Woke up in the morning and headed out straight away.
Back on Rampura Main Road, I saw — at the mouth of one alley, two had become martyrs.
Couldn’t believe it — did the police fire live bullets? From point-blank range?
Right at the spot where they fell, people had used bricks to make an outline like they do with chalk at crime scenes.
Photo 7: Crime scene bordered with bricks –
Two reporters from Jamuna TV arrived. One of them said, “I leave my brother in your hands. Please save him. Tell him everything that happened.”
They filmed the scene.
I’m sure — of all the bloodied footage Jamuna TV has, not even a tenth has aired on television — out of fear of the government.
Even that morning, there were hundreds of thousands on the road. But this time, I noticed some unfamiliar faces — felt like they were from political groups, maybe.
After observing for about an hour, I returned home.
After Jummah prayers and lunch, I went out again.
This time, I walked a little and stayed near Better Life Hospital for about an hour.
Within that single hour, I think I saw around 30 bloodied bodies —
Someone shot in the hand,
Someone in the leg,
Someone in the head.
A 6–7 year old kid — shot in the stomach.
Limp, half-conscious bodies were being brought in by rickshaw into Better Life Hospital.
Even then, it was hard to accept — the police really fired live rounds?
Photo 8 : Rampura road’s wrecked morning condition
I decided to move closer.
Police, BGB — had set up temporary camps near BTV. Under the foot-over-bridge in front of BTV, police stood. About 70–80 meters ahead, near Delta Healthcare, was the frontline.
I walked to Delta. From outside, I heard cries. When I entered the hospital-
On the hospital’s ground floor lay a boy’s lifeless body, covered with cloth.
Beside him, his mother and an older man — weeping uncontrollably. People nearby told me the boy’s name was Samudra. They uncovered his face — he was maybe 18 or 19. Marks of rubber bullets on his chest, head, body but that didn’t kill him.
A live round — probably pierced through his wrist and into his chest, that round killed him.
That heartbreaking scene… I couldn’t stay long so I stepped out.
The clash still raged between the authoritarian police force and the people. Just beside Delta Hospital there was another hospital named Multi Healthcare. As I reached there, gunfire began again.
I stood pressed against the pharmacy wall of the Multi Healthcare, main road facing and saw, with my bare eyes —
A cold-blooded massacre.
Right in front of me, 6–7 people fell on the road from police fire.
Every shot, two people went down.
Absolute aimed firing, precise targets.
People rushed in however they could and dragged the injured back into the hospitals beside me.
Hospital Gates soaked in blood.
Better Life Hospital by then was drowning in it.
Two people entered Multi Healthcare —
One’s lower leg almost torn off, another likely shot in the chest.
Someone limped into Delta — seemed shot in the leg.
Then I saw a boy lying on the street at the first row frontline, like he was on Sijdah but his head was side facing instead of downwards, both hands laying on the ground.
No one dared go close because the bullets kept coming.
That scene — words fail.
Is he still alive? I don’t know.
If not, I witnessed a man being murdered right before my eyes.
The students and people surged forward again.
Some brought out steel sheets, tin, and iron plates from a nearby construction site. And from that, they made protective shields to survive the bullets. I even recognize a guy who used to iron my shirts. He is carrying cement block & positioning it like a shield to stop bullets.
It felt like watching a war documentary — everyone holding makeshift armor, marching to battle.
Though those thin sheets likely wouldn’t stop a real bullet, just seeing someone hold up armor ignited a courage in the crowd, no bullet on Earth could pierce that.
I couldn’t believe it — Bangladesh’s police and BGB firing live rounds on civilians?
And once again — the assault resumed.
More bullets.
People dropped to the ground like birds.
On rickshaws, in arms — bodies filled three nearby hospitals.
After a brief pause in the firing, I saw a familiar face in the crowd,
a younger brother I knew from the area. He was moving towards frontline.
He said, “Bhai, come on.” I was terrified. But seeing him move forward, I followed. He walked down the middle of the street. I stayed to the side, walking path. We crossed the hospitals again and getting closer to the frontline.
But maybe I went too far.
Suddenly — another round of firing started.
