Saiful Islam

Born on August 6, 1997, Mohammad Saiful Islam would be martyred in the same month, just before his birthday, in 2024—shot by state forces. A cruel twist of poetic destiny.
His home was in the verdant village of Bara Kotha in Uzirpur Upazila, Barisal—on the river’s edge, where the soil is tilled with the sweat of the poor. His father, Chan Mia, was a farmer—now deceased. His mother, Saleha Begum, still works as a domestic helper in Dhaka’s slums, moving from home to home with a towel wrapped over her shoulder. She is over 62, her eyes clouded with cataracts, yet her back still bears the burden of the household.
Saiful had one brother and four sisters:
His only brother, Al Amin, works as a garage manager from dawn to dusk. The four sisters—Runa, Suma, Nipa, and Sharmin—survive in garments factories or as housewives. A family where every member was born indebted; where dreams meant debt, and life meant slow erosion.
Saiful was the middle child. By profession, a driver—but in spirit, a dreamer. His life unfolded on the gridlocked roads of Dhaka, between honking horns and blaring engines. Yet inside him resided a quiet visionary, who dreamt of someday owning his own garage—a place where workers would be treated as humans, and wages would be seen as dignity.
But that dream shattered on July 19, 2024. Near Rampura’s kitchen market, while protests raged, Saiful stood with a banner in his hand—part of the crowd. His crime in the eyes of the state? That he was poor, young, and—most importantly—a representative of the invisible class.
He was shot in the abdomen. The bullet struck the very stomach that had fought so many battles against hunger for the family. He was rushed to Better Life Hospital. There, in a horrifying act of neglect, doctors stitched him up without removing the bullet—as if they wanted death to arrive slowly, painfully. This medical cruelty, this cold torture, did not just ensure the death of a young protester; it turned him into a symbol of destruction.
Saiful returned home. For twelve excruciating hours, he suffered. In those final moments, he cried out again and again:
“Ma, my stomach is burning.”
His mother’s lap was soaked in blood. The agony echoed through their home, through their village, through the city’s silent concrete walls.
Saiful was not just a martyr. He was the voice of a class. A people crushed beneath poverty and systemic neglect. His death reminds us that the state’s execution orders are not always delivered with a bullet; sometimes, they come through hospital indifference, public apathy, and our fearful silence.
Context of the Uprising
July 2024—a new calendar etched in red in Bangladesh’s political history. The quota reform protests that started with students quickly evolved into a mass uprising. The demand for “an end to discrimination” became a survival cry for the working class, the landless, the overlooked.
From Dhaka to Chittagong to Rajshahi—the fire spread. Saiful Islam stood among them—not a leader, not a public face. No microphone, no media coverage. Yet each second of his life had been a quiet protest against state inequality and injustice.
On July 19 at 2:30 PM, in the Rampura kitchen market, the police opened fire. A bullet entered Saiful’s abdomen—the very stomach that had for years kept a family alive. He was taken to the hospital, but no surgery was performed. Instead, he was stitched up and sent home. As if the goal was not survival, but a prolonged execution.
He survived the night, barely. At 7:00 AM the next day—July 20—he died at home. Not from blood loss, but from a nation’s silence. From the betrayal of a health system, from society’s quiet complicity.
Family’s Agony and the Silent Humiliation After Death
Saiful’s brother Al Amin recalls:
“They stitched his belly shut, with the bullet still inside.”
It wasn’t just medical negligence. It was a new kind of violence—a silent killing disguised as care.
That night at home, Saiful writhed in pain. “Water… I need water,” he whispered, but his eyes said more. His mother watched the burn in her son’s belly. Al Amin stood by helpless, trying to understand how much agony one must endure to no longer ask to be saved.
Dhaka woke up that morning. Children went to school. The city moved on. But Saiful did not. He died. Quietly. In a home where dreams used to whisper and now only wailing remained.
His body was taken to his village. No sirens, no flags, no salutes. Just a nameless body wrapped in a white cloth. No one asked, “Who died?” No one screamed, “How many more?”
He was buried in Bara Kotha, under the soil of poverty that had raised him.
His death didn’t make headlines.
No minister called.
No leader tweeted.
No news channel aired his story.
Yet his family knows: Saiful was not just a driver. He was an unnamed soldier in the people’s war of 2024. The bullet in his stomach is now etched into the people’s memory—an invisible scar on the nation's soul.
Summary of Martyr’s Personal Details
• Full Name: Mohammad Saiful Islam
• Profession: Private Car Driver
• Date of Birth: August 6, 1997
• Place of Birth: Bara Kotha, Uzirpur, Barisal
• Age at Time of Death: 26
• Father: Late Md. Chan Mia
• Mother: Saleha Begum, age 62, domestic worker
• Siblings: 5 (1 brother, 4 sisters)
o Brother: Md. Al Amin (28), garage manager
o Sisters: Runa (38), Suma (37), Sharmin (33) – homemakers; Nipa (31) – garments worker
• Permanent Address: Bara Kotha, Dhamura Post Office, Ward-02, Uzirpur, Barisal
• Current Dhaka Address: 667/3 Jahabok Lane, Moghbazar/Gabtola, Ramna/Hatirjheel Thana, Dhaka-1217
• Injury Location: Rampura Kitchen Market, Dhaka
• Injury Date & Time: July 19, 2024, 2:30 PM
• Injury Description: Shot in the abdomen during protest; bullet not removed
• Death: July 20, 2024, 7:00 AM, at his residence in Moghbazar
• Burial Location: Bara Kotha village, Uzirpur, Barisal
Recommendations
1. One-time compensation and monthly allowance for the martyr’s family
2. Social security stipend for mother Saleha Begum during her lifetime
3. Employment assistance or government support for his elder brother Al Amin