Fighter jet crashes at Milestone School: Father recognises son by red watch

Saad Salah Uddin, 9, did not attend school on Sunday—the day before the plane crash—due to a cold. On Monday, the day of the incident, he went to school in tears because it was his favourite place. He loved his classmates and friends. In the devastating fire, Saad lost his life along with his dear friends and classmates. His father Salah Uddin Mukul identified his son at the morgue by the red watch he had been wearing.

Saad was a third grader in the Bangla medium section at Milestone School and College. The aircraft had crashed directly on top of Saad's classroom.

According to official reports, as of now, 32 people have died in the crash that occurred on Monday at the main campus building of Milestone School and College. Most of the victims are children.

On Wednesday, around 10:45 am, the atmosphere at Saad’s home in Diabari was one of deep mourning. Relatives had gathered. Upon hearing the news of Saad’s death, his uncle Alauddin Tutul, who lives in Oman, flew back to Bangladesh with his family.

Another uncle, Mohammad Masud, was expected to arrive from Australia today, Thursday. Saad's father, Salah Uddin Mukul, sat silently in the living room, overcome with grief.

In another room, his mother, Khukumoni Akhtar, surrounded by relatives, kept breaking into sobs. She had no words, only tears. Saad was the eldest of the two children. His younger sister, Sara, is only two years old.

Next to Saad's bed, his study table remained neatly arranged with books and notebooks. Alongside the red watch, there was also a blue watch on the shelf—also Saad’s.

His grandmother, Beauty Akhtar, was wailing while holding his clothes. When Saad was scolded by his parents for being mischievous, he would seek refuge with his grandmother.

Amid sobs, she said, “When the boys called from abroad, I realised something terrible had happened. Then I turned on the TV and saw that it was like doomsday.”

Saad’s paternal and maternal grandparents live in Munshiganj. His family lives in a rented apartment in Diabari. Relatives had instructed others not to ask the grieving parents about Saad until his father spoke himself.

Over four hours after the crash, Saad’s body was found in the morgue of the Combined Military Hospital (CMH) in Dhaka. Before that, family members had frantically searched several hospitals. His uncle, Abu Sayeed Milon, was with Saad’s parents during this time.

Abu Sayeed told Prothom Alo that after hearing about the crash, Saad’s father rushed from work and his mother from home to the school. Later, he joined them. At the school, they couldn't find Saad. Someone informed them that many burned children had been taken to the hospital. They began searching in three hospitals in Uttara, then in Kurmitola General Hospital, among patients and in morgues—but Saad was nowhere to be found.

Another group of relatives checked Dhaka Medical College Hospital, the National Institute of Burn and Plastic Surgery, and a private hospital, but still no trace of him. Finally, they went to CMH and searched among the patients, but Saad was not there either. They even posted on Facebook for help. At that time, some false callers gave fake information claiming they had found Saad, which only added to the family’s anguish.

Abu Sayeed said Saad’s father’s boss lent them his car to search for Saad. They traveled from hospital to hospital in it. When Saad was not found among the patients at CMH, Abu Sayeed went to the morgue alone with Saad’s photo, leaving the parents in the car. The morgue staff informed him there were three child victims but said that only parents were allowed to identify bodies. He then returned with Saad’s devastated father.

At the morgue, the staff asked for a description of Saad’s clothing. The description matched. Saad had been wearing a red wristwatch and navy-blue pants. After seeing these, his father confirmed the body was Saad’s.

Abu Sayeed said Saad’s face had turned black, his shirt was burned around the stomach area, parts of both hands and some hair were scorched. However, his watch, pants, and socks were mostly intact. After the identification, it became nearly impossible to control Saad’s parents. His mother immediately fainted.

CMH authorities, after some formalities, handed over the body without an autopsy at around 10:00 pm. That night, following the janaza at 11:00 pm beneath their building, Saad was buried in the graveyard at Mirpur Section 10, where his grandfather was also laid to rest.

Saad’s uncle from Oman, Alauddin Tutul, told Prothom Alo that Saad had been attending Milestone School since nursery. Initially, he was in the English version, but this year he was enrolled in the Bangla medium. The English version classrooms were on the opposite side from where the plane crashed.

Alauddin said Saad’s father used to drop him off at school on his way to work. Classes ended at 1:00 pm, and coaching started at 1:30 pm. In that 30-minute break, the children would have lunch. When the plane crashed, the children were eating. Expressing his frustration, he questioned how a training aircraft was allowed to fly over a densely populated area.

At that point, Saad’s father Salah Uddin Mukul spoke for the first time. His voice trembled with anger. He said, “If the training plane hadn’t flown like that, my son wouldn’t have died. No one else’s child would have had to die. There’s no need to write a story about my son. If you report on this, write about who is responsible. Ensure they are brought to justice. Only then will I believe you’ve done something.”

His anger continued: “When I saw that the plane had fallen on my son’s classroom, I knew he was gone. One of his classmates had gone out to buy chips, and another stepped out for food. Only those two survived. None of the others did. My son is gone. His friends are gone. The official death toll can’t be so low. They’re spreading false numbers. Many children were burned to ashes. Our children deserve to be recognised as martyrs, with full state honors.” With those words, the grieving father fell silent again.