The revolution soaked in the blood of children -Murtajul Islam

The clash against tyranny inevitably led to bullets flying. The names of those who stood up—Shahid Abu Saeed, Asif, Shakeel, Farooq, and many others—echo through history. Among them, Shanta Rabbi, Wadud, and Pavel remain missing, their sacrifice etched into the collective memory. Journalist Zulqarnain Shayer’s video reveals mass graves at Rai’s Bazar graveyard, where the fallen rest in unmarked silence. How many more martyrs lie there, lost to the world?

In the streets, the grim reality unfolds. Child Saad, struck down by bullets, lay abandoned as police failed to intervene. Ahad, Riya, Samir, and other innocent souls—like fragile flowers—met the same fate. Reports from various newspapers recount the tragedy: nine children, aged 4 to 16, fell victim during clashes surrounding the quota reform movement. Some died at home, while others were shot on the road. Eyewitnesses confirm that law enforcement forces were responsible. Even now, some wounded children fight for survival, bearing the scars of a struggle for justice. The hyenas’ bullets spared no one, leaving a nation mourning its lost youth.

Innocence Lost: The Tragic Toll of Youthful Protesters

The streets of Jatrabari echoed with the fervour of a generation. Young revolutionaries, their hearts aflame with indignation, took to the frontlines, challenging the oppressive decisions of the government. But their idealism was met with brutality—bullets fired directly at the heads of these courageous souls. Among them was 16-year-old Ifat, whose only crime was participating in a peaceful protest. On that fateful July 20, hyenas in uniform silenced his voice forever.

As the violence escalated, Ifat found himself dragged from the safety of a hospital bed, wounded and vulnerable. Witnesses whispered of a point-blank shot to his left chest—a chilling testament to the regime’s ruthlessness. Only a government-sponsored daily dared to report this tragedy. Ifat, a ninth-grader, had committed no offence; he had merely aided an injured soul lying on the roadside. For this act of compassion, the brutal police condemned him to death.

Abdul Ahad, just four years old, met a similarly cruel fate. Cradled in his parents’ arms, he innocently peered from the balcony of their rented eight-story home in Rayerbagh. The turmoil of July 19 unfolded below—the clash between police and agitators. Suddenly, a killer’s bullet found its mark, piercing Ahad’s right eye. The child crumpled to the floor, life seeping away. His father, Abul Hasan, rushed him to Dhaka Medical College Hospital, blood staining his chest. In the ICU, Ahad clung to life, but the night of July 20 would declare his fate: a child lost, a dictator unmoved. The stone walls bore witness to the tragedy, but justice remained elusive.

In these heartbreaking tales, innocence collided with brutality, leaving scars etched upon the collective memory. The youth, once hopeful and defiant, now lie silenced—a stark reminder of the cost of dissent in a land where bullets speak louder than words. As the nation mourns, we must ask: How many more lives will be sacrificed before justice prevails?

In the quiet neighbourhood of Nayamati in Narayanganj Sadar, a heartbreaking incident unfolded on July 20. Six-year-old Riya Gop, a cherubic girl with doll-like features, was playing innocently on the rooftop of her family’s four-story house. Suddenly, chaos erupted—the deafening sound of gunfire shattered the tranquility. Riya’s father, Deepak Kumar Gop, instinctively scooped her into his arms, seeking refuge from the violence. But fate was cruel; a stray bullet found its mark, striking Riya’s head. She was rushed to Dhaka Medical College Hospital, where her young life slipped away on July 25. Deepak Kumar Gop, grief-stricken, could only ask, “How can I bear this loss?”

The tragedy didn’t spare others either. Eleven-year-old Shafaqat, attempting to shield his family from tear gas, was shot by the police. The same police force that should protect citizens had turned into an instrument of terror. In another room, Shafaqat’s uncle, 17-year-old Moshiur Rahman, was also wounded. The bullet narrowly missed his eye, leaving him physically scarred but alive. Meanwhile, Sameer, a fifth-grader studying at a nearby madrasa, met a similar fate. His family lived adjacent to the Kafrul police station in Mirpur, Dhaka. On July 19, during a peaceful protest, police violence erupted, claiming lives indiscriminately. Sameer became another casualty—a child killed by a bullet inside his own home.

