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It's only in the past few seasons that women in the subcontinent have been acknowledged as professional cricket players. For generations, they faced scorn, disapproval, exclusion – including the risk of violence – to pursue their love for the game. Now, India is staging a World Cup with a total purse of $13.8 million, where the host country's athletes could emerge as national treasures if they achieve their maiden tournament victory.

It would, then, be a travesty if the upcoming discussion centered around their men's teams. And yet, when India confront Pakistan on Sunday, comparison are inevitable. Not because the home side are strong favorites to triumph, but because they are not expected to shake hands with their opposition. The handshake controversy, if we must call it that, will have a another chapter.

If you missed the initial incident, it took place at the end of the men's group match between India and Pakistan at the continental championship last month when the India skipper, Suryakumar Yadav, and his team hurried off the pitch to avoid the customary friendly post-match ritual. A couple of same-y follow-ups occurred in the Super4 match and the championship game, climaxing in a long-delayed award ceremony where the title winners declined to accept the trophy from the Pakistan Cricket Board's head, Mohsin Naqvi. It would have been comic if it weren't so tragic.

Those following the female cricket World Cup might well have anticipated, and even imagined, a alternative conduct on Sunday. Female athletics is supposed to provide a fresh model for the industry and an different path to toxic legacies. The sight of Harmanpreet Kaur's team members extending the hand of camaraderie to Fatima Sana and her squad would have sent a powerful statement in an ever more polarized world.

Such an act could have recognized the mutually adverse environment they have overcome and offered a symbolic reminder that politics are temporary compared with the connection of female solidarity. Undoubtedly, it would have deserved a place alongside the other good news story at this competition: the exiled Afghanistan players welcomed as observers, being brought back into the game four years after the Taliban forced them to flee their country.

Instead, we've encountered the firm boundaries of the female athletic community. No one is shocked. India's men's players are mega celebrities in their country, worshipped like deities, regarded like nobility. They enjoy all the privilege and influence that accompanies fame and wealth. If Yadav and his side are unable to defy the diktats of an strong-handed prime minister, what hope do the women have, whose improved position is only newly won?

Perhaps it's even more surprising that we're still talking about a handshake. The Asia Cup uproar led to much deconstruction of that particular sporting ritual, not least because it is considered the definitive symbol of fair play. But Yadav's snub was much less important than what he said right after the initial match.

Skipper Yadav considered the winners' podium the "ideal moment" to devote his team's victory to the military personnel who had taken part in India's attacks on Pakistan in May, referred to as Operation Sindoor. "I hope they will motivate us all," Yadav informed the post-game reporter, "and we give them more reasons on the ground whenever we have the chance to make them smile."

This is where we are: a live interview by a team captain openly celebrating a military assault in which many people lost their lives. Previously, Australian cricketer Usman Khawaja couldn't get a solitary peaceful symbol past the ICC, including the peace dove – a direct emblem of harmony – on his equipment. Yadav was subsequently penalized 30% of his game earnings for the remarks. He was not the only one sanctioned. Pakistan's Haris Rauf, who mimicked aircraft crashing and made "6-0" gestures to the audience in the later game – similarly alluding to the hostilities – was given the same punishment.

This is not a matter of failing to honor your rivals – this is athletics co-opted as patriotic messaging. It's pointless to be ethically angered by a absent greeting when that's simply a small detail in the story of two countries already employing cricket as a diplomatic tool and weapon of proxy war. Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi made that explicit with his post-final tweet ("Operation Sindoor on the cricket pitch. The result remains unchanged – India wins!"). Naqvi, on his side, blares that athletics and governance shouldn't mix, while holding dual roles as a state official and head of the PCB, and directly mentioning the Indian leader about his country's "embarrassing losses" on the war front.

The lesson from this episode is not about the sport, or India, or the Pakistani team, in isolation. It serves as a caution that the notion of sports diplomacy is over, at least for now. The same sport that was employed to build bridges between the nations 20 years ago is now being utilized to heighten hostilities between them by individuals who are fully aware what they're doing, and massive followings who are active supporters.

Division is infecting every realm of public life and as the greatest of the international cultural influences, athletics is always vulnerable: it's a type of entertainment that literally encourages you to choose a team. Many who find India's gesture towards Pakistan belligerent will still champion a Ukrainian tennis player's right to refuse to greet a Russian opponent on the court.

If you're still kidding yourself that the athletic field is a magical safe space that unites countries, review the golf tournament recap. The conduct of the Bethpage spectators was the "perfect tribute" of a golf-loving president who openly incites animosity against his adversaries. Not only did we witness the decline of the typical sporting principles of equity and mutual respect, but how quickly this might be normalized and tacitly approved when athletes – like US captain Keegan Bradley – refuse to recognise and sanction it.

A post-game greeting is meant to signify that, at the end of any contest, no matter how intense or heated, the competitors are setting aside their pretend enmity and acknowledging their shared human bond. If the enmity is genuine – demanding that its players come out in vocal support 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.