A Heart-Wrenching Evening at the Burn Institute: Grief and Desperation Follow Plane Crash at Milestone School

Dhaka, July 22, 2025 – The atmosphere outside the National Burn and Plastic Surgery Institute was heavy with sorrow on Monday evening, as cries, wails, and desperate pleas for blood donations filled the air. The tragic plane crash at Milestone School and College left many injured, with victims rushed to the institute for treatment. Families and loved ones gathered, their faces etched with anxiety, grief, and shock.

Stepping into the emergency ward, one is met with a sea of worried faces. Some eyes are teary, others vacant and stunned, as relatives await news of their loved ones. The crash at Milestone School dominated conversations, with stories of loss and survival echoing through the hospital corridors. At the help desk, a middle-aged woman was seen sobbing uncontrollably. She is the mother of Borhan Uddin, a third-grader at Milestone School. Clutching her son’s photo, she learned he was admitted to the institute. “My son is very timid. He left for school around 8 AM. I just want to see him,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. In another heart-wrenching moment, a middle-aged man named Rubel collapsed in tears on the floor after receiving news of his son Tanvir Ahmed’s death. Rubel, a private sector employee, has two sons at Milestone School. His elder son, Tanvir, an eighth-grader, was on the school bus during the crash and did not survive, while his younger son, a fourth-grader, escaped unharmed. Inside the hospital, treatment for the crash victims was underway on the third and fourth floors, with the intensive care unit (ICU) located on the fourth. A whiteboard near the entrance listed the names of the injured and their ICU bed numbers, along with the severity of their burns. Among them were Shayan Yusuf (95% burns), Mahtab (85% burns), and Mahiya Tasnim (50% burns), with nine names in total, all suffering from severe respiratory burns. Near the whiteboard, Mohammad Yusuf, a teacher at Milestone School and father of seventh-grader Shayan Yusuf, stood with tearful eyes, speaking on the phone. “I’m not okay. My son is in the ICU,” he said before breaking down in tears. Outside, volunteers and security forces were actively managing the situation, distributing water, saline, and dry food. Army personnel restricted public access to the hospital entrance to maintain order. Many gathered to donate blood, though announcements via loudspeaker stated that blood was not needed at the moment. Still, people like Asadul Islam, with O-positive blood, remained hopeful. “It may not be needed now, but it might be later. These kids are gone, brother,” he said, his voice heavy with grief. As night fell, ambulances continued to arrive, their sirens piercing the air. Volunteers rushed to clear crowds from the roads. Inside, time seemed to stand still as families moved from ward to ward, searching for their loved ones. Doctors and nurses, visibly exhausted, worked tirelessly to save lives. This night was not just a tragedy for the hospital but a nightmare for the entire city. The scars of this disaster will linger, not only in the hearts of those who lost loved ones but also in the collective memory of those who survived.