By the time Sharif Osman Hadi was laid to rest, grief had already spilled far beyond the grave.
On Saturday afternoon, beneath a winter sky heavy with silence, the spokesperson of the Inqilab Mancha was buried beside the grave of Bangladesh's national poet Kazi Nazrul Islam, near the central mosque of Dhaka University. It was 4pm when the final rites were completed, but long before that hour, the country seemed to have gathered to say goodbye.
Colleagues stood with tear-streaked faces, struggling to remain upright. Many wept openly. Others clenched their fists and made a vow: the struggle Hadi had begun would not end with his death. "The love of millions proves one thing," a fellow activist said quietly. "Martyr Hadi is far more powerful than Hadi ever was in life."
The janaza prayers drew an unprecedented crowd. The field in front of the National Parliament complex was filled to capacity. Thousands more, unable to enter, lined Manik Mia Avenue, standing in silence, eyes wet with tears, participating from afar. Many said they had never witnessed a funeral of such scale in their lifetime.
Before the prayers, Bangladesh's chief adviser, Professor Muhammad Yunus, addressed the crowd. His voice trembled as he spoke directly to the man they had come to bury. "Dear Osman Hadi," he said, "we have not come here to bid you farewell. You live inside our hearts. As long as Bangladesh exists, you will remain in the hearts of all Bangladeshis. No one can remove you from there."
Beside him stood Hadi's elder brother, Abu Bakar Siddique, who later led the funeral prayers himself. In a brief but deeply personal address, he recalled memories of his brother and asked the nation to pray for his soul. As he spoke, the crowd broke down. The sound of collective grief rolled across the field like a wave.
Even before the janaza began, people were seen raising their hands toward the sky, whispering prayers through tears. Others chanted slogans that echoed across the capital: "Who are you, who am I? Hadi, Hadi - we will all become Hadi." Another cry followed: "Justice, justice, we demand justice for Hadi's killing."
After the prayers, Hadi's body was carried by ambulance to the burial site at Dhaka University. The procession moved slowly, as if time itself had resisted the moment. When the grave was finally sealed, many remained standing, unwilling to leave.
As evening fell into night, the crowd did not thin. Ordinary citizens continued to arrive to see the grave, to offer prayers, to stand quietly in reflection. Outside the university mosque and near Nazrul's mausoleum, people waited patiently for a glimpse. Some prayed from a distance; others waited their turn to approach the grave. A few took photos, perhaps to preserve proof that they had been present at a moment they knew would enter history.
Sharif Osman Hadi's death has transformed him into a symbol larger than the movement he represented. In life, he spoke for resistance. In death, he has become its embodiment. And in the hearts of those who gathered by the thousands, his absence feels less like an ending than a beginning still demanding its conclusion.
mirmostafiz@yahoo.com
