It was Thursday last week when the unexpected visitors climbed the stairs to Yashpal Saxena’s one room home in west Delhi.

Saxena offered the couple tea but they declined. After 45 minutes, they left and Saxena and his wife Kamlesh began preparing dinner for their son Ankit, 23, who was expected home any moment. But he never came. At 8pm, screams erupted outside their Raghubir Nagar home.

Neighbours called them to come down. There was a melee on the main road. Saxena and Kamlesh rushed 200 metres from their door to find Ankit frightened and surrounded by attackers.

As they tried to pull their son away, Kamlesh fell. Saxena turned his back on Ankit to help his wife. “When I turned back, they had pinned him down and slit his throat. In seconds, he was lifeless. They killed him.”

Yashpal Saxena (left) and wife Kamlesh Yashpal Saxena, the parents of Ankit Saxena. Photograph: Amrit Dhillon/The Guardian

Ankit’s death was an “honour” killing. The alleged attackers, now under arrest, were the same people who had visited Saxena’s house earlier. They were a Muslim couple and were upset that their daughter Shehzadi was being courted by Ankit, a Hindu. They had visited Saxena to demand he tell his son to end the relationship. After leaving the house, they were joined by their son and a male relative. They soon spotted Ankit and confronted him.

Such killings are becoming more common in India, increasing from 28 reported incidents in 2014 to 251 in 2015, according to latest data.

Also commonplace was the response of politicians and members of rightwing Hindu groups who trooped through the alley to Saxena’s house in the hope of making political capital from the murder of a young Hindu lad by a Muslim.

But what happened next changed the script and turned Saxena into something of a hero.

‘I feel no hatred’

Instead of being revengeful and raging over the loss of his only child, the grieving father was dignified and restrained. Sensing that the case might be used by politicians to whip up anti-Muslim passions, he steered clear of the hate-mongering that has passed for debate in recent years.

“Please do not politicise his murder. Please do not communalise it. It is something one human being did to another. Religion is irrelevant,” Saxena has said repeatedly.

His humanity has introduced a new note in India’s public discourse. It is a discourse that has been marked by shrill anti-Muslim rhetoric, accompanied by mob lynchings or attacks against Muslims over allegations of beef-eating or taunts about lack of patriotism.

In response to this violence, ministers from the ruling Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata party (BJP) have made perfunctory noises of disapproval.

But it is Saxena’s words that have hogged the headlines. They seem to have resonated powerfully among those Indians concerned at rising Hindu-Muslim tensions and the tacit acceptance of this development by the BJP. Meanwhile, prime minister Narendra Modi has chosen not to address violence against the Muslim minority directly.

The spot where Ankit Saxena murdered. Photograph: Amrit Dhillon/The Guardian

Saxena’s moral stature rose even higher when he declined to join a candlelight march for his son because he was unsure who had organised it and worried that it might be used to paint Muslims in a bad light. He also opposed attempts by some Hindus to scare away Muslim families in the neighbourhood.

‘We are humans first’

For Saxena, his conduct is nothing out of the ordinary. He talks only of what he knows and feels. Talking about his son clearly costs him an effort but he manages, unlike Kamlesh who sits dazed, her eyes closed, silent. They sit on the raised wooden platform that serves as a bed, swaddled by shawls and blankets.

“It is just my nature to feel comfortable with people of all faiths. We all celebrate Hindu and Muslim festivals together here. My son’s friends were Christian, Muslim, Sikh and Hindu. I think he imbibed my values,” he said. In fact, Ankit’s closest friend is Azhar, a Muslim who lives next door. Ankit’s cousin, Ashish Duggal, has camped at the house, refusing to leave Ankit’s parents alone.

With other relatives and friends they created a Facebook page called “RIP Ankit Saxena” where they appeal for justice, not hate. “Before being a Hindu or a Muslim, we are humans first. That’s the motto of this page,” said Duggal.

Rebecca John, a supreme court lawyer whose work includes cases involving human rights violations, said she felt indebted to Saxena for introducing a note of compassion and civility into what she called the “toxic atmosphere of hatemongering” in India.

“We’ve seen something very unusual, a rare voice. Given his grievous loss, he could have been justified in saying something provocative yet he begged people to separate religion from the crime. He speaks of a wisdom that we seem to have lost these days. People like him give us hope,” she said.

Reports quote friends as saying that Ankit had told him that he would marry no one but 20-year-old Shehzadi as she was the “princess” of his heart.

She is being kept in a safe house by the police. Her future is bleak. She now has no family, and no Ankit. Despite being broken-hearted, Saxena frets about her because she is so young and has told police he would like to see her.

The young girl wants to testify against her parents, her uncle and her 15-year-old brother. Her parents and uncle have confessed to the murder, police said. .

Amid the comings and goings of dignitaries and lawyers, a priest arrives in the afternoon to say prayers for Ankit’s soul. Since Saxena’s home is a tiny windowless cell, friends sit down on the thin mattresses spread out in the alley, under an improvised awning of two white sheets. Ankit’s garlanded photograph is set beside the priest.

One lawyer has come to get Saxena’s signature for an application for 24 hour police protection. Saxena and Kamlesh are witness to their son’s murder. Their testimony will be vital. “We need to keep them from harm,” said the lawyer. After signing, Saxena moves his legs stiffly under the blankets and looks exhausted but is too polite to ask anyone to leave.

“I had one son. We were friends to each other. What he might have become one day are just…,” his voice trails off. “They’re just words now. All I want is to ensure that he gets justice. His killer should get the death sentence. I don’t want any more Ankits dying. If I get justice, that’s good. If I don’t, I feel no hatred for Muslims.”