By Syed Majid Gilani
It was the 19th of Ramadan, July 30, 2013, a peaceful and blessed day filled with fasting and prayers.
I was at home that day, as it was my day off from duty. At that time, I was posted at the Lower Munda Check Post along the Srinagar–Jammu Highway.
Around 11 in the morning, my phone rang. It was my cousin, Er. Syed Javed Nazir Mantaqi.
“Assalam-u-alaikum, Majid. Are you at your post today?” he asked.
“No, brother. I am at home. It is my day off,” I replied.
“Oh… I was planning to stop by on my way to Baglihar Dam for duty.”
We were both disappointed. We had missed the chance to meet by just a few hours. Had I been on duty, we could have shared a brief chat and perhaps offered Zuhr prayers together. But Allah had written something else for us.
The day passed quietly, fasting, prayers, and waiting for iftar.
Then, just before sunset, came a phone call I can never forget, a call that shook me to the core.
“Javed met with a terrible accident near Ramban, and he didn’t survive.”
I was stunned.
I had spoken to him only a few hours earlier. His voice still echoed in my ears. I simply could not believe he was gone.
A sudden chill ran down my spine. Pain gripped my chest. A strange shiver passed through my whole body. My hands trembled as I held the phone, unable to accept what I had just heard.
How could someone so full of life vanish so suddenly?
Javed was in his early forties, tall, graceful, brave, and strong. He had a calm and gentle nature. A practicing Muslim, deeply spiritual and respectful to all, he carried himself with humility, his eyes often lowered in modesty. He was the kind of man anyone would feel proud to call a brother or a friend.
He had a deep and abiding love for the Sufi saints and frequently visited their revered shrines. Whether it was Khanqah-e-Moula, Makhdoom Sahib Shrine, Naqshband Sahib Shrine, or Baba Reshi Shrine, his footsteps most often led him to the sacred shrine of Charar-e-Sharif.
His spiritual routine was unwavering. Every day he recited the Qur’an Sharif, Aurad-e-Fathiyah, and Kibrat-e-Ahmar with quiet devotion.
And now, he was no longer with us.
Gathering my courage, I called his family, his father and brothers, to share the heartbreaking news.
“There has been an accident, Javed is no longer with us.”
They already sensed something was wrong. A few earlier phone calls had hinted that something terrible might have happened. Still, they prayed it wasn’t true.
We rushed to his home at Khanqah-e-Moula. As soon as we arrived, grief surrounded us. Family, friends, and neighbours were in shock. The house echoed with cries and sobs. Some still hoped it was all a mistake.
But sadly, it wasn’t.
Later, we learned about the final hours of Javed’s life.
That morning, after having sehri with his family, he offered Fajr prayers, attended an official meeting at the Srinagar head office, and then left for Baglihar Dam. He was fasting.
On the way, he called his cook and said, “Prepare food for iftar. I’ll reach Baglihar before sunset.”
He also spoke to his family several times during the day. Everything seemed normal.
But fate had decided otherwise.
Javed had travelled the Ramban road many times before, sometimes on his motorcycle, sometimes in his old Maruti 800. This time, he was driving his new Santro car.
The accident occurred at Digdol along the Jammu–Srinagar National Highway, a hilly and dangerous stretch known for sharp curves and landslides.
Near Digdol, his car slipped off the narrow road and plunged into a deep gorge.
Yet, by Allah’s mercy, his body was not lost.
As the car rolled down, his body was thrown out and caught in the branch of a tree just a few feet below the roadside. His shirt became entangled in the branch. That tree saved him from falling deeper into the rocky gorge, where we might never have found him.
When his body was recovered, there were only a few bruises. His face looked calm and peaceful, as if he were merely asleep.
Around midnight, his body was brought back to Srinagar and kept at the mortuary.
The next morning, when he was brought home, the entire neighbourhood stood in silence. People wept openly. Friends, relatives, colleagues, and even strangers said the same thing:
“He was a good man, such a good man.”
We offered his funeral prayers and buried him in his ancestral graveyard within the compound of Khanqah-e-Moula. That sacred ground embraced him like a mother welcoming her child.
Today, at the Baglihar Dam site, where Javed served with honesty and dedication as one of the first junior electrical engineers of the Jammu and Kashmir State Power Development Corporation, a marble plaque stands in his memory.
That plaque is not merely a name carved in stone. It is a reminder of a life lived with faith, duty, and integrity.
He left this world while fasting, while on duty, while remembering Allah, a noble end to a noble life.
Javed Bhaya began his education at Burn Hall School up to Class 10, then completed his 11th and 12th at Tyndale Biscoe School. He earned his B.Tech in Electrical Engineering from Dr. B. R. Ambedkar Institute of Technology and joined JKSPDC in 2002 as a young and dedicated engineer.
Some of his batchmates still remember his gentle and melodious voice. As a student, he would often sing soulful Urdu ghazals and timeless songs of Mohammad Rafi, Kishore Kumar, and Kumar Sanu, leaving listeners deeply moved.
It has been thirteen long years since he left us, yet not a single day passes without his memory living in our hearts. His love, his advice, and his peaceful presence still remain with us.
On his 13th death anniversary, I remember him with love, prayers, and deep respect. His absence is felt every day, but his legacy lives on, in our hearts, in our stories, and in quiet moments of remembrance.
May Allah grant him the highest place in Jannat-ul-Firdous. Ameen.
Syed Majid Gilani is a government officer by profession and a storyteller by passion. He can be reached at syedmajid6676@gmail.com.
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