Family members of Raja Liaqat, who died last month in Keran village, standing on the banks of Neelum River wave to their relatives across the Line of Control in Indian-administered Kashmir, on May 29, 2026. [AFP]
Kashmir resident Raja Basharat can see his brother's grave on the opposite bank of a river that divides the disputed region, but visiting it -- a holiday tradition for Muslims on Eid al-Adha -- is impossible.
The festival was a painful reminder of the separation forced on Kashmiri families split between parts of the Himalayan region administered by either India or Pakistan, with the atmosphere ever more tense after a sharp escalation last year.
"Eid is a festival of joy and celebration, but for us it has become a symbol of grief, sorrow and helplessness," said Basharat, who lives in Pakistani-administered Kashmir.
Gazing across the waterway that marks the de facto border, he recalled the death of his older brother Raja Liaqat on the Indian-administered side in April.
He said that his brother's funeral was moved from Srinagar to the Indian-administered side of Keran, his village, which is split by the heavily militarised frontier known as the Line of Control.
"The scene is still vivid in front of my eyes," he said.
Instead of visiting the grave just metres (yards) away on Eid al-Adha, which in Pakistan ended on Thursday, all he could was look at it from a distance.
"Sometimes I feel like jumping into this river," he said.
"If we could not live together in this world, then perhaps we could at least rest together after death."
Kashmir has remained a source of tension between nuclear armed rivals India and Pakistan since the partition of British India in 1947.
Both countries claim the region in full but administer separate portions of it.
The 740-kilometre (460-mile) Line of Control serves as the military boundary dividing the territory, cutting through mountains, forests, villages and, in some cases, families.
Over the decades, weddings, funerals and family celebrations have often taken place without the presence of close relatives who live only a short distance away.
"This river is visible to everyone today, but in reality it has not only divided two countries -- it has torn families apart as well," said Laiba Raja, Raja Liaqat's niece.
"On Eid, people visit their loved ones and celebrate with family, but where are we supposed to go?"
For years families separated by the frontier would gather along opposite banks of the river to wave, exchange greetings and catch brief glimpses of relatives.
But heightened tensions between the two countries and increased security measures have caused these informal face-to-face meetings to largely disappear.
Relations between nuclear-armed neighbours India and Pakistan plummeted last year after an attack in Indian-administered Kashmir killed 26 men, mostly Hindu tourists, leading to their worst conflict in decades.
According to Uzair Ahmed, the leader of a Kashmiri refugee organisation based in the Pakistani-administered part, around 48,000 refugees currently live in camps and cities across Pakistan.
Many continue to hold on to slim hopes that one day they would be able to reunite with relatives across the divide.
As evening falls over Keran, the mountains cast long shadows across the river that separates the two sides, while children played near the water and soldiers kept watch from distant posts.
On clear days, residents can still see houses on the opposite bank.
"Our elders passed away waiting for that day" when they could embrace loved ones, pray together or bid a final farewell to those who passed away, Ahmed said.
"Now a new generation is growing up with the same hope."