It has been a year since 28-year-old Akram Khan Rabbi—son, brother, student, worker, and dreamer—was killed in the streets of the capital during a protest for justice and equality. For his family, time has stood still since July 19, 2024, the day he never came home.
Rabbi didn’t live for himself. He lived for the dreams of his parents.
“He wanted to give us a better life,” says Md Farooque Khan, Rabbi’s father, his voice weighed down by grief. “He worked, studied, and still found time to help his mother in the kitchen. He did it all, without ever complaining.”
A student at Crown University, Rabbi also worked part-time at the showroom of cricketer Enamul Haque Bijoy to help support his family—his aging parents and two younger brothers. They all lived together in a modest flat in Purbo Bistek, Mirpur 13.
On July 19, like every Friday, Rabbi prayed Jumma with his family. After lunch, he left the house quietly, telling his mother he was going to the protest at Mirpur 10.
“He promised to come back by evening,” recalls his mother, Beauty Akhter. “He kissed my hand before leaving. That was the last time I saw my son alive.”
At around 4:17 pm, Rabbi was shot in the stomach and chest by police in front of Shaheed Abu Taleb School. A friend who witnessed the shooting rushed him to Islamia Hospital, but they refused treatment. By the time he was taken to Dhaka Medical College Hospital, it was too late.
“When I reached DMCH, my son was lying on the cold floor, soaked in blood,” says Farooque. “I held him. He wasn’t breathing. My heart shattered.”
The tragedy didn’t end there. Despite paying Tk 5,000 to keep his body in cold storage, the hospital left it outside in the heat. The family was made to wait three unbearable days to claim his body.
“I just wanted to see his face one more time,” says Beauty. “To touch him, to hold him, to say goodbye. But I wasn’t even given that.”
Rabbi was finally laid to rest on the evening of July 21 at the Purbo Bistek graveyard in Mirpur. But even his funeral was not free from fear. Police reportedly attempted to arrest his father, only stopping after neighbours and community members intervened.
On August 25, 2024 Farooque filed a murder case at Pallabi Police Station, naming 48 individuals, including former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina. He alleges that police and members of the ruling party’s student and youth wings were responsible for his son’s death.
“I want justice,” he says. “Not just for my Rabbi, but for every child killed during those days. I want the death penalty for those who murdered him. And I want this country to remember what these students stood for—a future without fear.”
Rabbi’s story is one of sacrifice—not for glory, but for family, for justice, for hope. His mother still sets aside a plate for him at dinner. His brothers avoid walking past the showroom where he used to work. His father still wears the watch Rabbi gave him on Eid.
“My son never asked for much,” says Beauty, tears streaming down her face. “He just wanted to help people. He believed things could change. He believed in this country, even when it didn’t believe in him.”
One year on, the wounds remain fresh. But so does the resolve. In the words of his father:
“I won’t let Rabbi’s memory be forgotten. He lived for us. Now, I must live for him.”