Our Tomorrow Has a Sacrifice

Sleep comes only in a mother’s lap. Maybe that is why Constable Amjad Ali Khan attained “Veergati” in the lap of Bharat Mata. To be a soldier is to have life mixed with soil, to breathe for the nation and to die for its honour. I call myself a writer, but today I have no words. Or maybe I should say—I choose silence, because words fall short in front of sacrifice.

When I visited the home of Braveheart Constable Amjad Ali Khan, I saw his family. I saw his father. The moment he looked at me, he pulled me into his arms. His eyes were filled with tears. His shoulders were heavy—not with age, but with the unbearable weight of putting soil on the grave of his young son. He held me tightly and, in a soft and broken voice, said, “What should I do? I was his father. I miss him so much.”

He said with pride that his son was martyred, that he feels honoured that Amjad laid down his life for the nation. But then he said something that shattered me – “I am also a father. How can I forget my son?” Hearing this, my eyes filled with tears. In that moment, I understood that behind every martyr stands a family that sacrifices silently, every single day.

How do I write about the martyrdom of a brave soldier? How do I describe the pain of a 1.5-year-old daughter and his son who today asks her mother, “I want to talk to Papa”—without knowing that her father now lives only in stories of courage and photographs on the wall? How do I write about a mother who searches for her son in every uniform she sees, whose eyes stop at every soldier, hoping for the impossible?

How do I write about that empty space at home, about festivals without smiles, about nights without sleep, about a future rewritten by sacrifice? How do I put into words the pain that has no language?

Yes, today I am weak. Not because I lack patriotism—but because I lack the courage and the words to describe such supreme sacrifice. Some sacrifices are so great that they do not need words; they need silence, tears, and lifelong respect.

On 15th December, Constable Amjad Ali Khan made the supreme sacrifice while fighting bravely against terrorists. He was a proud member of the Special Operations Group (SOG) of the Jammu and Kashmir Police. Amjad belonged to the 2018 batch and was known as the best firer of his batch. To his buddies, he was not just a teammate—he was family. They lovingly called him “Pathan”, a name that reflected his courage, loyalty, and fearless spirit.

Before leaving for the encounter, Amjad did something very simple, yet very powerful. He spoke to his parents and asked about their well-being. He spoke to his wife and gently said, “Take care of yourself and take care of Maa and Papa.” These were not just words—these were the last promises of a man who knew his duty, even if it meant never returning home. After that call, he walked out for the operation, carrying the weight of the nation on his shoulders and faith in his heart.

During the operation, Amjad was placed at the leading position of the team. He moved forward without fear, facing the enemy head-on. When the enemy’s bullet struck him, Amjad did not step back. He gave his last breath in the name of this country. He did not fall—he rose into history. Wrapped in courage and sacrifice, he fell asleep forever in the lap of Bharat Mata.

Amjad Khan was not just a name. In his area, his name stood for patriotism, honesty, and service. From childhood, he loved the song “Ab Tumhare Hawale Watan Saathiyo”. That song was not just music to him—it was his life’s meaning. His buddies say that Amjad always believed in one thing: “Trust yourself, not people’s words.” He lived by this belief till his last breath.

Amjad always tried to help others. He could never ignore someone in pain. Many times, his friends asked him why he spent more than half of his salary helping people. His answer was simple, yet powerful:
“I am in JKP. In uniform, I must live for others, not for myself.”

That was Amjad Ali Khan—someone who chose duty over comfort, service over self, and the nation over life. His sacrifice has left a silence that words cannot fill, a pain that time cannot heal. His family lives with tears in their eyes and pride in their hearts. And the nation lives safely today because a brave son chose to stand tall till his last breath.

Today, Amjad Ali Khan is the identity of his area, Mendhar. His name is spoken with respect, pride, and tears. Amjad believed deeply in one principle—“Sewa Parmo Dharma”, that service is the highest duty. He did not just believe in these words; he lived them every day of his life, in uniform and beyond it.

When I met Amjad’s family, I asked his brothers if I could speak to his wife. When she came forward, she was holding their two twin children in her arms—a little boy and a little girl, just around one and a half years old. The moment I saw them, my eyes filled with tears. That sight broke something inside me. Two innocent lives, too young to understand what the word Shaheed truly means, yet born into the legacy of supreme sacrifice.

Amjad’s wife spoke with a strength that can only come from love and sacrifice. She said, “For me, he is still alive. He lived for the Tricolour, and today the Tricolour that has come to me carries his fragrance. He has not died for me. He is alive. In the Ashoka Chakra of this flag, I see his face.” Those words pierced my heart. Her pain was silent, but her pride was loud. Her tears spoke of loss, but her voice spoke of courage.

I then asked Amjad’s mother if he had said anything before leaving, or if she had said something to him. With trembling lips and moist eyes, she said, “My son always kept his promises. I asked him, ‘Beta, when will you come on leave?’ He said, ‘Ammi, I will come soon.’” Then she paused and said, “Amjad did come home. He came and met his mother. He just isn’t here today. That is why it hurts. That is why I miss him.”

Hearing this, my eyes were wet. My heart was heavy. I had so many questions inside me, but I had no courage to ask them. My lips trembled when I tried to speak. My body shook, not from fear, but from the weight of their pain.

Amjad left behind his parents, three siblings, his wife, and his two little children. He left behind a home full of memories, laughter, and dreams. And yet, he chose the nation over everything. He chose duty over life. He chose Bharat Mata over himself.

Amjad Ali Khan did not just sacrifice his life—he sacrificed his tomorrow so that our today could be safe. His family now lives with an empty chair, unanswered calls, and a silence that screams his name. But they also live with pride, knowing that their son, husband, brother, and father became immortal in the service of the nation.

Some sacrifices cannot be described with words. They can only be felt—with tears, with silence, and with lifelong respect.

But the question that burns our hearts is this—how long will our soldiers keep laying down their lives? How long will terrorism continue to steal our sons, brothers, husbands, and fathers? How many homes will fall silent before we finally wake up?

The answer is painful, yet clear. Terrorism will end only when we learn to respect every soldier, only when we awaken the human being within ourselves, and only when we raise our voices against what is wrong. The day we stand united against injustice, hatred, and violence, that day terrorism will lose its power. But if even now we fail to understand this truth, then the sacrifices of our martyrs will slowly turn into unanswered questions.

Why is it always a soldier who carries the full responsibility of protecting the nation? Is this country only theirs? Is it not ours too? They guard our borders so that we can sleep peacefully. They stand in the line of fire so that our children can grow up without fear. Is it fair that they walk alone while we stay silent?

We, the citizens, must walk shoulder to shoulder with our soldiers—not with weapons, but with support, respect, unity, and courage. In every small act, in every honest effort, we must stand by them. Supporting our soldiers is not a favour; it is our duty.

We must remember one hard truth—freedom is not free. It is paid for with blood, with tears, and with lives. Every uniform carries a story of sacrifice. Every tricolour at a martyr’s home carries the weight of a broken family and an unbreakable pride.

All gave some.
Some gave all.

Let us not let their sacrifice fade into slogans. Let us honour them with action, with unity, and with humanity. Only then will their supreme sacrifice find true meaning.

For our soldiers.
For our martyrs.
For our nation.
Jai Hind.