The Phone Call That Still Haunts Me
By Syed Majid Gilani
It was the 19th of Ramadan, on July 30, 2013, a peaceful and blessed day filled with fasting and prayers.
I was at home that day. It was my day off from duty. 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 just missed the chance to meet, by only a few hours. Had I been on duty, we could have had a short chat, maybe even offered Zuhr prayers together. But Allah had written something else.
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 just a few hours earlier. His voice still echoed in my mind. I couldn’t believe he was gone.
A sudden chill ran down my spine, pain gripped my chest, and a strange shiver ran 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 just vanish like that?
Javed was in his early forties, tall, graceful, brave, and strong. He had a kind and peaceful nature, a practicing Muslim, deeply spiritual and respectful to all. His eyes were always lowered in humility. He was the kind of man anyone would be proud to have as a brother or a friend.
He had a deep and abiding love for Sufi saints, often visiting their revered shrines. Whether it was Khanqah-e-Moula, Makhdoom Sahib, Naqshband Sahib, or Baba Reshi, his footsteps most frequently led him to the sacred shrine of Charar-e-Sharif. His spiritual routine was unwavering, each 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.
I gathered all my courage and called his family, his father and his brothers, to share the heartbreaking news. “There has been an accident… Javed is no longer with us.”
But they already had some doubts. A few phone calls had reached them earlier, hinting that something terrible might have happened. Still, they were praying 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 sound of crying filled the house. Some people still hoped it was just a mistake. But sadly, it wasn’t.
Later, we came to know about the last hours of Javed’s life. That morning, after having sehri with his family, he had 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 had called his cook and said, “Prepare food for Iftar. I’ll reach Baglihar before sunset.” He had also spoken to his family several times that day. Everything had seemed normal. But fate had decided something else.
Javed had travelled the road to Ramban many times, on his motorcycle or in his old Maruti 800. But this time, he was in his new Santro car. The accident took place at Digdol in Ramban district, along the Jammu–Srinagar National Highway, a hilly and dangerous stretch, known for its sharp curves and landslide-prone terrain.
Somewhere near Digdol, his car slipped off the narrow road and fell into a deep gorge.
But by the mercy of Allah, his body was not lost. As the car rolled down, his body was flung out and caught in the branch of a tree just a few feet below the roadside. His shirt had tangled in the branch. That tree saved his body from falling deep into the rocky gorge, where we might never have found him.
When his body was recovered, it had only a few bruises. His face looked calm, peaceful, like he was just asleep. That midnight, his body was brought back to Srinagar and kept at the mortuary. The next morning, when he was brought home, the whole neighbourhood stood in silence. People wept openly. Friends, relatives, colleagues, and even strangers all 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 the Khanqah-e-Moula shrine. That holy ground embraced him like a mother welcomes her child.
Today, at the Baglihar Dam site, where Javed had served with honesty and dedication as one of the first junior electrical engineers of the JK Power Development Corporation, a marble plaque has been erected in his memory. That plaque is not just 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 Baya began his education at Burn Hall School, Srinagar, up to Class 10, then continued his 11th and 12th at Tyndale Biscoe School. He completed his B.Tech in Electrical Engineering from Dr. Ambedkar College, Banglore and joined JKSPDC in 2002 as a young, dedicated engineer.
Some of his batchmates from Dr. B. R. Ambedkar College have shared fond memories of 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 moved by the voice.
It has been twelve long years since he left us, but not a single day passes without his memory in our hearts. His love, his advice, his peaceful presence, everything still lives within us.
On his 12th 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 the 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 writes about family values, moral wisdom, pain, and real-life emotions. He can be reached at [email protected].