As I turned to run, I saw — we were now the front row of the frontline.
No chance to cross back before being shot.
So I pushed through the crowd and darted into a half-abandoned house. I know that house because in front of that house there was a portrait of “Sher-e-Bangla A K Fazlul Hoque”
But the moment I entered — I knew it was a mistake.
A tear shell dropped right in front of me, inside the house. All exits sealed, except for a tiny patch by the boundary. Eight or ten of us — trapped in tear gas.
It truly felt like, “Ajka Mone Hoy Ar Bachum Nah (Maybe I won’t survive today.)”
No one had a matchstick or a lighter to breathe heat from fire. The shell had landed too close which is also a closed space.
My face was burning.
But again my mind was racing like electricity.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” I asked myself.
If the police come in — we’re cornered.
Only way out was the way we came through the smoke-filled entrance.
Two minutes in that smoke, I nearly lost consciousness. Then suddenly, it quieted.
No one at the door. I knew right way the police were advancing, that’s why everything at the entrance was so quieted.
Can’t delay anymore.
In a split second — I tore through the gas cloud and ran like never before.
That’s what people called -Ran with life in hand.
Headed low, It felt like running through a battlefield.
I heard bullets behind me but I was on the side — I survived.
Finally reached the mouth of the Polashbagh alley.
And I think — of all the good decisions I’ve made in life, that run… ranks at the very top. Because just a moment later, I saw the police entering that house. I don’t know what happened to the brothers still trapped inside.
My body was still intact. But I had inhaled so much tear gas that I couldn’t even open my eyes. At the mouth of the Polashbagh alley, someone lit a fire.
Standing there, absorbing that heat, barely staying upright —
That’s when one of the most terrifying moments of my life happened.
I was just beside the main road to see what were police doing in that house and then Suddenly, the police fired from their end toward the alley’s entrance.
In a split second, I moved back —
And right then, I saw the man in the white panjabi who had been standing beside me
take a bullet to the leg.
He collapsed onto the ground.
He had been just one foot to my left. He was in front of the entrance and I was on the main road. A little bit aiming to the right could have ended my life right there.
One single foot saved me from getting shot.
I stood there, frozen in shock.
His white panjabi turned red with blood.
A few brothers lifted him onto a bike. But what I saw next — As he was being hoisted up, still hanging by the arms of men,
he cried out,
“Naraye Takbeer!”
Everyone replied,
“Allahu Akbar!”
He shouted again,
“Naraye Takbeer!”
And with the crowd, even I too said,
“Allahu Akbar!”
So many bodies were thrown onto the streets that day by police bullets,
even three hospitals couldn’t handle them all.
I saw the Red Crescent arrive. They cleared a space, spread mattresses on the road between two ambulances, and formed a temporary medical camp. Flags were planted around it. I went to pray in a nearby roadside mosque. While praying, I heard the sound of helicopters. From the sky, tear shells were being rained down upon hundreds of thousands of people.
As I finished prayer and stepped outside —
Just then, a tear shell dropped straight from a black helicopter onto the very place where Red Crescent workers had laid down their patients.
Two workers were injured and I inhaled the third tear shell of my life.
They had come to give care but in the end, the Red Crescent themselves were attacked.
Soon after, they quickly packed up the ambulances and left.
Photo 9: Taken at night — right here, Red Crescent had laid out their mattresses and set up camp.
And I found myself questioning the conscience of the dishonored RAB officers —
“Even after seeing the Red Crescent flag… you attacked them? Then I realized why Israelis attacked the aid workers in Palestine. Both are the same if given powers”
I stayed there until evening. And then I returned
— a witness to a massacre with my own eyes.
Endless thanks to Allah —
I thought I should offer two rakats of nafl prayer.
I had escaped bullets twice that day.
Had I not run out of that house…
Had I was who shot instead of that Punjabi wearing brother..
My life could have turned out very different.
Shukriya.
That night lived on —
The streets roared with the voices of protesters.
The revolution — I saw it with my own eyes.
In every face: rage, fury, defiance.
No matter how many millions of troops you deploy —
This fire will never die.
Woke up in the morning and headed out straight away.
