A Scholar’s Final Lesson

A Scholar’s Final Lesson

“They didn’t just kill Zubair---they crushed the future he carried for his people.”

July 15, 2025, a casual summer evening in Ajas of Bandipora, was passing by just like any other, with the everyday hustle and bustle of the street vendors calling out to customers to sell the last of their unsold treasures and the people returning to their homes, all of them with tired eyes and the bittersweet thought of another long day. Amongthem was Dr. Zubair Ahmad Rather, walking back to his modest home after coaching the young minds of Ajas—with books in his hands and lesson plans for the next day in his mind.


Deeply submerged in his thoughts to serve his land and his people, he continued down the path just like a routine day, taking turns and entering one street after another as if led by muscle memory. But nothing about that day was routine, for as the PhD scholar took another step towards his home, an Indian Army vehicle came roaring towards him and crushed him in a deliberate moment of violence as if he wasn’t a walking human being but a mere insect that missed the eyes of the person behind the wheel.


The armored beast came at full speed, gleaming under the setting sun, looking like it wouldn’t spare anyone coming in its way. Dr. Zubair Ahmad, a PhD in Botany from Kashmir University, Srinagar, was a man with a kind heart and eyes that loved to dream. He was deeply connected to the roots of his motherland, specifically Ajas, the area he grew up in. This love for his land compelled him to even refuse a great research opportunity in the U.S. Zubair was a dedicated and self-made person, who not only bore the expenses of his education by himself but was also the sole breadwinner of his family. According to the locals, Zubair was loved and respected by all. There is no tongue in Ajas that wouldn’t praise him.


Beyond the streets of Ajas, under the harsh glint of hospital lights, lay the scholar once filled with life and hope. Machines connected to his body through countless wires, making him look like a total stranger. Outside the room, in the unwelcoming corridors of the hospital, awaited his loved ones. Fluorescent bulbs buzzed over their heads, casting a pale glare on their frightened faces. The faint metallic scent of blood lingering in the air battled with the stench of antiseptic, making it hard to feel anything but the fear. There they stood, completely motionless, with their breaths held and their hands cupped for prayers as if the silence would somehow keep him alive.


For two long days, the machines continued to hum, measuring his fragile heartbeat. The tubes trailed down his arms, connecting him to bags filled with fluids, the only lifeline left to keep him stable. The silence in the room was cut through by the continued beeping of the machine signaling that life was still holding on. Every shallow breath that escaped his mouth was nothing less than a victory—a victory against the horrible shadows of death stalling over his desire to live. But alas,


Zubair’s dreams died with him in that hospital room as he succumbed to his injuries, leaving behind a widow and three innocent daughters. Daughters who would now have to live through the harsh realities of life without the protection of their father. The news of his death left everyone in Ajas with disbelief and teary eyes. The town that once swelled with pride for its second PhD scholar now wept over his grave. Dr. Zubair Ahmed dreamed for his people, and his dreams were silenced before they could take root.


His death was not an exception but part of a relentlesspattern, one in which Kashmiris are killed simply for being Kashmiri. In taking Zubair, they did not just kill a man; they stole the future of his hundreds of students, the knowledge he would have shared, and the change he could have inspired. Zubair was not just a scholar—he was an irreplaceable asset to Kashmir.

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