On June 3, 2003, Hafeez Wani was seven years old when shells began to fall outside his home in Hajinar, a village near the Line of Control (LoC). It lies in Karnah tehsil, which is part of North Kashmir라이브 바카라 Kupwara district. His father rushed the family into an underground bunker. These bunkers, dug just below the surface, serve as emergency shelters. People in border villages often use them when there is cross-border firing.
While Wani라이브 바카라 mother and siblings crouched inside, his father remained at the entrance. He was looking out for his elder son who had left that morning for a school picnic.
Then the shots rang out.
“Abba라이브 바카라 body lay in front of us, torn apart and soaked in blood. That was the last time I saw him. He died while trying to protect us,” Wani says.
Later that year, India and Pakistan signed a ceasefire agreement, which was renewed in 2021. Four years later, the agreement effectively lies in shreds. The two neighbours are again on the brink of war.
On the night of May 6-7, at 12:50 am, the first round of firing began across the LoC. The explosions were heavy and constant. Hajinar did not sleep that night. The shelling continued until early dawn, till around 6 am. Wani and his family woke up to the sounds of firing. For a moment, they thought it was just the Civil Defence drill, scheduled to take place across several districts in Jammu and Kashmir, along with other states and Union Territories. But soon, they realised that this was no drill. The walls of their home began to shake. The children started crying. The family did not dare to go to the bunker. Instead, they gathered in one room, huddled close to one another and waited for the noise to stop.
Since the Pahalgam terror attack on April 22, in which 26 people were killed and several severely injured, India and Pakistan have taken a series of tit-for-tat actions against each other. India has blamed Pakistan for the attack, though Islamabad denies any involvement. The two countries had come close to war before, in 2019, following the deadly bombing in Pulwama, South Kashmir. A suicide bomber targeted a paramilitary convoy, killing 40 Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF) personnnel. In retaliation, Indian fighter jets launched missiles that struck Balakot in Pakistan-administered Kashmir.
For the last three days, shelling has continued at night in the border areas of northern Kupwara, while the days remain silent. In Hajinar, a mortar hit a concrete house on May 9, tearing it apart. The house belonged to Mohammad Amin Sheikh and Jamila Begum. A video, shared with 바카라 by local residents, showed the destruction. The roof had collapsed; the door was broken. The wooden attic lay in ruins.
Many families have left the villages along the border. In Kupwara town, authorities shifted several people to a government school.
The family라이브 바카라 grief did not begin with this shelling. Their eldest son served in the Border Security Force (BSF) and died in the line of duty. Their younger son, Zahoor, disappeared in Russia more than a year ago. In December 2023, agents promised him a high-paying job and convinced him to leave. The family says that they later learned that Zahoor had been forced to join the Russian military and was sent to fight in Ukraine. They have written to the Ministry of External Affairs and contacted the Indian Embassy in Moscow. So far, they don’t know anything about him.
“Misery is with us all the time,” says Jamila. Just half-a-kilometre from their house, another shell hit a wooden home. The family who lived there had little to begin with and now, they have nothing.
Many families have already left Hajinar and other villages along the border. Those who belong to affluent households found shelter in their apartments in Srinagar. They usually stay there during the winter months when the roads are blocked by snow and travel is impossible. Others went to their relatives’ homes and knocked on familiar doors. Some families had no choice but to rely on government help. Officials moved them to designated rescue centres. In Kupwara town, authorities shifted several people to the classrooms of a government higher secondary school. Media personnel are not allowed to go in.
One of the bus drivers who carried them to the school says men, women, the elderly, and children all rushed forward when they saw the bus. Some people came with nothing except the clothes they wore. Those whose homes had burned during the first wave of shelling had nothing to carry.
Saya Khan (25), has moved from her village Khawarpara in Karnah to her aunt라이브 바카라 house in Srinagar. She says they left early the next morning after the shelling began. “I didn’t carry anything. I just carried myself. That라이브 바카라 the only thing anyone thinks of saving in such times.” When they drove away from their house, every second in the car felt dangerous, she says. “I thought an explosion could happen at any moment.”
In Srinagar, her family owns a house near the airport. But they were told to evacuate because the airport had gone on high alert. All civilian flights were cancelled after India launched Operation Sindoor on the night of May 6-7. The airport has remained closed since then.
Saya wanted to open a salon in her village and had already started to hunt for a good location. She believes people deserve to look after themselves, even in small ways. But now, she says that dream no longer feels right. “Many shops in our area have gone in the past two days. Too much loss, too much risk.” She says that it is “easy for people to shout for war when they sit far away. They do not live here. They do not know how it feels when war is next door.”
In Kandi village of Karnah, Arshid (34), has chosen to stay behind with his parents. He says it라이브 바카라 difficult to convince the elderly to leave their homes. “They say that라이브 바카라 all they have—their homes, their land, where they grow their crops, their livestock. They can’t leave it.” They’ve sent the children and other family members to Srinagar, to stay with relatives. “We eat before 8 pm, switch off all the lights, and then go into the bunkers. That라이브 바카라 been the routine for the last two days. We just hope it stops and there라이브 바카라 no further escalation,” he says.
In Trehgam constituency in Kupwara, nearly 70 km from Karnah, the streets are quieter than usual. There are fewer vehicles than before, and more army vehicles moving about. In the market, men gather in small groups under tin roofs. Boys walk past small shops. Women carry cow dung baskets on their heads. All of them talk about war.
An old man walks beside a green field. On the other side of the road, the mountains are lightly touched by rain. He pushes a small pink cycle. His grandson follows him. The pleasant weather feels out of sync with the quiet tension in the air. “Let this war decide it once and for all,” the old man says. “We have always lived through war, even if no one ever declared it.” His voice carries the weight of his age and a lifetime spent in Kashmir라이브 바카라 uncertainty. The little boy holds a small rubber ball. “I have to return this to my friend,” he says. “I’ll give it back when school opens again.”
Somewhere far from these rain-soaked fields, two nuclear-armed governments will decide when his school opens, and when the boy can return the ball to his friend.
Toibah Kirmani is a sub-editor based in Kashmir. She writes explainers and feature stories
This article is part of 바카라라이브 바카라 May 22, 2025 issue, ‘Is This War?’, covering the tense four-day standoff that brought India and Pakistan to the brink of war. It appeared in print as 'The Fate Of A Boy라이브 바카라 Rubber Ball'.
