On the cool, breezy morning of November 26, 2024, Turbat’s Civil Hospital was surrounded by Frontier Corps personnel, their presence overshadowing the mourners gathered around a lifeless body wrapped in Pakistan’s national flag, drenched in blood. The body belonged to 17-year-old Israr, elder son of Rashid Baloch, resident of Dannuk, Turbat.
Across the hospital corridor, Rashid stood silently, his eyes fixed on the shrouded figure. He neither approached nor looked away. A member of the hospital administration came up to him, holding a document. As the man accepted it, his gaze shifted from the body to the piece of paper in his hands.
The document that Israr’s family was told to sign and did not. Photo: By arrangement.
The document, written in Urdu, stated that Rashid must sign and acknowledge that his son, Israr, had been part of a terrorist organisation and was killed while “inflicting harm to the country.” The document further stated that they must not share pictures of Israr’s funeral or his grave on social media, nor call any media personnel or channels. It prohibited them from sharing the news of his killing on social media and calling him a martyr. The document concluded by stating that if they did not comply with these conditions, “legal action” would be taken.
The father refused to sign, not believing a single line of the accusations. He was told that unless he signed the affidavit, the body would not be handed over to him. “We were surrounded by FC [Frontier Corps], and there was no way to take the body by force. But even if they didn’t give the body that day, I still wouldn’t have signed,” Rashid later said.
Israr’s father signing another hospital administration document which says that his body has been handed over to his family. Photo: By arrangement.
An eldest son, a nurse
Israr had completed his intermediate studies in arts and had trained as a nurse at Civil Hospital, Turbat. After completing his training, he began working as a nurse at Balach Hospital in the Dannuk area of Turbat, about nine hours by road from Karachi.
The eldest child in a poor family, with a father who had two wives, the then 16-year-old Israr took on the responsibility of supporting his mother and two younger siblings. Unable to continue his education, he worked night shifts to sustain his family.
On November 25, 2024, Israr left home at 8.30 pm. He was on leave that day, but had headed out to fill in for a friend who had night duty but was unwell. As he passed by FC Chowk near Taleemi Chowk on his bike, an explosion jolted the area.
Israr Baloch. Photo: By arrangement.
According to a hospital staff member who requested anonymity for security reasons, two injured individuals, Waseem Akram and Amir Waseem, a father and son, were brought to the Civil Hospital about half an hour after the attack. Their wounds were promptly dressed. The staff member did not say whether the injured were brought in by the FC or by residents of the neighbourhood.
A medical staffer who was present at the hospital shared their account of the night. Around 10.30 pm, FC personnel had arrived and asked the staffer and a colleague to accompany them to receive an injured person. The injured individual, who was still alive, was at the time lying in the back of an FC vehicle. As they approached to help, one of the FC personnel who was on a call instructed the others to shut the vehicle’s back compartment, known as the “daala.” The vehicle was then driven away.
“I recognised Israr immediately as he had worked with us at Civil Hospital,” the staffer recalled. “I called his family and told them that Israr had been in an accident and was injured.”
A doctor at the hospital added: “At that moment, I only noticed the presence of two FC vehicles leaving the premises. I didn’t see whether they had brought Israr, as I observed them from the gate of the emergency ward.”
Israr was brought back to the hospital around 1 am. This time, there were no Frontier Corps personnel present, but police officers instead. Israr was now lifeless.
One of the policemen told Rashid the police had received a call from the FC camp in Turbat, situated near the Deputy Commissioner’s office, around 12.30 am.
The call instructed them to retrieve a body and take it to the hospital. Along with the body, the police were handed an affidavit by the Counter-Terrorism Department.
A peculiar injury
A doctor who requested anonymity described the condition of Israr’s body. “It appeared that he had fallen to the ground during the explosion, as there was a noticeable bruise on one knee and near his mouth. However, his chest and face bore minor shrapnel wounds from the explosion,” the doctor explained. “According to our examination, there were no significant injuries that could have caused his death.”
The doctor also spoke of a peculiar injury on Israr’s body. “On the left chest wall, below the nipple toward the costal margin, there was a cut approximately of 12 centimetres. It was clearly not a surgical incision – it wasn’t sharp or clean. The edges were blunt,” the doctor noted.
Israr’s body. The injury is visible here. Photo: By arrangement.
“If it had been a surgical incision, it would have been a clean cut, but this one wasn’t. It looked as though a blunt object had been used. Furthermore, the cut had been poorly stitched, as if the edges had simply been folded and threaded together haphazardly,” the doctor added.
He emphasised that the area around the cut bore no explosion marks — there were no signs of shrapnel (“charra”) near the injury. “There was no evidence on or around the cut to suggest that it was related to removing a bullet or metal fragments from a blast. It didn’t appear to be an attempt at any surgical procedure linked to the explosion,” the doctor said.
The doctor pointed out another peculiar detail. “Above the cut, directly on the nipple, there was another mark of a cut that had been stitched. This, too, appeared poorly done,” he said.
“The black dots scattered across his body were consistent with shrapnel wounds from the bomb,” he added.
