Four years ago, on a quiet August day, Inspector Asrar Ahmad Shah shared a poem on his Facebook profile, a gentle meditation on life, sorrow, forgiveness, and the acceptance of one’s final journey. At the time, no one imagined it would one day become the last emotional thread tying a grieving Valley to a man whose life of compassion and duty ended in the most tragic of circumstances.
The accidental explosion inside Nowgam Police Station late Friday night, triggered during the examination of seized explosive material linked to an ongoing terror investigation, killed nine personnel and injured thirty two. Among those who never returned home was Inspector Asrar, an officer of the State Investigation Agency (SIA) known for his humility, warmth, and impeccable service record.
As news of the blast spread across Kashmir, the poem resurfaced. A poem that had lived quietly on his Facebook since 26 August 2020 suddenly began flooding timelines, WhatsApp groups, and condolence posts. Its lines, now unbearably heavy, seem to speak from beyond time:
“When I come to the end of my journey
And I travel my last weary mile,
Just forget if you can that I ever frowned
And remember only the smile.”
For many in Kupwara, it now reads like a painful, poetic premonition from a man too noble to ever expect tragedy, yet too selfless to ever seek attention.
The explosion struck around 11:20 pm, during what was supposed to be a routine but high risk forensic procedure involving explosive material recovered in recent operations. The blast ripped through the police station structure, bringing down walls, shattering windows, and throwing officers and staff across the courtyard. What should have been a technical examination turned into a scene of devastation.
In the frantic minutes that followed, emergency teams pulled out bodies, rushed the injured to hospitals, and struggled to comprehend the scale of the destruction. It was only when names started emerging that the tragedy hit home for many across the security establishment.
Inspector Asrar’s was one of the first confirmed.
The Ministry of Home Affairs described it as an “unfortunate accidental incident,” while Director General of Police Nalin Prabhat urged people to avoid speculation until the technical investigation is complete.
But in Kashmir’s villages, and in police lines across the Union Territory, the conversations were less about technicality and more about loss.
When the news reached Drugmulla, the officer’s native village in Kupwara, a wave of disbelief washed over the community. It was close to midnight, yet people stepped out of their homes, went door to door, and gathered in silence outside his residence.
By dawn, hundreds had filled the narrow lanes.
The sight that met them when his body returned will remain etched in memory. His elderly father collapsing to the ground, unable to process the reality. His mother clinging to the coffin, her wails piercing the cold morning air. His wife frozen in shock, surrounded by women trying to hold her upright. His three small children still confused, calling out for their father and asking why everyone was crying.
The entire village felt the blow. As one neighbour said, “We have lost the kind of man you meet once in a lifetime.”
In a profession often defined by conflict, confrontation, and unending pressure, Inspector Asrar was remembered for the opposite. Officers from Kupwara to Srinagar described him as “the gentle soul of the force.”
One of his colleagues told news agency Kashmir Dot Com (KDC), “If goodness had a face, it was his. He was the kind of man who made this uniform proud every single day.”
Colleagues say he greeted everyone with a smile, juniors say he treated them like younger brothers, seniors valued him for his dedication and honesty. He often stayed back after hours to help a colleague, ensure a report was completed, or simply check on someone having a difficult day.
What stands out in every recollection is not his rank or his assignments, but his character.
The poem he posted in 2020, now viewed and shared by thousands, is being read not as literature but as legacy.
“Forget that I have stumbled and blundered
And sometimes fell by the way.
Remember I have fought
Some hard battles and won
Ere the close of the day.”
For his colleagues, these lines reflect a man who never saw himself as a hero, even though he behaved like one. For his family, they echo his humility. For the wider Valley, they have become the words through which people are grieving and remembering a life extinguished too soon.
“Stand for a few moments
Beside where I lay
And remember only my best…”
It is the final line that has become the most heartbreaking. People are remembering him, and only his best, because that is all he ever gave.
At the Police Control Room in Srinagar, where the wreath laying ceremony was held, the grief was palpable. Lieutenant Governor Manoj Sinha, senior officers of the NIA, DGP J and K, top Army and CRPF officials, and other dignitaries paid homage to the nine personnel killed in the tragedy.
But many officers lingered longest at the coffin draped in the tricolour and marked with the name Inspector Asrar Ahmad Shah.
Some wiped their eyes. Others stepped back in silence, unable to contain grief that felt deeply personal.
“He was one of our finest,” a senior IPS officer said. “A rare, rare human being in an increasingly harsh world.”
“Asrar, you served with honour and lived with grace. You did your best. May you and all those we lost find peace beyond this world. Your memories will stay with us forever. Gone too soon,” DIG SDRF Imtiyaz Hussain, while sharing the screenshot of Asrar’s old poem on his X (formerly Twitter) handle, wrote.
Back in Drugmulla, even as waves of mourners continue to arrive, the home feels hollow. His parents sit in a corner, staring blankly at the doorway. His children clutch his photograph. His wife sits silent, the shock still refusing to translate into tears.
Outside, villagers recite the poem in small groups, sometimes in whispers, sometimes through tears. The lines that once seemed like a simple reflection on life have now taken on the weight of a final farewell.
The grief in Kupwara is not just for an officer, but for a man whose kindness touched every person he met.
What makes Inspector Asrar’s death even harder to accept is that he himself had written, years ago, what now feels like his own epitaph. And Kashmir, broken and mourning, has embraced those lines as the final imprint of a life lived with dignity, gentleness, and unwavering integrity.
He never intended it to be a last message.
But tonight, as countless people across the Valley read and re read the poem, it has become exactly that.
A poem he wrote in 2020 now feels like his goodbye.
And Kashmir’s heart is heavier because of it.
