Md. Saidul Islam Yasin

From a Madrasa Student’s Dream to a Martyr’s Grave:
The Story of Shaheed Md. Saidul Islam Yasin
Serial: 778
ID: Dhaka City: 137
Martyr’s Identity
In the old heart of Dhaka, where the clamor of traffic collides with dust-laden alleyways, in a modest room in Brahman Chirn, Jatrabari, a quiet child was born. His name was Md. Saidul Islam Yasin. On a peaceful morning of January 1, 2005, he arrived in the arms of his mother, Shilpi Akhter, like a light breaking through the fog. His father, a humble grocer earning barely 15,000 BDT a month, smiled with pride despite the household’s poverty. This was a family of modest needs but boundless love.
Yasin studied at Kutubkhali Mahmudul Hasan Qawmi Madrasa, a student of the Mishkat class. Though deeply immersed in Islamic scholarship, he was not limited by books alone. His heart was stirred by injustice—by poverty, oppression, and state violence. He dreamed of one day studying in Deoband and becoming an Alim-e-Deen, a scholar in service of truth and humanity.
He played with friends, laughed often, and prayed fervently. But beyond his smile lay a deep resolve—to stand up against the corruption embedded in his society. When Dhaka’s streets ignited during the July 2024 anti-tyranny movement, Yasin emerged as a young but courageous voice.
A Voice in the Storm
As students and youth flooded the streets in protest against inequality, injustice, and authoritarian rule, Yasin joined the ranks—not out of political ambition, but out of duty. As a madrasa student, he recognized that knowledge without justice is incomplete. On August 4, at around 5 PM, he was attacked at Dholai Par by ruling-party student wing members (Chhatra League). Beaten brutally with hockey sticks, he collapsed but never submitted. Even while injured and in pain, he told friends at the hospital, “I will return tomorrow, Insha’Allah.”
True to his word, on August 5, he returned to the streets. In the days following the protests’ initial victories, Yasin became a source of inspiration. He coordinated student efforts to direct traffic, helped organize nighttime patrols when police abandoned their posts, and uplifted the spirits of his fellow protestors. His quiet leadership drew admiration—and made him a target.
Targeted for Courage
On the night of August 13, a group of 15–20 Chhatra League operatives disguised as students infiltrated the protestor patrols near the police station. They identified Yasin as the leader who was inspiring others and began laying a trap. As the night deepened, most students left—but Yasin and a few others remained.
At 3:30 AM, Yasin’s mother called him. “Baba, when will you return home?” He replied softly, “In the morning, Ma.”
That was the last time she heard his voice.
Just before dawn on August 14, Yasin went to a nearby shop to buy water. It was then that the assailants struck. They ambushed him, beat him mercilessly, and left his injured body near the police station. After others had left, the attackers dragged him inside a room at the station, beat him again, and abandoned him there. Around 9 AM, one of the assailants used Yasin’s phone to call his mother and coldly stated, “Someone beat your son. He’s lying in the station.” They then smashed the phone.
Rushing alone to the scene, Shilpi Akhter found her son unconscious. Asked who had done this, Yasin—barely able to speak—pointed toward a few young men outside. Recognizing the danger, she took him first to a nearby private hospital. Realizing the gravity of his condition, doctors referred him to Dhaka Medical College Hospital.
At 10:55 AM, on August 14, 2024, Yasin was declared dead.
A Mother's Silent Grief
After losing her son, Shilpi Akhter fell into a silence as cold as stone.
“My son would call me three times when he entered the house—‘Ma, O Ma, where are you?’ I once asked, ‘Why call me thrice?’ He said, ‘Ma, your love is worth three mothers.’” Now, that voice is gone.
Her husband battles illness with a tumor in his body. Her daughter’s education now hangs in uncertainty. Yasin’s younger sister Sadia Islam Suraiya cries, “My brother used to drop me to school. He’d hide my toys and laugh. Who will do that now? I have no one left to call ‘bhai’.”
A Martyr in Our Memory
Yasin was more than just a madrasa student—he was gentle, respectful, devoted. His life was a testament to decency, his death a testament to brutality. The sky of August bore witness to how this state silences even its most innocent. His dream was to become a scholar, to serve humanity, to ensure his mother would never again have to visit NGOs for microloans.
Now, by his grave, that mother stands and says:
“No one can ever take my son’s place.”
Where the Martyr Sleeps
He rests in eternal silence at this GPS location: The boy who once dreamt of serving God and humanity now lies beneath the soil—his name etched into history by blood, not ink; by courage, not fear.
Saidul Islam Yasin is no longer with us—but his sacrifice is not in vain. History will remember the madrasa boy who stood firm against tyranny. It will remember the mother who wakes each night hearing her son’s final “Ma” in her dreams. It will remember how a child of poverty became a symbol of resistance.
Martyr's Snapshot
Field Details
Full Name Md. Saidul Islam Yasin
Date of Birth 21 January 2005
Place of Birth Dhaka
Occupation Student
Institution Kutubkhali Mahmudul Hasan Qawmi Madrasa
Class Mishkat
Father’s Name Md. Sakhawat Hossain (Grocery Shop Owner)
Mother’s Name Shilpi Akhter (Housewife)
Monthly Income BDT 15,000
Current & Permanent Address Brahman Chirn, Saidabad, Jatrabari, Dhaka
Incident Location Dholai Par, Dhaka
Assailants Members of Chhatra League
First Attack Date 4 August 2024
Fatal Attack Date Early Morning, 14 August 2024
Time of Death 14 August 2024, 10:55 AM
Grave Location Jurain Cemetery (GPS: 23.715960, 90.430681)
Recommendations
1. Support the father's small business with working capital or micro-enterprise development assistance.
2. Provide educational scholarships to Yasin’s younger sister.
3. Arrange for permanent housing for the bereaved family to ensure dignity and stability.