When the call for Asr prayers echoed through this village in Baghpat on Sunday evening, Maulana Ibrahim led a handful of men who had gathered inside the mosque — his voice trembling. Just a day earlier, in the same mosque where he has taught the Quran for eight years, his seven-month wife and two daughters were murdered allegedly by two of his own students. After the prayers, Ibrahim sat on the cold floor, staring blankly. “Meri zindagi khatam ho gayi… sab chale gaye (my life is over, my whole family is gone),” he whispered. The maulana had been in Deoband, 100 km away, to receive Afghanistan's Foreign Minister Amir Khan Muttaqi who was visiting India, when the call came at 3 pm. By the time he returned, police and forensic teams were already at the mosque. Upstairs, the room where his wife Israna (30) and daughters, aged 5 and 2, were killed had been sealed with yellow crime-scene tape, the blood on the floor still visible. On Saturday afternoon, police said the juveniles allegedly killed the family as they lay asleep at their home using a hammer and knife taken from the mosque. Once the bodies were discovered, police said they joined the crowd outside, pretending to mourn. Police cracked the case through footage from five CCTV cameras inside the mosque’s premises. “Both have admitted to the crime,” said SP Suraj Rai. “They said maulvi sahib often beat them up. They had entered the maulana’s mosque-residence and killed his family around 1 pm. Using finger-print tests and CCTV footage, we cracked the case. A probe into the matter is underway and a case will be registered soon,” the SP said. Ibrahim’s friend Haji Hasmukh, who came from Shamli to console him, was furious and broken: “. never has a teacher been repaid like this.” The mosque stands half-finished — one side is decorated in designs using colourful tiles, the other bare cement. A staircase leads to the single room above where the family lived. Ibrahim and his wife taught around 250 children from the area — most from poor rural families, many without access to regular schools. Some attend both madrasa and school, but many others study only religious texts. At the homes of the two juveniles, their mothers sat on charpoys, prayer beads clutched tightly in their hands. ‘. Na duniya ka raha, na deen ka (now he’s neither of the world nor of religion),” said the mother of one of the boys. The other mother could only weep: “We never imagined this.” At the chaupal, elderly people talk about how the incident has shaken the entire village. “Earlier, even if a teacher beat us, parents said, gosht tumhara, haddi hamari (flesh is yours, bone is mine) — the teacher has the right,” recalled Farhat, an elderly resident. “Now, children have anger but no understanding.” Mohammad Muneer, another elderly resident, interjected: “Times have changed. The truth of the matter is that the poor in our community need direction and our children need education. This incident is a mirror on how directionless we still are.” As the evening wore on, police patrols continued around the mosque. Throughout all this, Ibrahim sat quietly, occasionally muttering verses under his breath. Recalling his last conversation with his wife, Ibrahim shared: “She had called to ask me to buy headscarves for her and the girls.” On his phone, he replayed the last voice notes from his daughters — giggling, asking him to bring toy guns. “One of the boys had shown them this toy gun. who killed them,” he said, his hands shaking. Ibrahim thanked the administration. “Many thanks to the administration and Yogi Adityanath ji – the culprits were caught within four hours,” he said softly. As the notes of the evening Azaan sounded in the air, Ibrahim continued sitting in a corner, his face buried in his palms. The air is thick with incense, fighting the metallic smell of the blood that’s yet to be cleaned. Outside, a few children stood by the gate, watching the yellow tape flutter in the breeze.
