AT the Ajote war memorial, the wax from half-burnt candles drips in uneven trails, clinging to the stone where flames were extinguished mid-way. The wax feels soft, as if it has yet to harden — much like the grief of the families of 14 civilians killed during cross-border shelling by Pakistan in Poonch town of Jammu and Kashmir on May 7 last year, hours after India launched Operation Sindoor.
Marking the first anniversary of the tragedy, families gathered at the memorial built by the Army. Atop a hill overlooking the town, they traced the names of their loved ones engraved in stone. It is now a site of collective mourning for a region that, a year ago, was deserted under a barrage of fire — unlike anything the residents had witnessed in decades.
On the surface, life in Poonch has resumed its rhythm, but beneath the facade of normalcy, the pain persists. While the physical damage to homes in Syndicate Mohalla, Kamsar, Kama Khan, and Dungas has been repaired, the internal scars remain.
The distraught parents of Vihaan Bhargav, a Class 8 student at Christ School. He was killed instantly when a shell exploded near the family’s car as they attempted to flee the bombardment. Photo by Arjun Sharma
Sanjeev Bhargav’s only child, 13-year-old Vihaan, was a Class 8 student at Christ School. He was killed instantly when a shell exploded near the family’s car as they attempted to flee the bombardment.
A year later, Sanjeev’s voice breaks as he speaks, his wife Rashmi weeps quietly beside him. “Family and friends continued to visit us throughout the year, but their support cannot lessen our grief. We are still standing where we were a year ago,” he says.
Although the government provided monetary compensation and a job for Rashmi in the Education Department, the gestures feel hollow. “We lost our only son,” Sanjeev says. “A job cannot help us forget him. The administration didn’t even hold a remembrance event for the victims.”
Unlike those living directly on the Line of Control (LoC), the residents of Poonch felt relatively insulated from the conflict. But the blasts by long-range shells and rockets left the population in a state of shock.
In Syndicate Mohalla, a predominantly Sikh neighbourhood, splinter marks are still visible on the shutters of a shop once owned by Amrik Singh. He was killed when he stepped to the front of his shop to retrieve food items while his wife and three children hid in the back.
The government has provided a job to Amrik’s wife, but the family claims the salary is just not enough.
His brother, Harjit Singh, who suffered serious injuries on his right hand in the same blast, recalls the irony of their survival during the 2005 earthquake. “Our house was destroyed then, but we were all safe. This time, we lost Amrik.”
The octogenarian parents of Ranjit Singh, who was killed while trying to help others find cover, with his framed photograph. Photo by Arjun Sharma
Nearby, the octogenarian parents of Ranjit Singh — another victim killed while trying to help others find cover — sit on a bed clutching a framed photograph of their youngest son. Their grief is so deep that they struggle to speak.
Jasmeet Kaur, Ranjit’s elder sister, says their elder brother has been given a compensatory government job.
The tragedy has fundamentally altered the dynamics in Poonch. Safety is no longer viewed as something the state can guarantee; it has become private responsibility.
In the Kama Khan locality, residents like Randhir Singh, a local chemist, are busy constructing private bunkers beneath their homes. “After 2025, people are taking safety into their own hands,” he explains. “We cannot solely depend on the government.”
The Ajote war memorial, built by the Army, has the names of the civilian victims.
In November last year, Lt Governor Manoj Sinha laid the foundation stone for construction of new houses for families affected due to Pakistani shelling in Poonch and Rajouri. As many as 133 houses in Poonch and 388 in Rajouri that were completely damaged are to be built free of cost. These also include houses damaged in flash-floods and rain.
In Poonch, compensation was also given to 160 owners of damaged mud houses and 425 owners of permanent houses. Gurcharan Singh spent over Rs 12 lakh to repair his house in Kamsar after it was hit by two shells, receiving only Rs 3.3 lakh in government compensation. Despite the financial strain, he refuses to leave. “My forefathers came here from the other side of the LoC. I am not leaving this place.”
However, Gurcharan Singh notes a lingering resentment regarding infrastructure: “The district hospital remains in the same condition, lacking the specialists who might have saved lives that day.”
Harcharan Singh, general secretary of the SGPC in Poonch, recalls how the “Pakistani side targeted civilians in a cowardly attack; a gurdwara, temple and even a mosque were targeted”.
The loss was felt acutely at Christ School, which lost three students that day, including 12-year-old twins Zoya and Zain. Their father, Rameez Khan, had moved the family from a village to the town specifically to provide them better education. “They were excellent students,” says Father Shijo Kanjirathingal, the school’s principal. “The institution will never forget them.”
While Poonch mourns at a hilltop memorial, the neighbouring Rajouri district has taken a different approach to remembrance. The government quarter of the late Additional Deputy Commissioner (ADC) Dr Raj Kumar Thapa — who was killed by a shell after returning from relief work — has been converted into a museum and library.
His vehicle remains parked there, riddled with splinter holes — a frozen moment of the shelling that forever changed the landscape of the border districts.
