Mortar Shell Shatters Bride’s Wedding in Border Village
Suhail Khan
Kupwara, May 09 ; The night before her wedding, Bisma Nazir’s home was filled with joy. Fairy lights twinkled against freshly draped fabric, gifts were piled high, and her bridal dress hung with care, ready for the morning. But in an instant, everything vanished.
A mortar shell struck her house, reducing it to rubble.
“We were inside when the explosion hit,” Bisma whispered, tears streaming down her face as she stared at the ruins. “My dress, the decorations, the food—everything is buried.”
Her wedding was supposed to be on Saturday, May 10. Instead, she watched helplessly as neighbors sifted through debris, searching for anything salvageable.
Her father, Nazir Ahmad Mir, a laborer who had spent years saving for this day, stood in shock. “I worked every day—cutting wood, hauling sand—just to give her a simple wedding,” he said, his voice breaking. “Now, it’s all gone in a single moment.”
The shelling, which locals say came from across the border late Thursday, damaged several homes in Hajinar. But the Mir family’s loss was the cruelest.
“The whole village was excited for Bisma’s wedding,” said neighbor Abdul Majeed. “Instead of music and laughter, there’s only silence.”
By dawn, villagers had gathered to help—women salvaged torn clothes, men cleared collapsed walls. But nothing could mend the family’s grief.
“She dreamed of this day her whole life,” said relative Shakeela, holding Bisma close. “Now she sits outside the ruins, sobbing. How is this fair?”
Nazir, the sole breadwinner, was left shattered. “We had nothing but hope. Now even that is gone.”
Though officials visited, no aid had arrived yet. The village sarpanch, Ghulam Nabi, pleaded, “These people are innocent. They need help now.”
As night fell over Hajinar, there were no wedding songs, no celebrations—just the quiet sobs of a bride who had lost everything before her big day.
A Nightmare for Karnah
The past three nights have been a waking nightmare for the people of Karnah. As mortar shells screamed across the Line of Control, homes—once filled with laughter and life—were turned to dust.
Saja, a well-known face in the border town of Karnah, told The Web Story/The Varmul Post: “Fifteen houses—gone. Fifty more, cracked open like broken hearts. Shops that fed families are now just piles of shattered bricks. Six vehicles, charred skeletons on the roadside. Ancient walnut trees, lifelines for so many, now splintered and burning.”
One person was injured. Countless others were traumatized.
And then came the exodus.
Nearly 200 families—mothers clutching children, elders stumbling in the dark—fled with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Some found shelter in Kupwara. Others were taken further, to Srinagar, their eyes hollow with shock.
In temporary camps, volunteers scrambled to provide blankets, food, and medicine. But how do you mend a broken spirit? How do you tell a child that home no longer exists?
The earth still smells of smoke. The air still hums with fear.
Karnah will rebuild. But tonight, its people weep—for lost homes, for shattered lives, for a peace that feels further away than ever.
The story does not end here. The corners of the Union Territory of Jammu and Kashmir are expressing sorrow, troubles, helplessness, and destruction in different ways.
Every eye is tearful, every heart is grief-stricken, and the same question is on everyone’s lips: ‘We are peace lovers—don’t snatch our peace. Stop this war; it is destruction, and it is destroying us. Help us live as we have for so many years, the way our tourism flourished and the way the younger generation achieved great heights by writing success stories. Stop this war; our ears are now disturbed by the noise that has turned the entire region of Jammu and Kashmir dark. This is the cry of the people.”
