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It is merely in recent years that women in the subcontinent have been acknowledged as serious cricketers. Over many years, they endured ridicule, disapproval, exclusion – even the threat of violence – to follow their passion. Now, India is hosting a global tournament with a total purse of $13.8 million, where the host country's players could become national treasures if they secure their maiden tournament victory.

This would, therefore, be a great injustice if the upcoming discussion focused on their men's teams. And yet, when India confront Pakistan on Sunday, comparison are unavoidable. Not because the host team are strong favorites to win, but because they are not expected to exchange greetings with their rivals. The handshake controversy, as it's been dubbed, will have a fourth instalment.

In case you weren't aware of the initial incident, it occurred at the end of the men's group match between India and Pakistan at the continental championship last month when the India captain, Suryakumar Yadav, and his squad disappeared the field to evade the usual post-game handshake tradition. Two same-y sequels transpired in the knockout round and the championship game, culminating in a long-delayed award ceremony where the title winners refused to receive the cup from the Pakistan Cricket Board's chair, Mohsin Naqvi. The situation might have seemed humorous if it weren't so tragic.

Observers of the female cricket World Cup might well have anticipated, and even pictured, a alternative conduct on Sunday. Female athletics is intended to offer a new blueprint for the sports world and an different path to toxic traditions. The sight of Harmanpreet Kaur's team members offering the fingers of friendship to Fatima Sana and her squad would have sent a strong message in an ever more polarized world.

Such an act could have recognized the shared challenging environment they have overcome and offered a meaningful gesture that political issues are temporary compared with the connection of female solidarity. It would certainly have earned a spot alongside the additional good news story at this competition: the exiled Afghanistan players welcomed as guests, being brought back into the sport four years after the Taliban drove them from their country.

Rather, we've collided with the hard limits of the female athletic community. This comes as no surprise. India's men's players are huge stars in their homeland, idolized like gods, treated like nobility. They enjoy all the privilege and influence that comes with fame and money. If Yadav and his side can't balk the directives of an strong-handed prime minister, what chance do the female players have, whose improved position is only recently attained?

Maybe it's even more surprising that we're still talking about a simple greeting. The Asia Cup uproar prompted much deconstruction of that specific sporting ritual, not least because it is viewed as the definitive symbol of fair play. But Yadav's refusal was far less significant than what he said right after the initial match.

Skipper Yadav deemed the winners' podium the "perfect occasion" to dedicate his team's victory to the armed forces who had taken part in India's strikes on Pakistan in May, known as Operation Sindoor. "I hope they continue to inspire us all," Yadav told the post-game reporter, "and we give them further cause on the ground each time we have the chance to bring them joy."

This reflects the current reality: a live interview by a sporting leader openly celebrating a armed attack in which many people died. Two years ago, Australian cricketer Usman Khawaja was unable to display a solitary peaceful symbol approved by the ICC, not even the peace dove – a direct sign of harmony – on his equipment. Yadav was eventually fined 30% of his game earnings for the remarks. He wasn't the only one sanctioned. Pakistan's Haris Rauf, who mimicked aircraft crashing and made "6-0" gestures to the crowd in the later game – also referencing the hostilities – received the identical penalty.

This is not a issue of failing to honor your rivals – this is athletics co-opted as patriotic messaging. There's no use to be morally outraged by a absent handshake when that's merely a minor plot development in the narrative of two nations already employing cricket as a political lever and instrument of proxy war. Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi clearly stated this with his post-final tweet ("Operation Sindoor on the games field. The result remains unchanged – India wins!"). Naqvi, on his side, blares that sport and politics must remain separate, while holding dual roles as a state official and head of the PCB, and directly mentioning the Indian prime minister about his country's "humiliating defeats" on the war front.

The takeaway from this episode is not about cricket, or India, or the Pakistani team, in separation. It's a warning that the notion of sports diplomacy is over, at least for now. The very game that was used to build bridges between the nations 20 years ago is now being used to heighten hostilities between them by individuals who are fully aware what they're doing, and huge fanbases who are active supporters.

Division is affecting every aspect of public life and as the most prominent of the global soft powers, sport is always vulnerable: it's a type of entertainment that literally invites you to pick a side. Plenty who consider India's actions towards Pakistan belligerent will still support a Ukrainian tennis player's entitlement to refuse to greet a Russian competitor across the net.

Should anyone still believe that the sporting arena is a magical safe space that brings nations together, review the Ryder Cup highlights. The conduct of the Bethpage spectators was the "ideal reflection" of a leader who enjoys the sport who publicly provokes animosity against his opponents. We observed not just the decline of the usual sporting values of fairness and mutual respect, but the speed at which this might be accepted and tacitly approved when sportspeople themselves – such as US captain Keegan Bradley – fail to acknowledge and sanction it.

A post-game greeting is supposed to represent that, at the conclusion of every competition, however intense or heated, the participants are putting off their pretend enmity and acknowledging their shared human bond. If the enmity is genuine – demanding that its players come out in outspoken endorsement of their respective militaries – then what is the purpose with the arena of sports at all? It would be equivalent to don the fatigues immediately.