Durga Nath Rafiz: The BSF Sub-Inspector Betrayed at His Own Doorstep

Name: Durga Nath Rafiz
Father’s Name: Jia Lal Rafiz
Date of Birth: 11 October 1942
Date of Assassination: 3 June 1992
Residence: Jawahar Nagar, Srinagar
Survived by: Wife , Son and two Daughters
Service: Sub-Inspector, Border Security Force (BSF) — Posted at Panthachowk

In the shifting and dangerous landscape of militancy-era Kashmir, few stories capture the depth of betrayal experienced by minorities as starkly as the fate of BSF Sub-Inspector Durga Nath Rafiz. A disciplined officer, a father, and a respected resident of Jawahar Nagar, Rafiz became the victim of a meticulously planned trap — one that unfolded not on the battlefield but at the threshold of his own home.

Durga Nath Rafiz lived in a modest house in Jawahar Nagar that also included three small shops. Two were already rented out. The third remained vacant, and like any law-abiding man hoping to provide for his family, he sought a tenant. One day, a Muslim man approached him expressing interest in the shop. Rafiz, acting in good faith, unlocked the premises and showed it to him. Terms were discussed. Conditions were settled. An advance payment of ₹10,000 was mutually agreed upon.

A date was fixed.
A time was set.
And the man returned — but not with money.

Instead, he arrived with a lethal deception.

Claiming that militants watched every transaction and that the money had to be handed over discreetly at his home, he requested Rafiz to accompany him. Even though the Valley had long crossed into an era of brutal killings, and militancy had reached new extremes, Rafiz did not suspect treachery. Like many officers who believed in the integrity of their uniform and their neighbours, he stepped out to follow the man.

He never came back.

Hours later, his mutilated body was discovered at Badshah Nagar near Natipora. The violence inflicted upon him was savage and symbolic. His tongue was chopped off, reportedly for the simple act of demanding the advance payment. His skull had been bored through from the nape of the neck, a gruesome mark of torture. The ritual copper coin placed in his mouth — dropped out from the very hole carved into his skull — told its own horrifying tale.

The final act of betrayal was perhaps the cruelest:
The same man who lured him to his death is said to have taken possession of the shop he had pretended to rent.

Durga Nath Rafiz left behind a wife of 45, a son of 23, and two daughters aged 20 and 17 — a family abruptly plunged into grief, insecurity, and displacement. For them, and for countless others, the tragedy was not just the killing itself but the chilling message it carried: trust could no longer survive in the Valley they once called home.

Rafiz’s story underscores the dark reality of the early 1990s, when militants not only targeted state officials and security personnel but weaponized everyday interactions to isolate, terrorize, and dispossess minorities. His death remains a painful testament to how deeply the violence had seeped into civilian life, where even a simple conversation about renting a shop could become a death sentence.

Today, remembering Sub-Inspector Durga Nath Rafiz is more than a tribute —
it is a reclamation of truth from an era where the suffering of minorities was systematically buried.