Back on Rampura Main Road, I saw — at the mouth of one alley, two had become martyrs.
Couldn’t believe it — did the police fire live bullets? From point-blank range?
Right at the spot where they fell, people had used bricks to make an outline like they do with chalk at crime scenes.
Photo 7: Crime scene bordered with bricks –
Two reporters from Jamuna TV arrived. One of them said, “I leave my brother in your hands. Please save him. Tell him everything that happened.”
They filmed the scene.
I’m sure — of all the bloodied footage Jamuna TV has, not even a tenth has aired on television — out of fear of the government.
Even that morning, there were hundreds of thousands on the road. But this time, I noticed some unfamiliar faces — felt like they were from political groups, maybe.
After observing for about an hour, I returned home.
After Jummah prayers and lunch, I went out again.
This time, I walked a little and stayed near Better Life Hospital for about an hour.
Within that single hour, I think I saw around 30 bloodied bodies —
Someone shot in the hand,
Someone in the leg,
Someone in the head.
A 6–7 year old kid — shot in the stomach.
Limp, half-conscious bodies were being brought in by rickshaw into Better Life Hospital.
Even then, it was hard to accept — the police really fired live rounds?
Photo 8 : Rampura road’s wrecked morning condition
I decided to move closer.
Police, BGB — had set up temporary camps near BTV. Under the foot-over-bridge in front of BTV, police stood. About 70–80 meters ahead, near Delta Healthcare, was the frontline.
I walked to Delta. From outside, I heard cries. When I entered the hospital-
On the hospital’s ground floor lay a boy’s lifeless body, covered with cloth.
Beside him, his mother and an older man — weeping uncontrollably. People nearby told me the boy’s name was Samudra. They uncovered his face — he was maybe 18 or 19. Marks of rubber bullets on his chest, head, body but that didn’t kill him.
A live round — probably pierced through his wrist and into his chest, that round killed him.
That heartbreaking scene… I couldn’t stay long so I stepped out.
The clash still raged between the authoritarian police force and the people. Just beside Delta Hospital there was another hospital named Multi Healthcare. As I reached there, gunfire began again.
I stood pressed against the pharmacy wall of the Multi Healthcare, main road facing and saw, with my bare eyes —
A cold-blooded massacre.
Right in front of me, 6–7 people fell on the road from police fire.
Every shot, two people went down.
Absolute aimed firing, precise targets.
People rushed in however they could and dragged the injured back into the hospitals beside me.
Hospital Gates soaked in blood.
Better Life Hospital by then was drowning in it.
Two people entered Multi Healthcare —
One’s lower leg almost torn off, another likely shot in the chest.
Someone limped into Delta — seemed shot in the leg.
Then I saw a boy lying on the street at the first row frontline, like he was on Sijdah but his head was side facing instead of downwards, both hands laying on the ground.
No one dared go close because the bullets kept coming.
That scene — words fail.
Is he still alive? I don’t know.
If not, I witnessed a man being murdered right before my eyes.
The students and people surged forward again.
Some brought out steel sheets, tin, and iron plates from a nearby construction site. And from that, they made protective shields to survive the bullets. I even recognize a guy who used to iron my shirts. He is carrying cement block & positioning it like a shield to stop bullets.
It felt like watching a war documentary — everyone holding makeshift armor, marching to battle.
Though those thin sheets likely wouldn’t stop a real bullet, just seeing someone hold up armor ignited a courage in the crowd, no bullet on Earth could pierce that.
I couldn’t believe it — Bangladesh’s police and BGB firing live rounds on civilians?
And once again — the assault resumed.
More bullets.
People dropped to the ground like birds.
On rickshaws, in arms — bodies filled three nearby hospitals.
After a brief pause in the firing, I saw a familiar face in the crowd,
a younger brother I knew from the area. He was moving towards frontline.
He said, “Bhai, come on.” I was terrified. But seeing him move forward, I followed. He walked down the middle of the street. I stayed to the side, walking path. We crossed the hospitals again and getting closer to the frontline.
But maybe I went too far.
Suddenly — another round of firing started.
As I turned to run, I saw — we were now the front row of the frontline.
