a compensation of ₹25 lakh and plans for development projects in Hemraj’s memory. The Centre, through Jitendra Singh, pledged Rs 46 lakh in enhanced compensation and a petrol pump allotment to help the family financially.

Despite these declarations, Hemraj’s family made it clear that their protest could return if promises were not kept. The soldier’s severed head was still missing, a fact that continued to torment not only the family but the nation as well. Meena Devi, though relieved that some support had arrived, stated that she would keep fighting for justice. She thanked ordinary Indians who had shown them support during their darkest days, but the emotional wound remained.

This episode deeply embarrassed the UPA government, forcing it to act only after pressure, protest, and relentless media coverage. The leadership was seen not just as slow—but as indifferent, until it could no longer afford to ignore the storm.

Atrocity Video Surfaces: “Football with the Severed Head” (2014)

As months passed, public attention shifted. But in January 2014, on the anniversary of Hemraj’s death, the horror returned in a way nobody had expected.

A disturbing video clip suddenly surfaced—mysteriously appearing on social media and certain news channels. Reportedly uploaded to YouTube, the footage showed what was believed to be a Pakistani militant displaying Hemraj’s severed head like a trophy. The man was said to be on Pakistani soil, holding the head aloft, with torch batteries and small-denomination Indian currency notes placed nearby—items that were believed to have belonged to the martyred soldier.

If there had been any lingering doubt about the brutality of the attack, this video removed it. According to some reports, the attackers even played football with Hemraj’s severed head—a practice not unheard of. A similar atrocity had occurred back in 2000, where militants, led by a Pakistan Army regular, had mutilated an Indian soldier and kicked his head around like a football.

This new video re-ignited the fury of the public. In Mathura, Hemraj’s hometown, people staged large-scale protests. Effigies of Pakistan were burnt, and slogans for justice rang through the streets. The community’s sorrow resurfaced with full force.

Hemraj’s family, crushed and horrified, sent a new letter to the Prime Minister on January 11, 2014. Their words were laced with pain and disbelief: “No strong measures have been taken” even after a year, they wrote. They asked, “Why has no action been taken?” The clip was now circulating widely, and media reports described it as authentic.

The UPA government’s reaction this time was no different than before—slow, cautious, and defensive. Then-Home Minister Sushilkumar Shinde said that if the video was genuine, it was indeed “a serious issue”, but he added a caution: “we should not act with anger and in a rage, because we have seen many times that fake videos are used to incite people.”

His comments, meant to prevent communal unrest, sounded to the public like another excuse. Despite the family identifying the head in the video as Hemraj’s, the government's focus seemed more concerned with controlling Indian outrage than addressing Pakistani brutality.

The Army Headquarters refused to provide clarity, stating that they were “not in a position to say anything” about the video’s content. To the people of India, this appeared as yet another example of the UPA’s timid and reactive approach—measured not in justice, but in caution.

And so, the image of a soldier’s head being paraded as a trophy was met not with retribution, but with a press note and silence. What began with bloodshed had now become a symbol of unanswered grief and national shame.

Martyr Hemraj's wife duped of Rs 10 lakh

As if the trauma of losing her husband in one of the most brutal and dishonorable acts of war wasn’t enough, Dharmvati, the widow of Lance Naik Hemraj, faced yet another blow—this time not from across the border, but from within her own country. In a shocking incident that took place near the Kosi town area, she was duped of Rs 10 lakh, right in the presence of her brother-in-law and a relative.

According to Dharmvati’s police complaint, the man who deceived her was one Amit Kumar, who introduced himself as an Army officer sent from Army Headquarters. He met her at her native village, Shernagar, and presented himself as someone sent to guide her on how to secure the relief packages she had received. Speaking with authority and dressed to deceive, Amit appeared to win the trust of the grieving family.

