"Run, don't be afraid, I'm here"—these were the words of Milestone teacher Maherin Chowdhury. Standing in the face of the horrific plane crash, she tried to protect the children and showed them the way out.
In front of Maherin were small children, shaking in fear. They had no idea what nightmare had descended upon their beautiful school.
According to reports, she was able to save at least 20 children. But the flames engulfed her. Maherin could not survive the injuries.
Maherin's colleague Masuka Begum also died in the same incident. She was in a classroom when the plane hit the building. Masuka had always aspired to be a teacher. She believed her students were her children.
In our society, a teacher is often referred to as the "conscience" of the nation. Alongside their knowledge, intellect, and wisdom, they are entrusted with moral guidance. Teachers don't just educate within the confines of the classroom or stick strictly to textbook lessons. In the cultural tradition of the Indian subcontinent, the teacher is revered as the ultimate moral guide: guru param dharma.
I have been thinking about what was going through Maherin's mind in her final hours.
We heard her say on her deathbed, "The children were burning before my eyes. How could I stay silent? They are my children too. How could I leave them behind?"
It is in moments like this that the heart of a compassionate mother becomes one with that of a teacher.
I keep hearing her words inside myself, stirring the deepest corners of my being with grief.
It's as if Maherin reminded us: The wars, bloodshed, and victories of this world are real—yet not the ultimate truth.
Even amid the despair, decay, sorrow, and bitterness life throws at us, there is still light, there is still love. Perhaps some teachers are the true "peddlers of light". While they primarily impart education, they also teach us the lesson of life.
Am I writing this tribute out of mere professional affinity because I am a teacher? Not quite. A look at Bangladesh's social and cultural history reveals that teachers have always held a significant place. They have not only taught us how to question, but also how to lead and how to take responsibility.
We are reminded of Shaheed Syed Mohammad Shamsuzzoha, who stood before the bullets of the Pakistani military during the mass uprising of 1969. His only aim was to protect the lives of his students.
At the very birth of Bangladesh, teachers like JC Dev and Munier Chowdhury were assassinated because of what they stood for. They stood in support of the people's struggle for independence.
Even during the state of emergency in 2007, we saw teachers stand in solidarity with their students. They were imprisoned. They endured oppression and abuse.
The 2024 mass uprising was no exception. Many teachers stood up for the safety and well-being of their students. Some even placed themselves as shields in front of the gun.
The bond between teachers and students in Bangladesh is a historical one. That is why a book like "Joddyopi Amar Guru" could be written by Ahmed Sofa. The book is about Dhaka University professor Abdur Razzak. In it, the teacher emerges as a guiding friend, offering both affection and discipline.
That's why we rejoice in a teacher's leadership and sense of responsibility. We hold them in high esteem. And when we notice even the slightest lapse, for whatever reason, we feel disappointed and even angry. In other words, we want to see the teacher as a vessel of all virtues.
That's why we take pride in a teacher's leadership and sense of duty. We glorify them. And if we ever notice even a slight lapse in someone, for whatever reason, we feel upset. In essence, we want to see the teacher as an embodiment of all virtues.
I wonder if we hold such expectations for any other profession. We know many professionals whose personal ideals are rooted in a teacher. The person may be a bureaucrat or an architect by trade, yet at the core of their values lives the image of a schoolteacher.
In my own experience, I've seen how teachers unfold the vast canvas of life. Once you step beyond the boundaries of home and into the school grounds, the rest of the world begins to open up.
Looking at Maherin's sacrifice, I'm reminded again and again that in Bangladeshi society, a teacher's sense of duty knows no bounds. Those who embrace teaching with a sensitive heart willingly take on an even heavier burden of responsibility. And sometimes, that means putting their very lives at risk.
Maherin left behind a profoundly human example of a teacher's responsibility. The extent of her pain and loss is immeasurable. She had two children of her own. Yet, risking her own life, she became a source of ultimate refuge. By taking on the duty of protecting her young students, she preserved their dreams and potential.
As a teacher, I reflect on Maherin's unforgettable words "Run, don't be afraid, I'm here." Perhaps this very presence, this unwavering "being there" in moments of terror is the truest mark of a great teacher.
This is why we will remember Maherin.
The writer is a teacher of Bangla at Jahangirnagar University
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