Scorched books, abandoned shoes: Echoes of sorrow where children once laughed
The first floor housed classrooms for grades 3 and 4, while grade 2, grade 5, and a coaching centre operated on the second. Within moments, the compound was reduced to an inferno of death and destruction
The air in Diabari, Uttara, no longer bore the lively echoes of students on Tuesday afternoon. Instead, it reeked of kerosene and smoke.
Milestone School and College, a vibrant academic institution, had turned into a silent graveyard of burnt notebooks, scorched bags, melted flasks, and empty shoes.
On Monday, a fighter jet crashed into the school building reportedly following a mechanical failure. The first floor housed classrooms for grades 3 and 4, while grade 2, grade 5, and a coaching centre operated on the second. Within moments, the compound was reduced to an inferno of death and destruction.
'My school felt like a warzone'
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In the school compound on Tuesday afternoon, the scale of devastation was painfully visible. Near the staircase, half-charred exercise books lay scattered.
One book – belonging to third-grader Mehrima Jahan Ruponti – still bore the words: "Differences in residential areas of rural and urban regions" under the subject Bangladesh and Global Studies.
Nearby, a burnt Islamic Studies textbook lay open to a page still showing the Asmaul Husna in bold letters, its edges blackened by flames.
A small, burnt football was also found amid the rubble, possibly left behind by children who had been playing earlier that day.
A lone, scorched swing stood at the building's entrance, now motionless, as if mourning the laughter it once carried.
Zayed Iqbal, a student of class nine, described the horror upon returning to school.
"When I arrived, my school felt like a battlefield," he told The Business Standard.
"I left around 12:40pm. Then I heard a plane had crashed into our school. I rushed back at 1:40 and saw the building on fire, smoke rising, the army and fire service rushing in. Students were the first to start the rescue," he added.
One door, no escape
The crash had blown a large hole in the ground floor, as if someone had dug out a canal. The building had only one exit, a three-foot-wide staircase near the main entrance.
During the chaos, it became a death trap. Some students tried jumping from windows; others remained trapped inside.
College senior Mohammad Saimun, a science student, was standing on the hostel balcony when the jet passed overhead.
"I saw it flying unusually low. Moments later, a deafening crash. I rushed down and saw the school ablaze. I saw two students' bloodied bodies lying outside. We, the students, jumped in to help with the rescue."
Two metal grills on either side of the building had to be broken open to evacuate trapped students.
Around 6pm, a few women emerged through the rear gate, saying, "Only one door, just one way out. We had to cut through iron grills."
They hesitated to give names, only disclosing they worked as school aides.
Between 5:00pm and 6:30pm, while this correspondent was observing the situation inside the school, people — including students — were staging a protest at the Diabari roundabout, just outside the main gate. Their demands included the accurate identification of the deceased and the release of a complete, verified list of the injured.
Amid the protests, two interim government advisers — Asif Nazrul and C R Abrar — were confined to the academic building. They were accompanied by Chief Adviser's Press Secretary Shafiqul Alam and several other members of the press wing.
Access to the school premises was heavily restricted that afternoon. Curious onlookers were not being allowed inside. When this correspondent identified himself as a journalist and tried to enter, he was initially denied access. He was eventually allowed in after joining a group of police officers entering the premises.
Inside, more than a hundred police personnel were seen near the main building. However, only a handful were stationed near the damaged structure. The school's main field was nearly empty, with a few media personnel waiting there.
Around 7:00pm, as this correspondent was leaving the scene, anguished chants rose from the protest at the roundabout : "Don't politicise the dead! Why did my brother die? We demand justice!"
Trees charred, the air poisoned
Even nature bore the scars.
The coconut, kadam, and mango trees in front of the building, once lush, were now blackened. The coconut trees stood beside the crash site, and several fuel canisters were found nearby, reeking of kerosene.
The intense heat had scorched the surrounding plants, turning once-lush greenery into charred, silent witnesses to the tragedy.
The scars, the ruins, the burnt pages of lessons left unfinished, and the deafening silence of a once-joyful playground now speak of a heartbreak too deep for words — a tragedy that struck in moments but will scar generations to come.