He advised Dharmvati to divide her compensation money and deposit it across different banks for safety. Following his suggestion, she agreed to withdraw Rs 20 lakh from her account at the SBI Chhatta branch. She was accompanied by her brother-in-law Bhagwan Singh, her uncle Gajendra Singh, and Amit himself.

From the withdrawn amount, she made a fixed deposit of Rs 10 lakh in her daughter Shivani’s name, while the remaining Rs 10 lakh was meant to be deposited in another bank in Bukharari village.

On their way, Dharmvati was seated on Amit’s motorcycle, and her relatives followed on a separate one. She later recounted that the Rs 10 lakh were kept in Amit’s bag. As they approached a petrol station near Sonu Monu Dhaba on the outskirts of Kosi town, Amit claimed he needed fuel.

That moment of trust was all he needed. As soon as Dharmvati dismounted the bike, Amit sped away with the money, vanishing without a trace.

Senior Superintendent of Police Pradeep Yadav confirmed the incident and said the Special Operations Group (SOG) had been assigned the case. CCTV footage from the bank was being examined to help track and arrest the accused.

In a separate and earlier incident, dated March 25, someone had already tried to fraudulently withdraw Rs 60 lakh from her account at a bank in Palwal district, Haryana. Two cheques of Rs 30 lakh each were submitted at an SBI branch by an individual falsely claiming access to her funds.

Commenting on the current case, SSP Yadav noted, “Though Dharmvati was asked to inform the police about any major financial transaction she makes in the bank for the safety of the amount, she did not do so.”

These additional chapters in her painful journey highlight a grieving family left vulnerable, not just to the enemy that took Hemraj’s life, but to criminals exploiting her trust at home. The episode added yet another layer of injustice and humiliation to an already tragic story.

Legacy of the Incident and Critique of UPA Government

The 2013 beheading of Lance Naik Hemraj left a scar that extended beyond the battlefields and beyond the martyr’s family—it became a symbol of national heartbreak, anger, and betrayal. It revealed the cruelty of Pakistani troops and terrorists, but just as glaringly, it exposed the failures of the Congress-led UPA government to respond with the urgency, resolve, and honor that the moment demanded.

As of 2014, Hemraj’s head had still not been recovered. Pakistan’s refusal to return it ensured that even in death, the soldier was denied the respect due to a martyr. His family remained heartbroken, and many Indian citizens harbored bitterness and rage. The fact that the central government had neither forced the issue diplomatically nor retaliated militarily deepened the disappointment.

The UPA was sharply criticized. It failed to send senior ministers to console the family promptly. It refrained from even symbolic or strong retaliatory moves. Its top leaders responded only after public pressure exploded. In Parliament and on the streets, the opposition kept the issue alive, repeating Hemraj’s story to highlight the UPA’s softness on national security.

Even after the 2014 change in regime, Hemraj’s mother continued her fight. She reminded the new government of the words “10 heads in return”, calling on India to hold Pakistan accountable for its barbarity. For the BJP, the incident became a defining political issue, one that helped build its case for a stronger and more assertive national security policy.

In the years that followed, Congress leaders were often cornered in public and political discourse. When asked why they didn’t act with force, they had few convincing answers. The issue of Hemraj’s beheading didn’t just expose an enemy across the border—it exposed a government that hesitated to defend its own.

To many Indians, the timeline of the case represents a painful litany of missed opportunities and institutional indifference. A soldier is killed, his body mutilated, and his head taken away as a war trophy. His family is left begging for justice, while the government issues statements and takes no action. A year later, a ghastly video surfaces allegedly showing militants playing football with the severed head, and yet again, there is no retaliation—only another round of outrage, then silence.

The Congress-led UPA’s handling of the entire matter came to symbolize what many saw as a pattern of inaction and indecision. In the minds of many Indians, the case became a shameful chapter where a soldier’s ultimate sacrifice was met not with honor, but with hesitation.

