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Published : 23 Jul 2025, 04:49 AM
As silence fell over Dhaka’s Milestone School and College after Monday’s deadly jet crash, one mother’s wailing echoed through the corridors of the National Burn and Plastic Surgery Institute. She could not stop blaming herself.
Her son, Makin, a seventh-grade student who goes by a single name, had not wanted to go to school that day. But his mother, Saleha Naznin, insisted.
Sitting outside the ICU on Tuesday, she recalled with unbearable regret, "His hair had grown a little longer. He didn’t want to go because he thought he’d be scolded. I forced him to go. And now… this.”
Makin is now fighting for his life in the ICU, with 68 percent of his body severely burned. His relatives wait anxiously beside his mother, their faces drawn in grief.
Shortly after the crash, he was rushed first to Uttara Modern Hospital, then transferred to the Burn Institute. Two of his classmates, Arian and Ayan, identified by single name, were brought in the same ambulance.
“Makin was still conscious then,” said his cousin, Durjoy. “He saw his two friends being brought in and insisted they be taken with him. Arian has burns over 85 percent of his body, and Ayan 48 percent.”
Doctors have yet to make any definitive statements about Makin’s condition. “Last night his face was dark,” Durjoy said. “Today it’s swollen beyond recognition. No one can bear to look at him.”
Outside the hospital, family members try to comfort Saleha and her husband, offering food they cannot bring themselves to eat. At times, both break down remembering moments with their son. Their grief draws tears from those trying to console them.
They are not alone.
Forty-four families now wait outside the Burn Institute, each clinging to hope while their children suffer inside.
Some children scream continuously in pain; others, too badly burned, lie silent and unconscious. Families wait for the silence to be broken, for a beloved child to call out, to return to life as it was.
‘I BROKE THROUGH THE GRILL TO SAVE MY DAUGHTER’
Fourth-grade student Samia Akter is among the injured. Her father Abdur Rahim was waiting outside the school when the crash occurred.
“There was a loud explosion,” he said. “Then flames. I knew my daughter was inside. I climbed the wall and rushed up, searching. I couldn’t find her at first. Then I broke a window grill and brought her out. I didn’t realise her airways had burned. Now, I don’t know what will happen.”
In ICU Bed 15 lies sixth-grader Farabi Ayan, unconscious and badly burned. His parents, Zunaid Ahmed and Tamanna Akter, both officials at Agrani Bank, sit outside, unable to do anything but weep.
“Farabi lives in Mirpur-10 and travels to school by metro every day,” said his uncle Zayedi Raihan. “He has a little sister named Junaina. His parents haven’t stopped crying since yesterday.”
Nearby, third-grader Saima, with 15 percent burns to her arms, legs and face, is being moved from the fifth to the seventh floor. Wrapped in bandages, she keeps whispering to her mother:
“Mum, I’m scared… It hurts. I can’t lift my hands. I want to sit up. I’m hungry.”
Her mother tries to soothe her as ward boys help lift the child. “You’ll be fine soon, my love. We’ll go upstairs, I’ll feed you. The lift is coming, just hold on. Please don’t cry.”
As the elevator doors close, Saima is carried upstairs.
‘HOW CAN I BEAR TO SEE HER LIKE THIS?’
Eighth-grade student Tasnia Haque is in the High Dependency Unit (HDU) with burns over 35 percent of her body, including her face, arms and legs.
Her respiratory tract is also damaged. She is under 48-hour observation and unable to speak, only able to gesture faintly through layers of bandages.
Her father Hafiz Uddin barely holds back tears. “She was always so full of life. When she’d come to me, she’d just stare into my eyes. How can a father watch his daughter suffer like this?”
Outside the HDU on the hospital’s seventh floor, a list hangs showing burn percentages for several children:
Masum: 60 percent
Tasnia: 35 percent
Saiba Jahan: 8 percent
Nowrin: 4 percent
Nazia: 90 percent
Saira: 20 percent
Saima: 25 percent
Ayman: 20 percent
The searing images of small children burned beyond recognition have overwhelmed even the most stoic visitors. The smell of scorched plastic lingers in the hospital.
Families who once filled their homes with children’s laughter are now lost in cries of despair.
Many parents sob openly, recounting cherished memories. Some faint from grief.
On Monday, a Bangladesh Air Force fighter jet crashed into Milestone School and College in Dhaka’s Diabari area. A fire broke out almost immediately, engulfing classrooms filled with young students.
As of Tuesday evening, 29 people, mostly children, have died from the burns, with 68 more hospitalised in various conditions across Dhaka.
Farhana Kabir, spokesperson from the Ministry of Health and Family Welfare, confirmed the updated casualty figures on Tuesday.
According to Sayedur Rahman, special assistant to the chief advisor, 10 of the injured are currently considered "out of danger," while 30 remain in uncertain condition, including 10 whose injuries are classified as "critical".
The rest are said to be in “moderate” condition.
