'He came home wrapped in a coffin’: Tears, sobs, silence mark Naib Tehsildar Muzaffar Ahmad Khan’s burial

Srinagar, Nov 15: The quiet lanes of Soibugh trembled under the weight of grief on Saturday. As the body of Naib Tehsildar Muzaffar Ahmad Khan reached his ancestral home, a deep, aching silence fell over the village—broken suddenly, and painfully, by the wails of women, the choking cries of men and the trembling prayers of children who had gathered to welcome him home one last time.

The Naib Tehsildar, along with 8 others, lost their lives in the accidental explosion at Nowgam Police Station—a tragedy that stunned Kashmir and tore families apart in an instant. But in Soibugh, the loss was not just official. It was personal. It was visceral.

When the coffin was lifted from the ambulance, shrieks of heartbreak rose into the cold November air. Mothers clung to each other, elders wiped silent tears, and young boys—who had often seen the officer pass their homes with a gentle wave—stood frozen, unable to process the finality before them.

Muzaffar Ahmad Khan was carried through the village he had served with sincerity, on the shoulders of mourners who whispered prayers with every step. As the procession moved forward, slogans erupted—raw, emotional, and echoing from the hearts of those who felt the loss in their bones.

“Shaheed ki jo maut hai, woh qoum ki hayat hai!”

“Shaheed tere khoon se inqilab aayega!”

Voices broke, but the cries did not stop.

His colleagues came to honour him—Deputy Commissioner Budgam Dr Bilal Mohiuddin Bhat, SSP Budgam Nikhil Borkar and several officers from the revenue and police departments. They stood by his family, offering hands of support, though words felt too small in the face of such pain.

Newly elected MLA Budgam, Aga Muntazir Mehdi, also joined the mourners. He moved quietly through the crowd, stopping to place a comforting hand on the shoulders of grieving relatives. “This is an irreparable loss,” he said softly. “A loss that Budgam will remember for a long time.”

Locals described the Naib Tehsildar as a gentle soul, a man who rarely raised his voice and always extended a helping hand.

“He was affectionate, humble and sincere,” a villager murmured, staring at the ground. “Budgam has lost a good officer… a good human being.”

Across the district, similar scenes unfolded for the Crime Branch photographers who were also laid to rest—young men who left home that morning unaware that fate had already written their last day.

Standing beside the grieving families, MLA Muntazir demanded answers that now hang heavy over the tragedy. “The administration must investigate,” he said. “Why was such sensitive material kept in the police station? Who allowed this? Those responsible must be held accountable.”

By the time the grave was covered and people slowly began to disperse, Soibugh felt different—quieter, heavier, older. The kind of silence that settles only after a village has buried one of its own.

And on this day, Soibugh buried not just an officer, but a son, a neighbour, a friend, and a memory that will echo in its lanes long after the tears have dried.