And in the end, the image of a brave jawan’s severed head paraded like a trophy, with no response from those in power, became a tragic reminder of how the system had failed—not just a soldier—but an entire nation that waited for justice.

From Silence to Strike: The Two Indias That Faced Pakistan

If the tragedy of Lance Naik Hemraj symbolized anything beyond personal loss, it was a test—a test of a government's willingness to defend its own. In 2013, when Hemraj’s mutilated body returned without his head, the UPA government's response was defined by caution, delay, and restrained outrage. Words were spoken. Condemnations were issued. But no action followed. For many Indians, that moment marked a breach of trust—when a soldier gave everything, but the country’s leadership failed to respond with strength.

Years later, a very different government would face similar provocations—but respond in a radically different tone.

Where the Congress-led UPA government had once chosen silence and statements, the Narendra Modi-led NDA government chose strategy and steel. The shift wasn’t just rhetorical. It was measured in airstrikes, surgical raids, and the return of captured soldiers—loud, public, and purposeful.

1. Wing Commander Abhinandan Varthaman (February–March 2019)
   After his MiG‑21 was shot down during a dogfight with Pakistan and he was captured, India did not plead—it demanded. Prime Minister Modi warned of severe consequences if even a hair on Abhinandan’s head was harmed.
   In just 60 hours, Pakistan returned him, clearly rattled by India’s diplomatic and military posture. The return at Wagah-Attari was not just a reunion—it was a message: India protects its own.

2. Surgical Strikes (September 2016)
   The brutal Uri terror attack in September 2016 took the lives of 19 Indian soldiers. Unlike in 2013, India didn’t wait. Eleven days later, Indian special forces crossed the Line of Control and demolished terrorist launch pads.
   This was no secret mission. India announced it to the world. The message was clear: Terrorism will now invite direct military retaliation. No more dossier diplomacy.

3. Operation Balakot (February 2019)
   When a suicide bomber from Jaish-e-Mohammed killed 40 CRPF jawans in Pulwama, India responded by sending aircraft deep into Pakistan, hitting terror infrastructure in Balakot.
   The strike was preemptive, bold, and unprecedented in scale. It crossed a political red line India had long hesitated to breach. Now, that line was dissolved in jet fuel and redefined by resolve.

4. Operation Sindoor (May 2025)
   The Pahalgam massacre, where 26 Indian civilians were murdered, provoked Operation Sindoor—launched on May 7, 2025. In days, nine terror hideouts in Pakistan and Pakistan-occupied Kashmir were wiped out.
   Over 100 terrorists, including high-ranking commanders, were neutralized. PM Modi, addressing the nation, drew the line once again: “Terror and talks cannot go together… Water and blood cannot flow together.”

5. Return of BSF Constable Purnam Kumar Shaw (May 2025)
   When Constable Shaw accidentally crossed into Pakistan on April 23, 2025, India didn’t treat it as a formality. The situation was closely monitored. Within 21 days, he was safely returned—his release seen as a result of persistent and high-level pressure. PM Modi’s administration was credited for not letting the case slip into silence.

The Verdict: Two Governments, Two Realities

The difference is not in speeches. It is in action and outcome.

Under Congress, a soldier was beheaded. His family protested on the streets. His head was never returned. A year later, a video surfaced showing Pakistani militants playing football with it. And yet, there was no retribution—just a news cycle that slowly faded.

Under Modi, a soldier was captured—and returned in less than three days. Terror attacks were met with strikes, bombs, and boots on the ground. Pakistan was told: cross the line, and we will come for you—not through diplomatic channels alone, but with precision strikes and a global narrative of zero tolerance.

One government was quiet when it should have roared. The other roared so loud, even the enemy stepped back.

That is the legacy India now measures leadership against.

It is not about warmongering. It is about dignity, deterrence, and defending every drop of blood spilled in the uniform of the nation.

In the name of Lance Naik Hemraj, and every soldier who gave all, India has changed—and now, the world knows it.