A torn, half-burnt schoolbag, with its fabric barely holding together, lay crushed. Surrounding it were littered pieces of paper, plastic water bottles, broken bricks, and dirt.
Once a regular companion on a student’s journey, the backpack now carried a much heavier weight—those of the memories it held: books, pens, pencils, and the dreams of a future that would never come.
Close by, a letter from third-grader Ruponti was half-hidden among a pile of papers. Its crisp white paper, now stained with dirt, carried a simple message: “Dear Head Teacher, I humbly request you to grant leave on absent days.”
Those simple words, written in neat handwriting, stood in stark contrast to the horror surrounding it. A letter that once spoke of innocence, a student’s humble request for leave, now lay as a tragic reminder of a life interrupted—one that never had the chance to unfold.
Another letter, written by Marium, also a third-grader, was barely readable, covered in dirt and debris. However, the colourful notebook of their classmate, Asmaul Husna Zayra, remained mostly intact, with only slight burn marks.
These three students were in the same ‘Sky’ section of third grade.
Nearby, a small purse lay amidst mud, broken bricks, and plastic bottles. Once a student’s companion, it held the essentials for learning—pens for writing, a pencil for drawing, the small items that defined the quiet rhythm of student life. Now, it stood as a symbol of that rhythm shattered.
Amid the chaos and devastation, one object stood out—the half-burnt notebook, covered in colourful paper and a hand-made butterfly. The bright, playful colours had once represented the joy of learning, of growing up, of dreaming. But now, charred edges and torn pages told a different story. It was a touching symbol of the students’ innocence and their unfulfilled potential.
The images reminded one of the aftermaths of a tragic incident caused by a plane crashing into Milestone School and College in Uttara on Monday, while the students were either playing on the field or attending classes.
The true weight of the tragedy became clearer with each passing hour. At least 32 lives, full of promise and potential, had been stolen, while 25 others were fighting for their lives at various hospitals with severe burn injuries.
The school, which had once echoed with the laughter and chatter of students, had now become a place of protests by their fellow schoolmates, who were deeply grieved by losing so many friends and teachers. They were also angered by how the authorities had handled the tragedy.
Once a place of learning, it had now become a symbol of tragedy, leaving a hole in the heart of the community—a hole that would never truly heal.
But in the scattered remnants of schoolbags, books, pens, and pencils, the memories of the students lived on, each item carrying a story of youth, innocence, and a future tragically lost.
The backpacks, notebooks, letters, and torn clothes scattered across the ground seemed to hold their own memorial to the young lives lost—each item a silent witness to the pain and the loss.