Saturday, 18 January, 2025
On the 22nd day of his life, two pivotal events unfolded—one marking the fall of an autocratic government in a massive uprising, and the other, far more personal, was the loss of his father, who was brutally beaten to death, not succumbing to natural death.
Mohammad Jawad, the baby born into this world, would grow up witnessing other children basking in the love and affection of their fathers—a love he would never know, as his father, Saiful Islam Shanto, embraced martyrdom on August 5, joining the victory procession after the fall of the autocracy.
At best, Jawad could only imagine what his life would have been like if his father had lived—that embrace, that simple act of a father holding his son. It would remain an unfulfilled longing in his heart.
Shanto, a 26-year-old knit factory worker, left behind his young wife, Falguni Yasmin, in her mid-20s, and their infant son, Jawad. His death brought unimaginable grief, compounded by the circumstances—he was killed when he went out to celebrate the fall of the autocracy, never to return.
The details of his death remain shrouded in mystery for his grieving father, Abdul Matin, 62, and elder brother, Hafiz Al Faisal, 34, who are still in the dark about who was responsible for the brutal beating that claimed Shanto's life in front of Jatrabari Police Station.
Yasmin, still in shock, recalls the moment with painful clarity: “I was on the balcony with our baby in my arms when my husband appeared in front of the house and told me he was going to join the celebrations,” she said, her voice breaking as tears flowed. “That was the last time he saw our son. He promised he’d return, but he never did.”
At around 5:20 pm, Yasmin learned that her husband had been killed. “I lost everything... He will never return... I don’t know what my son’s future holds... He never even had a chance to know his father,” she sobbed, her heart shattered by the harsh reality.
The couple, married for nearly two years, had welcomed their son on July 14, 2024, nearly two years after their wedding. Yasmin, overcome with grief, mourned her husband’s untimely death, questioning, “What was my husband’s crime? Why was he killed?” As family members and neighbours gathered, Yasmin demanded justice, calling for capital punishment for her husband’s killers.
Shanto was the second of three children born to Matin and Nilufa. His family, living together in a joint household, now bears the weight of an unimaginable loss. "There is no grief greater than burying your son," Matin said, his words heavy with the unbearable pain of a father's heartache.
Faisal, Shanto’s elder brother, recalled the confusion and terror of that day. “When the city was in turmoil following the fall of the regime, we tried to join the celebration at Shahbag but decided to turn back. As I reached Dholaipar, I was informed by one of Shanto’s friends that he had been severely beaten by a mob. By the time I arrived at Dhaka Medical College Hospital, it was too late—my brother was already gone.”
The shock of his brother's death left Faisal numb. “When I arrived at the hospital, I was told there was nothing that could be done. I was so lost in the grief, I didn’t even think to ask for medical documents. I just wanted to take my brother home.”
Shanto’s lifeless body was brought back to their home after the Magrib prayers, and that same evening, he was laid to rest at Mirhazirbagh Boro Bari Graveyard, leaving behind a grieving wife, a son who would never know his father's love and a family broken by the cruel hand of fate.
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On the 22nd day of his life, two pivotal events unfolded—one marking the fall of an autocratic government in a massive uprising, and the other, far more personal, was the loss of his father, who was brutally beaten to death, not succumbing to natural death.
Mohammad Jawad, the baby born into this world, would grow up witnessing other children basking in the love and affection of their fathers—a love he would never know, as his father, Saiful Islam Shanto, embraced martyrdom on August 5, joining the victory procession after the fall of the autocracy.
At best, Jawad could only imagine what his life would have been like if his father had lived—that embrace, that simple act of a father holding his son. It would remain an unfulfilled longing in his heart.
Shanto, a 26-year-old knit factory worker, left behind his young wife, Falguni Yasmin, in her mid-20s, and their infant son, Jawad. His death brought unimaginable grief, compounded by the circumstances—he was killed when he went out to celebrate the fall of the autocracy, never to return.
The details of his death remain shrouded in mystery for his grieving father, Abdul Matin, 62, and elder brother, Hafiz Al Faisal, 34, who are still in the dark about who was responsible for the brutal beating that claimed Shanto's life in front of Jatrabari Police Station.
Yasmin, still in shock, recalls the moment with painful clarity: “I was on the balcony with our baby in my arms when my husband appeared in front of the house and told me he was going to join the celebrations,” she said, her voice breaking as tears flowed. “That was the last time he saw our son. He promised he’d return, but he never did.”
At around 5:20 pm, Yasmin learned that her husband had been killed. “I lost everything... He will never return... I don’t know what my son’s future holds... He never even had a chance to know his father,” she sobbed, her heart shattered by the harsh reality.
The couple, married for nearly two years, had welcomed their son on July 14, 2024, nearly two years after their wedding. Yasmin, overcome with grief, mourned her husband’s untimely death, questioning, “What was my husband’s crime? Why was he killed?” As family members and neighbours gathered, Yasmin demanded justice, calling for capital punishment for her husband’s killers.
Shanto was the second of three children born to Matin and Nilufa. His family, living together in a joint household, now bears the weight of an unimaginable loss. "There is no grief greater than burying your son," Matin said, his words heavy with the unbearable pain of a father's heartache.
Faisal, Shanto’s elder brother, recalled the confusion and terror of that day. “When the city was in turmoil following the fall of the regime, we tried to join the celebration at Shahbag but decided to turn back. As I reached Dholaipar, I was informed by one of Shanto’s friends that he had been severely beaten by a mob. By the time I arrived at Dhaka Medical College Hospital, it was too late—my brother was already gone.”
The shock of his brother's death left Faisal numb. “When I arrived at the hospital, I was told there was nothing that could be done. I was so lost in the grief, I didn’t even think to ask for medical documents. I just wanted to take my brother home.”
Shanto’s lifeless body was brought back to their home after the Magrib prayers, and that same evening, he was laid to rest at Mirhazirbagh Boro Bari Graveyard, leaving behind a grieving wife, a son who would never know his father's love and a family broken by the cruel hand of fate.
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