'Was to Be Married Soon': Story of The Only Kashmiri Killed in Red Fort Blast

Bilal Sangoo was the only Kashmiri killed in the blast near Delhi's red fort on 10 November.

(Photo: The Quint)

The cries in Baba Nagri, a small village in the Ganderbal district of central Kashmir, carried across the hills long before the ambulance arrived. By the time the body of 27-year-old Bilal Ahmad Sangoo reached his family home, the narrow road outside was filled with neighbors, relatives, and strangers who had come only to mourn.

Men stood silently with their heads bowed; women wailed from windows and doorways. The cold valley air turned heavy as reality settled in: Bilal, the young man who left Kashmir in 2019 to earn a living in Delhi, had returned home in a coffin. 

He was the only Kashmiri killed in the recent blast near Delhi’s Red Fort, a tragedy that unfolded hundreds of kilometers away but tore open a wound in a quiet settlement where every household knew his name. 

His elder brother, Farooq Ahmad Sangoo, stood near the gate as the body was carried inside, his eyes hollow from days of waiting, hoping and then mourning.

Bilal Sangoo

(Photo: The Quint)

“Bilal left Kashmir in mid-2019,” Farooq told The Quint, speaking slowly, as if the weight of each word was too much to carry. “He used to drive an auto-rickshaw in Delhi. Sometimes, when work was slow, he would do labor jobs. Whatever he earned, he sent home. He was the only earner in our family.”

Bilal Was to Be Married in a Few Weeks

The Sangoo household depended almost entirely on him. The family is large, and their struggles have been constant. Bilal had two brothers and three surviving sisters, though two of his sisters had died years earlier. His father, Ghulam Hussain, had undergone eye surgery. His mother, Bibi Jaan, is a heart patient who cannot walk long distances or take any stress. Farooq, the eldest son, works as a laborer too but lives separately and struggles to look after his own family. 

Their neighbor and village sarpanch, Idrees Ahmad, described Bilal as “the only hope” his household had. “They are extremely poor,” he said. “He was the one supporting his parents and his sisters. Today, after his burial, my eyes were swollen. I have never seen grief like this.” 

Baba Nagri is a place where people know each other’s routines, marriages, tragedies and debts. It is also a place where many young men leave to work outside the state. Some go to Delhi, others to Punjab or Maharashtra. Most go out of necessity, not choice. Among them was Bilal, who had taken the difficult decision to move to Delhi shortly before the COVID-19 lockdowns. 

“He always said he would come back,” Idrees said. “But then one thing after another happened.” 

Soon after Bilal reached Delhi, his parents began falling sick. First his father’s eyesight deteriorated and he needed surgery. Then his mother’s heart condition worsened. Every new medical bill meant Bilal had to work longer hours, take more shifts, and postpone his return home. He drove a rickshaw near the Central Market area in Delhi, navigating traffic, heat, dust, and long evenings, doing everything he could to keep the money flowing back to Kashmir. 

Six years passed. He never came home, not even once. But this year, for the first time in years, his family allowed themselves to hope. His parents had finally begun talking about his return. His sisters had started preparing lists of things they wanted to cook for him. Relatives who had not seen him since 2019 waited eagerly for the day he would walk through their door again.

A few weeks ago, Bilal’s marriage had been fixed. His father had told his neighbors that the family was preparing for a small celebration. His mother, despite her illness, had started selecting clothes she wanted to wear for her son’s wedding. 

“His parents were so happy,” Idrees said. “After years of struggle, they were finally hearing that Bilal was coming back.” 

The Family Kept Waiting For Days

On 4 November, he called the family. It was a normal, casual conversation, the kind families have when life seems steady. He told them he would come home soon, “maybe in 20 days.”  His family asked him to come quickly, saying his absence had become unbearable. Bilal promised he would. It was the last time they heard his voice. 

Days later, the blast near the Red Fort shook Delhi, killing and injuring several people in the busy area. In Kashmir, where many migrant workers from the valley live in the Capital, panic spread quickly. People tried calling their relatives. Some received updates through friends. Others rushed to police stations to gather information. 

Bilal’s family kept dialing his number. It never rang. 

“We tried and tried,” Farooq said. “But the phone wouldn’t connect. We didn’t know what to think. We just hoped he was safe.” 

When hours passed with no contact, the anxiety turned to fear. Then the fear turned to dread.

A few days after the explosion, Farooq’s younger brother, Rafaqat, came across a Facebook post claiming that a resident of Jammu and Kashmir named Bilal Sangoo was feared dead in the incident. 

“I can’t describe the feeling,” Farooq said. “It was like someone pulled the earth from under our feet.” 

The family rushed to the Kangan Police Station, desperate for any clue. From there, officials directed them to the tehsildar and later to the Sub-Divisional Magistrate. The officers told them they needed to go to Delhi immediately for DNA sampling to confirm if one of the recovered bodies was Bilal’s. 

What followed was a chaotic, painful journey. By the next morning, the two brothers were in Delhi, navigating unfamiliar lanes, hospitals and government offices. 

“We got him back,” said, Farooq pausing for a long time. “But not the way we wanted.”

Bilal Laid to Rest

Back in Baba Nagri, villagers gathered outside the Sangoo home long before dawn. Word had spread that Bilal’s body was on its way. Women prepared tea for the mourners. Men laid wooden planks for the funeral prayers. A group of elders kept reciting verses from the Quran, hoping it would bring strength to the family. 

When the body arrived, people broke down. Some fainted. His mother, despite her fragile health, tried to reach for the coffin, crying uncontrollably for her son she had not seen in five years. His father sat quietly in a corner, staring at the ground, unable to speak.

“The whole village is in shock,” said Sadiq, a resident who attended the funeral. “He was so young. He had dreams. He was planning to get married. And now, just like that, he is gone.” 

Sadiq said many families in Baba Nagri have young men working outside the state. “Even my own nephews are working in other cities,” he said. “But now we are scared. We are thinking what is the point of sending them if this is what happens? Unemployment is better than losing them.” 

He added that the government must step in and support the Sangoo family, who now have no income and no security. “The authorities must give fair attention and proper compensation,” he said. “This family depended entirely on Bilal.”