The tragic events in Narayanganj and Dhaka serve as painful reminders of the fragility of life, the indiscriminate nature of violence, and the devastating impact on families. As communities grapple with grief, questions linger: How can we protect our children? When will peace prevail? How many more innocent lives must be lost before change occurs? That’s the wishful thinking we all wanted.

The Tragic Toll of Police Brutality

A Mother’s Grief: Late one afternoon in July, Maleka Begum implored her son, Hossain, to stay home and eat his rice. But the young boy had ventured out. In the dead of night, his parents discovered him in the mortuary at Dhaka Medical College, his small body lying amidst a sea of bloodsoaked corpses. The host had suffered multiple gunshot wounds. Ignorant of the brutality that awaited him, he had innocently asked, “Mom, who would shoot me?” Little did he know that the thirst for power could eclipse even the legendary Dracula’s bloodlust.

Mubarak’s Tragic Fate: Mubarak, the youngest of five siblings, had never known the luxury of education. Poverty forced him to tend to the family’s cow farm alongside his parents. When the police’s bloodlust claimed the lives of many during the protests, thirteen-year-old Mobarak Hossain didn’t return home after witnessing the movement. On July 19, he joined the crowd at Karwan Bazar intersection, not far from his neighborhood. There, around 5 pm, a police bullet found its mark—directly into his young head. His grieving mother, Farida Begum, wondered aloud, “Why would they shoot my innocent child? A mere slap would have sufficed if he had committed any crime.”

Tahmid’s Tragic End: In Narsingdi town, on July 18, police officers fired upon protestors with the ferocity of hyenas. Among the casualties was fourteen-year-old Tahmid Bhuiyan. His chest bore the scars from bullets unleashed by the police-BGB. Tahmid, a ninth-grader at Nasima Qadir Mollah High School and Homes (NKM), became another tragic victim of the unrest. His dreams extinguished, his innocence shattered, and he joined the growing list of lives lost to an oppressive regime.

These heartbreaking stories remind us that behind every statistic lies a human tragedy—a life cut short, dreams unfulfilled, and families left to mourn. As we seek justice and change, we must never forget the faces and names of those who paid the ultimate price for their belief in a better future.

In the quiet town of Narsingdi, a peaceful procession turned into a nightmare. Agitators gathered on the Dhaka-Sylhet highway, seeking justice. Among them was Fahmid, a young student who had come to witness the unfolding events. Tragically, he fell victim to random police gunfire, his chest grazed by the lethal shots. As angry protesters carried Fahmid’s lifeless body from the hospital to the highway, their cries echoed: Why was this child killed? Even in death, Fahmid faced further brutality, shot once more by the very forces meant to protect.

Naima, a 16-year-old student at Milestone School and College, met a similar fate. Standing innocently on the balcony of her house in Uttara, she became an unintended target. The police, engaged in a violent clash with protestors, directed their bullets towards Naima’s home. The deafening sound of gunshots filled the air as she fell, struck in the head. Her life was extinguished in an instant, leaving her family and community in shock.

The campus of Jahangirnagar University was no refuge either. Under the spineless leadership of Vice-Chancellor Nurul and Proctor Kabir, police forces attacked students alongside BCL terrorists. The violence spread to Savar, where flames engulfed the streets. On that fateful day, Saad Mahmud, a curious 14-year-old, ventured out to investigate the smoke near his home in Shaheen Bagh. Little did he know that he would become another casualty. Shot in the body by police, Saad was rushed to Enam Medical College and Hospital, where doctors declared him dead. As communities mourn, questions linger: How many more innocent souls will be lost before justice prevails? The shouting continued.

In the shadows of state-controlled media, countless atrocities remain concealed—silenced by shameless complicity. The internet, once a beacon of free expression, now lies dormant, its flow disrupted on platforms like Facebook and YouTube. Yet, amidst this darkness, a spark of hope ignited during the mass uprising of ‘24—a student-led revolution that defied tyranny.

Tragically, fresh lives continue to be extinguished. Even within the government’s ranks, some struggle to comprehend the staggering toll of ignorance. How can so many innocent children fall victim? The entire nation now rallies against this abhorrent infanticide. Expatriates, too, have raised their voices, disrupting remittance flows in their demand for justice.

The blood of our children stains the hands of ruthless dictatorships. We stand united, resolute in our resistance. These young lives lost—our children, our teenagers—must not be forgotten. Their memory fuels our fight for a brighter, more just future.