No chance to cross back before being shot.
So I pushed through the crowd and darted into a half-abandoned house. I know that house because in front of that house there was a portrait of “Sher-e-Bangla A K Fazlul Hoque”
But the moment I entered — I knew it was a mistake.
A tear shell dropped right in front of me, inside the house. All exits sealed, except for a tiny patch by the boundary. Eight or ten of us — trapped in tear gas.
It truly felt like, “Ajka Mone Hoy Ar Bachum Nah (Maybe I won’t survive today.)”
No one had a matchstick or a lighter to breathe heat from fire. The shell had landed too close which is also a closed space.
My face was burning.
But again my mind was racing like electricity.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” I asked myself.
If the police come in — we’re cornered.
Only way out was the way we came through the smoke-filled entrance.
Two minutes in that smoke, I nearly lost consciousness. Then suddenly, it quieted.
No one at the door. I knew right way the police were advancing, that’s why everything at the entrance was so quieted.
Can’t delay anymore.
In a split second — I tore through the gas cloud and ran like never before.
That’s what people called -Ran with life in hand.
Headed low, It felt like running through a battlefield.
I heard bullets behind me but I was on the side — I survived.
Finally reached the mouth of the Polashbagh alley.
And I think — of all the good decisions I’ve made in life, that run… ranks at the very top. Because just a moment later, I saw the police entering that house. I don’t know what happened to the brothers still trapped inside.
My body was still intact. But I had inhaled so much tear gas that I couldn’t even open my eyes. At the mouth of the Polashbagh alley, someone lit a fire.
Standing there, absorbing that heat, barely staying upright —
That’s when one of the most terrifying moments of my life happened.
I was just beside the main road to see what were police doing in that house and then Suddenly, the police fired from their end toward the alley’s entrance.
In a split second, I moved back —
And right then, I saw the man in the white panjabi who had been standing beside me
take a bullet to the leg.
He collapsed onto the ground.
He had been just one foot to my left. He was in front of the entrance and I was on the main road. A little bit aiming to the right could have ended my life right there.
One single foot saved me from getting shot.
I stood there, frozen in shock.
His white panjabi turned red with blood.
A few brothers lifted him onto a bike. But what I saw next — As he was being hoisted up, still hanging by the arms of men,
he cried out,
“Naraye Takbeer!”
Everyone replied,
“Allahu Akbar!”
He shouted again,
“Naraye Takbeer!”
And with the crowd, even I too said,
“Allahu Akbar!”
So many bodies were thrown onto the streets that day by police bullets,
even three hospitals couldn’t handle them all.
I saw the Red Crescent arrive. They cleared a space, spread mattresses on the road between two ambulances, and formed a temporary medical camp. Flags were planted around it. I went to pray in a nearby roadside mosque. While praying, I heard the sound of helicopters. From the sky, tear shells were being rained down upon hundreds of thousands of people.
As I finished prayer and stepped outside —
Just then, a tear shell dropped straight from a black helicopter onto the very place where Red Crescent workers had laid down their patients.
Two workers were injured and I inhaled the third tear shell of my life.
They had come to give care but in the end, the Red Crescent themselves were attacked.
Soon after, they quickly packed up the ambulances and left.
Photo 9: Taken at night — right here, Red Crescent had laid out their mattresses and set up camp.
And I found myself questioning the conscience of the dishonored RAB officers —
“Even after seeing the Red Crescent flag… you attacked them? Then I realized why Israelis attacked the aid workers in Palestine. Both are the same if given powers”
I stayed there until evening. And then I returned
— a witness to a massacre with my own eyes.
Endless thanks to Allah —
I thought I should offer two rakats of nafl prayer.
I had escaped bullets twice that day.
Had I not run out of that house…
Had I was who shot instead of that Punjabi wearing brother..
My life could have turned out very different.
Shukriya.
That night lived on —
The streets roared with the voices of protesters.
The revolution — I saw it with my own eyes.
In every face: rage, fury, defiance.
No matter how many millions of troops you deploy —
This fire will never die.
This article is the second installment in a three-part series by Md Abu Jafor Tusar.