The size and depth of the large incision below the nipple did not indicate any surgical removal of internal organs, the doctor said.
Israr’s body displayed three distinct incisions, the doctor said. One was below the nipple, the second across the nipple, and a third at the neck. Again, the doctor emphasised the unusual nature of the injury: “The cut was blunt and stitched improperly, not resembling any professional surgical work. Moreover, there were no explosion-related marks around the cut, nor any indication that it had been made to extract a bullet or blast metal.”
A thoracotomy
According to Dr. Sabiha Baloch, leader of the Baloch Yakjehti Committee and a practising cardiologist in Quetta, who saw photographs of the injuries on social media, the incision observed on Israr’s body appeared to resemble a thoracotomy, a surgical procedure involving an incision to the thorax.
She explained: “A thoracotomy involves cutting into the thorax. In Israr’s case, as observed from pictures, the incision was located below the nipple, extending toward the axilla and up to the mid-axillary line.”
A video screengrab showing Israr’s body covered in the Pakistan national flag. Photo: By arrangement.
Sabiha further said: “Such incisions are rarely performed for organ removal. Typically, they are used for cardiac, pulmonary, or esophageal procedures. In this case, the incision is not only irrelevant but raises serious concerns. Most importantly, there are no cardiothoracic surgeons in Kech, meaning no one in the area is qualified to perform such a procedure. If it was not for medical treatment or organ removal, the only plausible explanation is that this incision was inflicted as a form of torture.”
After the call that night, Israr’s father and another family member rushed to the hospital. A staff member informed them that Israr, who was alive and injured, had been brought by the FC but was taken away before being brought inside. Around 1 am, they returned home to face his mother’s anxious question: “Where is Israr?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that Israr was injured and had been in the custody of the FC,” Rashid said. “I didn’t have the courage to say those words.” Instead, he reassured her, telling her that Israr was being treated in the emergency ward.
“Then why are you here? Take me to him!” she shouted, frantic.
Rashid lied again, trying to calm her: “He’s serious, and they’re not allowing anyone to see him because he’s being treated.”
Israr’s mother was desperate. “Let’s take him to Karachi. There’s no treatment here,” she murmured.
“The kids are sleeping. Don’t make any more noise. Israr will be all right,” he assured her and left the room.
Early in the morning, Israr’s father, accompanied by relatives, returned to the hospital. There they saw his teenage son’s lifeless, stitched body, but he was unable to claim it. From 7.30 am until 1 pm, the father fought relentlessly for the release of his son’s body. The hospital was heavily surrounded by intelligence agencies, counter-terrorism officials, and police officers. “I was terrified,” the father later said, “but not to the extent that I could ever declare my son a terrorist.”
After hours of resistance, the body was finally handed over to the family.
‘Don’t take the hospital’s name!’
Eleven days after Israr’s death, entering the house felt like stepping into a void filled with grief. All that could be heard were the piercing cries of two women, both completely wrapped in old blankets. Their sobs filled the air, interspersed with broken whispers of “Allah.” They cried and stopped momentarily, only to start again.
Visitors who came to offer condolences also broke down.
At times, perhaps from the suffocation under the blankets, the women would remove them and sit up, revealing their identities. One was Israr’s mother Jaani, and the other his maternal grandmother.
Israr’s mother didn’t seem older than 38 or 39. Her eyes were swollen from days of crying, her lips pale, and her skin yellowed with grief. Her voice, faint and hoarse, seemed lost to her cries. She had fever. A family member approached her with a Panadol, attempting to soothe her pain, but another intervened to suggest she should be taken to the hospital instead.
At this, she let out a loud, heart-wrenching scream: “Don’t take the hospital’s name! Don’t take the hospital’s name!” Her voice trembled with rage and despair. “The last time he left home saying he was going to the hospital, he didn’t return. Only his lifeless body came back! Don’t take the hospital’s name!”
The woman who had suggested taking Israr’s mother to the hospital now sat beside her, consumed by guilt. Apologising repeatedly, she said, “I’m so sorry. I’m ashamed for causing you even more pain.”
Israr’s mother, her head slightly bowed and her voice low, replied, “You don’t need to be sorry. You did nothing wrong. You were just trying to help me.” Her voice wavered as her gaze drifted. “But look at those who killed my son. They live without shame, without guilt. How do they live in peace… how?”
Tears welled up in her eyes again, and the room fell into a heavy silence as she pulled the blanket tightly over herself, as if retreating into a shell to contain her grief. Occasionally, she removed the blanket, the grief spilling over. “I was the one who should have died, not my little Israr,” she sobbed, her voice breaking. Then, she began cursing herself, placing her hands around her neck as though to punish herself. The people around rushed to console her.
Through her tears, the mother asked: “Why was there such a long cut on his body? Allah, they took out his heart!” Her voice faltered as deep sighs escaped her, and the room fell silent for a moment.
Every day, Israr would leave for the hospital to fulfil his duties, and every day, his mother would watch him ride his bike until he disappeared from her sight.
“They took my son and returned him with their flag!” she cried, her voice echoing through the room. Once again, the cries filled the air as she pulled the blanket over herself, retreating into her grief.
