A mother’s prayer, gone unanswered
The gate to the emergency unit of Sheikh Hasina National Institute of Burn and Plastic Surgery was packed with relatives of Narayanganj mosque blast victims, journalists and curious onlookers on Friday night.
Normally the gate remains open round the clock, but due to influx of people following the blast, Ansar members on duty restricted entry for everyone except patients and healthcare professionals.
It was around 11:20pm when this reporter managed to enter the 18-storey health facility, purpose-built for burn patients, and the first thing that struck the eye was bloodstains all over the white-tiled floor.
Attending doctors and nurses were treating three burn victims in the emergency room -- bandaging the wound and giving other primary treatment before the patients were taken to the fifth floor.
The healthcare professionals' gait -- practically running across the room -- bore testament to the urgency of the situation.
A ward attendant was seen pushing a victim on a stretcher, mobbed by relatives of the patient. Hapless wails filled the air as they tried to help the attendant push the stretcher faster.
However, the pandemonium on the ground floor was only a small sign of what was happening on the fifth floor, where all 37 burn victims of the Narayanganj mosque blast were kept in a ward.
Anxious relatives were gathered in a room -- some of them weeping, others praying for their loved ones.
Some of them had blood on their shirts or panjabis. Most were barefoot, with mud on their feet telling of the mad rush to the hospital.
The moment this reporter entered the ward, it was like being hit by a wall -- with a bone-chilling collective scream of patients in intolerable agony.
"The situation is unbearable. Burn pain is incredible; we gave them morphine to relieve the pain. But when the whole floor is packed with so many patients, it is unbearable," Dr Hossain Imam, assistant director of the institute, told The Daily Star.
"Almost all the 37 patients suffered facial burn and all are in critical condition," his voice choked up.
Dead into the night, doctors, nurses and ward boys were trying everything they could to comfort the patients.
Some relatives of the victims were trying to convince an Ansar guard to go inside and have a look at their dear ones.
"Just wait. When the doctors leave, I will let you in. You should understand I can't help you now," the Ansar man pleaded, tears rolling down his face.
Amid the chaos, Rukshan Begum was pleading everyone around her to see her seven-year-old son and her husband.
"I just want to see my boy. My boy and my husband where praying in the mosque. They are now in the hospital. I want to see my boy," she begged.
"Allah, please take my life and give my son life," she repeated, her hands pointed up to the heavens in prayer.
Around 1am, an attending doctor updated this reporter that among the patients a seven-year-old boy name Jewel died.
The doctor said they will make the announcement later, to avoid a situation that might go beyond control.
It was an extremely difficult night for anyone inside the hospital. And as this reporter left the hospital after what was occupational hazard, he did not get the courage or audacity to tell the waling mother that her son was no more.
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