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Leaving for college, I heard from my friend about the killing of a teenage boy in Wagum. My initial reaction was similar to how I take a normal death. The words, "Ina-lillahi-wa-inna-elihi-rajaoon" slipped from my lips as is the norm.

While heading towards college so as to join the company of our friends after summer vacations, we saw a large crowd of people assembled in the premises of District Hospital, Pulwama (known to the locals as "Nouw Haspataal" - new hospital).

I usually don't feel the urge to know the nature and object of interest for the crowds in the market-place and elsewhere that come by my way. I don't know why but this one was, somehow, appealing. I told my friend, Wasim, to accompany me inside the hospital premises.

And, as we got inside, it turned out to be a mourning people waiting for doctors to hand over to them the body of slain youth from Wagum.

To be honest, we had left for college to have a chat with buddies, forget attending lectures as striking contractual teachers were the only ones who taught us all the five subjects. On reaching there, a bevy of girls standing outside the college gate gave us the impression that we won't be allowed inside as we were late. Hah! Quite unusual on part of the college gate-keeping staff.

What to do now? I had to get some notes from Javed, Wasim's cousin, who incidently lives in Wagum. So instead of college, we left for Wagum. We were about to reach the main gate, Javed came out. He had seen us through the window of his room.

Suddenly, my thoughts were engulfed by the fate the teenage boy had met whom Javed called as "Sahabã". Javed himself knew a very little about the poor boy. So, after talking about our academics, taking notes, bla bla bla . . . we planned to visit the house of the deceased.

The lanes leading to the house of "Sahabã" presented a very deserted and gloomy look. I felt like walking through a spell of awe. Footsteps seemed to land me nowhere. The entire village was mourning. Happiness seemed to have renounced the locality. Police, being given the task of guarding the killer's house, was roaming the streets and lanes.

In all this, we managed to reach the mosque of the locality. After ablution there, we saw an ambulance that appeared suddenly. Stopping the vehicle halfway, the driver asked the people inside to take the 'dead body' away.

Pain, extreme pain gripped my heart. Nay! It was not a 'dead', it was a martyr, an innocent boy who had become the victim of a cruel, materialistic neighbour's assault. The people, whom driver refered to, were an extremely grieved lot. It was a lady, a man with beard. The duo was wailing. "Waagmis ha lõg naãr", the lady cried out in a heartaching tone.

In a blink of an eye, hundreds of people started rushing with the young martyr's body towards the home of deceased which was now resounding with the cries of pain. Wailing women were reminding the days he was alive! How he used to leave for tutions! How he used to talk to them! Some of them, centainly who were very close to the teen, were promising a possible revenge. The slain youth's sister jumped over the wall to set the 'house of killers' on fire even.

It was after the 'Nimazi Jinnazah' that I came to know the real identity of the slain youth from a friend hailing from the very locality. He disclosed to me that the victim's name was Danish Ahmad Ganaie and his father, Farooq Ahmad Ganaie, works as an employee at ITI, Pulwama. He was nicknamed as 'Sahabã'. It was revealed to me that he took tutions at BCI, Pulwama as I saw a few of the teachers from the institute there to condole with the grieved family.

I didn't personally knew him but, somehow, I was compelled to visit his home. I personally felt so very grieved, deprived and humiliated that I was unable to sleep for the whole night. I couldn't bring myself to face the reality.

I don't believe that a human being can become so cruel at times. A land dispute can turn your neighbour into a gory murderer.

Keeping in mind that quarrel had erupted over the edge of the neighbour's lawn where a cemented base of wall was under construction, it's pathetic to note that the man-turned-murderer fled from his house along with other family members to save their lives, leaving the whole of their property, ofcourse including the area of dispute, to the mercy of local people's patience after the henious crime.

Now, he would try everything to save himself. Even if he has to sell his house, his whole lot of property simply because these things don't have any value for him now. Materialistic-man-turned-a-killer earlier, would plead mercy. It's an eye-opener for us. We need to be patient in the most heated arguments.

For Danish (may his soul rest in peace), now a close friend to me because of his unjust demise, I now remember that: