When Savar became a battlefield
A day trapped between bullets and blood — this is the story of Savar’s darkest hours, where hope fought despair and every moment felt like a struggle to survive
On 5 August 2024, Savar didn't feel like Savar. It felt like a city at war. The air was thick with gunfire and tear gas, the streets overrun by furious crowds and heavily armed police. From morning till night, chaos reigned.
By noon, word spread like wildfire—the government had fallen. But there was no celebration on Savar Thana Road, only the relentless echo of bullets and screams. I spent the day caught between Enam Medical College Hospital and the police station, trapped in a loop of violence and grief.
The hospital was a world of its own. Bloodied bodies arrived in waves—students, locals, even a fellow journalist—many carried by trembling hands, wrapped in makeshift bandages of torn cloth. Some still breathed, barely. Others didn't. The floors grew slick with blood, corridors choked with desperate cries and the metallic scent of death. Outside, gunfire refused to stop.
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At one point, I tried stepping out, just to breathe, only to be driven back by sharp bursts of gunfire. Standing still for even a minute felt impossible—bullets had turned the streets into death traps.
By afternoon, protestors from Jahangirnagar poured in, clashing with police armed to the teeth. Tear gas burned our eyes, rubber bullets scattered the crowds, and yet they kept coming. Each retreat brought more wounded to the hospital, and with them, the horrifying proof of live rounds tearing through flesh.
As evening descended, silence fell only when rows of bodies lined up before the hospital—still, cold, nameless. Then came the final act: police retreating in bursts of gunfire, protestors storming the thana, fire lighting up the night sky.
That night, walking away from Enam Medical, I realised Savar would never be the same. And neither would I.
