Badr jan
Kupwara woke up on Saturday to a silence so heavy it felt like the sky itself had lowered onto the shoulders of its people. Narrow village lanes that usually echoed with children’s laughter and neighbours’ greetings were instead lined with grieving faces, trembling hands, and eyes swollen from a night of disbelief. Mukam-e-Shahwali, a small village nearly 82 km from Srinagar, stood still as hundreds gathered to bid farewell to one of its brightest sons—State Investigation Agency (SIA) Inspector Shah Asrar Ahmad, martyred in the accidental blast at Nowgam Police Station.
For those who knew him—and even those who only knew of him—Inspector Asrar was not just a police officer. He was the gentleness of his village wrapped in the discipline of a uniform. He was the evening friend with whom one shared a walk, a joke, or a moment of relief from the burdens of life. He was the neighbour who never let his position elevate him above anyone. He was, as many softly whispered while holding back tears, “goodness in human form.”
Shabir Ahmad, one of his close acquaintances, struggled to hold his voice steady. “It feels as if the breath of this whole village has been taken away with Asrar Sahab,” he said, capturing a grief too deep for words. For Mukam-e-Shahwali, this tragedy was not just the loss of an officer—it was the rupture of a shared heartbeat.
As the crowd gathered, men walked in small groups, shoulders slumped, wiping tears with the backs of their hands. Mothers, whose sons once looked up to Asrar as a symbol of honour, stood motionless at their windows, palms trembling. Young boys who once saw him as a role model stood silent, grappling with the weight of a reality that arrived too soon.
But the grief did not belong to Kupwara alone. Across Kashmir, sorrow flowed like a river without banks. In Srinagar’s Wanbal Nowgam, the household of Mohammad Shafi Parray, a tailor by profession, struggled to comprehend that the man who stitched people’s clothes with quiet pride would not return home again. His family, surrounded by relatives and neighbours, mourned the loss of a man whose hands earned a simple living, whose dreams were tied to his children’s future, and whose death came in a place where he was only passing through—caught in a tragedy not of his making.
And in HMT Srinagar, yet another home wept. Constable Ajaz Ahmad, another devoted J&K Police officer, joined the ranks of the martyred. His service was cut short not on a battlefield but in an accidental blast that shook the entire valley awake to its frailty, its wounds, and its unanswered questions.
Through all this grief, one truth stands tall: The sacrifices of men like Inspector Asrar demolish every unjust label ever placed on Kashmiri Muslims. For years, many have been unfairly painted as anti-national or sympathetic to violence. Yet when the uniform called, Asrar stood firm—unwavering, patriotic, committed until his final breath. His life is the loudest rebuke to every stereotype. His death is a reminder that Kashmiris have always bled for the peace and dignity of this nation.
From the shattered glass on Delhi’s streets to the smoke curling above Nowgam’s homes, one thing remains unchanged: Kashmir aches like no other place in the world. Her mountains have witnessed too many funerals. Her rivers have carried too many unspoken stories. Her chinar leaves now fall like red pieces of grief instead of the poetry they once were.
Another blast.
Another mother’s scream.
Another family shattered forever.
How much more can a valley endure?
With every beat of my heart, I condemn this darkness—this cycle of tragedies that widows brides before their mehndi fades, that steals fathers from their children before they can understand the meaning of death, that silences men who were the pride of their villages.
Enough.
Let the mountains echo with lullabies, not gunfire.
Let Kashmir’s children grow into their dreams, not into graves.
Let everyone finally understand that peace is not a gift outsiders bestow—it is Kashmir’s birthright.
Restore it.
Return it to her.
Now.
Not in our name. Not in Inspector Asrar’s name. Not in the name of any Kashmiri who lived and died honourably.
