Shahkot , A picturesque village nestled in the heavenly Neelum Valley of Azad Kashmir , renowned for its breathtaking natural beauty and serene ambiance. The village’s beauty was so captivating that people came far and wide to witness it . It was the only village in the entire Neelum Valley with a river flowing in front of it , and another village mirrored acrross the river, as if a glass pane seperated them , allowing both villages to gaze to each other . The sight was so breathtaking and fascinating that the viewer’s eyes struggle to take it all in. This village had a small road in front of it , connecting Muzzafarabad to Shardah , serving as the sole link between the two regions. One of the most important thing about this village is that it is fully surrounded by mountains from all side , giving the impression that a small village nestled amidst the mountains.
This village is a testament to Allah’s unity, showcasing His presence in every season . Summers bring lush greenery , blooming flowers , and fruit-laden trees, with a river flowing serenly below it’s cools breezes captivating hearts . This scenery is so enchanting that people gather outside, sharing moments of joy, and thanking Allah for this beauty. In summer , the village reveals Allah’s boundless blessings: cool breezes whispering from snow-CAPPED PEAKS. , crystal clear spring water, and an abundance of fresh fruits . but what truly stands out is the community’s warmth ,people care for one another , sharing love and empathy . while, In winter Village transforms into a serene wonderland . As snow blankets the landscape , children’s laughter echoes through as they play , throwing snowballs and sharing joyful moments . Amidst the chill , warmth fills homes with crackling fires and heartfelt gatherings . The snow covered scenery is a breathtaking-reminder of Allah’s majesty.
The tranquil village life was shattered in an instant . Children were preparing for school, farmer tended to their fields , and workers headed to their jobs . Suddenly , a defending roar echoed through the air, growing louder by the second . Panic set in as people scrambled to find shelters , calling out to loved ones amidst the Chaos . families held their children tight, desperate to find a safe haven. The elderly knew the terror of this moment, having heard tales of such disasters . But for the young generation, it was a nightmare come to life . They fled to the only shelter they could find, a basement, half filled with water, a desperate refuge in a moment of crisis . The air was thick with fear as they huddled together , praying for this to recede .
The ordeal began at 8 am , with the villagers traped in their makeshift shelter, the sounds of shells and gunfire echoing through the air , pounding against the earth like a relentless drumbeat . As the day wore on, hunger and fear gnawed at their hearts. Children wailed, their tiny voices drowned out by cacophony of war . The adults struggled to keep calm , their faces etched with worry . the villagers huddled together , praying fro a reprieve . At midnight , the firing reached a fever pitch , reducing homes to rubble and leaving no place safe. With heavy heart , the villagers made a desperate bid to escape , fleeing to safer villages and mountain hideouts , beyond the reach of indian artillery .
“The village’s true deavastation began, with firing recurring every five years , reducing years of hard, prosperity, and progress to rubble . The indian artillery would annihilate in seconds what had taken years to build – homes , businesses, and livelihoods to pick up the pieces and start a new “.
The tragic reality was that no one had ever raised their voice fro this village . Though small in size , it was home to countless lives and dreams , whose value seemed to go unrecognized.
It’s easy for outsiders to read about this , but the pain of reliving those memories is unbeareable . The helplessness of watching loved ones perish in brutal shelling is a wound that never heals . For those in power , it’s just another statistic , a fleeting discussion . But for us , it’s a recurring nightmare . Every five years , lives are disrupted , and people are froced to rebuild . The constant threat of firing snatches their peace , leaving them to wonder — What’s the point of a life without tranquility ?
In 2019 , a peace returned to Shahkot after a ceasefire agreement . Homes were rebuilt , schools opened , and life flourished . The village transformed into a vibrant oasis , filled with laughter and hope . Shahkot’s people proved resilient , reviving their paradise . But after few months TV news brought alarming reports : caesefire violations and firing on borders. For village like mine, this sparked panic . Would war return ? Children went to school, adults to work but anxiety lingered —— Where would they go if firing resumed ?The uncertainity was suffocating. Would children make it home from school ? Would shopkeeper survive artillery fire? The fear of unknown gripped everyone . Schools and colleges were trapped –They couldn’t dismiss children due to danger , leaving them stuck in uncertainity . Those on the road worried about reaching home safely . Families in shelters anxiously awaited news of loved ones , consumed by fear and uncertainity : Are they safe ? Will they make it ? The road , once bustling with life, stood eerily deserted . Not a bird flew, not a soul stirred. Fear paralyzed the streets — vehicles were abandoned , bikes left unused. The road was a no-go zone , blocked and silent , a haunting reminder of the war’s grip .the schools were shut down as a precaution, but this created a new challenge :getting the children safely back home. If an attack occurred on the way or firing broke out, the children were at higher risk of getting hurt. No one took the step to keep the children safe in school , a secure zone , rather than risking their lives by dispersing them . And then , parents who had spent their lives buildings hopes for their children , mustered up courage and risked their own lives to fetch them from school . The journey was extremely difficult and terrifying . Describing it in words would make anyone who hears it feel fearful. Imagine being in a vehicle with your children surrounded by mountains and rivers , with gunfire erupting everywhere. The flames of conflict adding to the horror –it’s a situation that’s hard to fathom.
And once again, the time came for Kashmiris to leave their homes, their areas, the places where they had created countless memories, and migrate to cities, so that they could save their children from this fear. Parents wanted to take their children away from this terrifying environment and move to a place where they could live freely, without fear. But how long can a person stay away from their home?. Will it be like this every time? Firing, and we’ll have to flee? Leave our lands, homes, education, everything behind? So, everyone started moving to Islamabad, some to Muzaffarabad to stay with relatives, some elsewhere. Personally, we went to Islamabad, but didn’t find peace there either. It was 2019, we’d barely spent 7-8 months in peace when COVID hit. Cities had higher COVID rates, villages had less. But COVID fear plus firing in the village vs COVID in cities… it was tough to decide. We’d had 6-7 months of peace in the village after firing stopped, so we decided to head back. Couldn’t stay in COVID-stressed cities, so back to the village we went. We have seen many ceasefires that last just a bit, then get violated, and we’re back to being crushed between two countries. For people, ceasefire is a big name, but for us, it’s nothing. We’ve seen many ceasefires that just serve as an excuse for a brief moment of peace in our lives..
After a period of calm, 2025 began and ceasefire violations started again in the month of May. And just like every time, the sound of firing would come from the border, or from somewhere else, and our lives would be disrupted once again. The businesses that people had worked hard to establish, the progress they had made, all began to crumble. The children who were preparing for their board exams left their studies, and those who used to go to school and college started staying at home, feeling trapped. The atmosphere at home became tense . I would write the story of 2025, but we’re still living the night of May 13th, when fear and terror took over. It felt like our last night, and we wouldn’t survive. When you’re in a bunker, a supposedly safe place, and shells are falling around you, your house and village are being destroyed, it’s hard to have hope. You feel trapped, like there’s no escape. If I try to write, my hands tremble, and I’m taken back to that night. We were trapped, thinking it was the end, staring at each other’s faces, wondering if we’d ever see them again . Can you imagine when your aunt, living in your neighborhood, becomes a martyr, and you’re unable to reach her? She’s lying there, bloodied, with only her husband by her side. She was a human being, just like us. What was her fault that she became a victim of Indian firing and attained martyrdom ? Is life just a name of fear for us? Why don’t we have the right to live freely like others? Will we always live like this, oppressed by the fear of firing? I want those who are reading my article to stand with us. Even if organizations and governments can’t, we hope you will raise your voice for us.
“People live life , but we’re just trying to make it through”
Published in NOVA, February 16, 2026.