A haunting silence grips the desolate village Budhaal in Kotranka sub-division in Rajouri district where an eerie shadow looms over the surrounding mountains, trees, animals, and people. The very air of this once lively village is now thick with mourning, sorrow, and terror. The scent of life has vanished, replaced by an overwhelming weight of grief. Death has firmly settled within the humble mud houses, and the sounds of sobs and groans rise from every home.
The death of families occurred on a hill, at the edge of the village. This was once the place where children's laughter echoed, where six siblings would quarrel over pieces of bread lovingly prepared by their mother. Today, at the very doorstep of these homes, the mother sits motionless on the ground. There are no tears in her eyes; perhaps she has cried so much that even tears have abandoned her. She silently gazes at her hands—the same hands that once tenderly cradled her children, but now have lowered them into the earth, one by one.
Nearby, the loyal dog, Mohd Aslam, sits dejectedly on the ground. Once, this dog had been an inseparable part of the family. He had played with the children in the street, happily accepting pieces of bread from their hands, and had slept in their laps at night. But now, he remains eerily silent. Lying on the ground with moisture in his eyes, he gazes at the door, unable to comprehend that the small hands that once lovingly caressed his head are now silent forever.
Shera, as the dog was named, had gone hungry for many days, but food no longer mattered to him. Each day, he would return to the places where the children once played, as if hoping to relive those joyful moments. But now, there is only silence. His speechless eyes reveal the sorrow he carries within. At times, Shera would bark silently, then lie down, emitting a sound akin to crying—as if he, too, was mourning the loss of the children.
The entire village of Budhal is shrouded in mourning. Seventeen lives have been claimed by this mysterious death. No one knows the cause, and the officers who arrived to console the villagers could only offer empty assurances that everything would be fine. But for the families who have lost their loved ones, nothing can undo their pain. Some patients are in critical condition, adding to the anxiety that hangs in the air.
The women of the village gathered, offering their condolences. But the words of one mother echoed the collective heartbreak: "My children have left me, and with them, my courage has been buried."
Shera, who had been listening to these mournful words, sat quietly at the feet of the grieving mother, his moist eyes reflecting his sorrow. Though animals cannot speak, his pain was evident in the silent tears that dripped onto the ground. It was as if he, too, was missing the children he had once played with.
The once vibrant mud houses are now silent, their doors locked, and the village deserted. The place that was once filled with children's laughter is now engulfed in stillness. The loyal animals, like Shera, come and lay before the closed doors, as if waiting for the children to return. But there is no movement. The village, nestled at the foot of the hills, has become a witness to a tragedy beyond comprehension.
As night falls and the chill sets in, the villagers retreat into their huts, their hearts heavy with fear, knowing that tomorrow might bring their own turn to suffer. Shera, too, feels the weight of this mourning. He goes to the children's graves and sits there, his head bowed as if paying his final tribute to those he loved. Alas, this village will forever be marked by the silence of grief and the unspoken sorrow of those who remain.
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