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It's only in the past few seasons that women in the South Asian region have gained recognition as professional cricket players. For generations, they faced ridicule, censure, ostracism – including the risk of violence – to follow their passion. Currently, India is staging a global tournament with a prize fund of $13.8 million, where the home nation's players could emerge as national treasures if they achieve their first championship win.

It would, therefore, be a great injustice if this weekend's discussion focused on their male counterparts. However, when India face Pakistan on Sunday, parallels are inevitable. Not because the home side are highly favoured to triumph, but because they are unlikely to exchange greetings with their rivals. Handshakegate, if we must call it that, will have a another chapter.

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 hurried off the pitch to avoid the customary friendly handshake tradition. Two same-y sequels occurred in the knockout round and the final, culminating in a long-delayed award ceremony where the title winners refused to accept the trophy from the Pakistan Cricket Board's chair, Mohsin Naqvi. The situation might have seemed humorous if it hadn't been so distressing.

Those following the women's World Cup might well have anticipated, and even imagined, a different approach on Sunday. Female athletics is intended to provide a fresh model for the industry and an alternative to negative traditions. The sight of Harmanpreet Kaur's players extending the hand of camaraderie to Fatima Sana and her team would have made a strong message in an increasingly divided world.

It might have acknowledged the mutually adverse environment they have conquered and provided a meaningful gesture that political issues are fleeting compared with the bond of female solidarity. Undoubtedly, it would have deserved a spot alongside the other good news story at this tournament: the exiled Afghanistan cricketers welcomed as guests, being reintegrated into the game four years after the Taliban forced them to flee their homes.

Rather, we've collided with the hard limits of the sporting sisterhood. This comes as no surprise. India's male cricketers are mega celebrities in their country, worshipped like deities, regarded like royalty. They enjoy all the privilege and power that comes with stardom and money. If Yadav and his side can't balk the directives of an strong-handed leader, what hope 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 handshake. The Asia Cup furore prompted much analysis of that specific sporting tradition, not least because it is viewed as the ultimate marker of sportsmanship. But Yadav's snub was much less important than what he stated immediately after the initial match.

The India captain deemed the victory stand the "ideal moment" to dedicate his team's victory to the military personnel who had taken part in India's strikes on Pakistan in May, referred to as Operation Sindoor. "I hope they continue to motivate us all," Yadav informed the post-match interviewer, "so we can provide them more reasons on the ground each time we have the chance to bring them joy."

This reflects the current reality: a real-time discussion by a sporting leader openly celebrating a military assault in which many people lost their lives. Two years ago, Australian cricketer Usman Khawaja couldn't get a solitary peaceful symbol approved by the ICC, including the peace dove – a direct sign of harmony – on his equipment. Yadav was subsequently fined 30% of his game earnings for the comments. He wasn't the sole individual disciplined. Pakistan's Haris Rauf, who imitated plane crashes and made "six-zero" signals to the crowd in the Super4 match – similarly alluding to the hostilities – received the identical penalty.

This is not a matter of not respecting your opponents – this is athletics co-opted as nationalistic propaganda. It's pointless to be morally outraged by a absent handshake when that's simply a minor plot development in the narrative of two nations actively using cricket as a diplomatic tool and instrument of indirect conflict. Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi clearly stated this with his social media post after the final ("Operation Sindoor on the games field. The result remains unchanged – India wins!"). Naqvi, on his side, proclaims that sport and politics must remain separate, while holding dual positions as a state official and head of the PCB, and directly mentioning the Indian prime minister about his country's "embarrassing losses" on the battlefield.

The takeaway from this episode is not about cricket, or India, or the Pakistani team, in separation. It's a warning that the concept of sports diplomacy is finished, for the time being. The same sport that was used to foster connections between the countries 20 years ago is now being used to inflame tensions between them by people who are fully aware what they're doing, and huge fanbases who are active supporters.

Division is affecting every realm of public life and as the greatest of the international cultural influences, athletics is always vulnerable: it's a type of leisure that directly encourages you to choose a team. Many who consider India's actions towards Pakistan belligerent will nonetheless champion a Ukrainian tennis player's right to decline meeting a Russian opponent on the court.

If you're still kidding yourself that the sporting arena is a protected environment that unites countries, go back and watch the Ryder Cup recap. The behavior of the Bethpage spectators was the "perfect tribute" of a golf-loving president who openly incites hatred against his adversaries. We observed not just the decline of the usual sporting principles of fairness and mutual respect, but how quickly this might be accepted and nodded through when sportspeople themselves – like US captain Keegan Bradley – refuse to recognise and sanction it.

A post-game greeting is meant to signify that, at the conclusion of every competition, no matter how intense or bad-tempered, the participants are setting aside their pretend enmity and recognizing their shared human bond. Should the rivalry isn't pretend – if it requires its players emerge in outspoken endorsement of their respective militaries – then what is the purpose with the arena of sports at all? You might as well put on the fatigues now.