“We Told Him They’re at Their Uncle’s home”: A Father’s Search for His Children Killed in Poonch Shelling

Tasneem Bukhari

Poonch,(DD):Lying motionless on a hospital bed, his body bandaged, eyes half open, a father keeps repeating one question that breaks hearts around him: “Where are my children?”

He doesn’t know yet that his two children—Zoya and Zain, both 14—were killed in the shelling that ripped through their village in Poonch district just over two weeks ago.

“We haven’t had the courage to tell him,” said Irfan, a relative who has been by his bedside since the attack. “He’s already battling for his life. We tell him Zoya and Zain are safe at their uncle’s house. How do you tell a father that his entire world is gone?”

The twins were known in the neighborhood for their bright smiles and inseparable bond. Zoya dreamed of becoming a teacher, while Zain loved cricket and often played with a bat carved out of an old wooden plank.

“They had just returned from school and were helping their mother set the evening meal when the first shell hit,” said Rukhsana, their aunt, tears streaming down her face. “We rushed to the house, but there was nothing left… just smoke, dust, and silence.”

The children were buried the next day in the village graveyard, wrapped in white shrouds side by side—together in death, as they were in life.

The family is shattered. Their home is now a ruin. “We couldn’t even save their books or clothes. Everything burned,” said Rukhsana. “How do you explain to a father that his home, his children, his future—everything—is gone?”

Neighbours remember the two children fondly. “Zoya would always say she wanted to teach in the same school she studied in,” said Khalida, her teacher. “She was gentle, always first to help others.”

The tragedy has sparked renewed demands from residents for community and individual bunkers in the border villages. “We live with death every day,” said a neighbor, Abdul Majid. “If not for ourselves, give us safety for our children. Let there be no more Zoya or Zain lost like this.”

Back at the hospital, the father’s condition is slowly improving, but the worst pain still lies ahead. “We’re waiting for the right time,” Irfan said. “But is there ever a right time to tell a father that his children are never coming back?”

In the still-smoldering villages of Poonch, it’s not just homes that were destroyed—it’s entire futures, torn apart by a war that families never asked for.(DD)

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