Oorbee Shom is a renowned Nazrul Sangeet and classical music artist and teacher. As a former student of Government Music College, she completed her B. Music and M. Music in Nazrul Sangeet from the same institution, securing first class in M. Music. She is currently teaching at Government Music College.
Three decades after Yasmin’s murder, the crisis against which Dinajpur rose up has not disappeared; rather, in some respects, it has returned with an even more frightening face. A particular piece of information from the Bangladesh Mahila Parishad’s “Violence Against Women and Girls: 2025 Survey” is especially heart-wrenching: according to the survey, girls aged six to nine are at the highest risk among child victims of rape. At an age when a child should be holding a doll in her arms, she is instead becoming a victim of brutality. There can be no deeper social shame than this. According to the organisation’s latest figures, in just the first five months of 2026 (January to May), 1,035 women and girls were victims of violence, including 250 rape victims, 65 victims of gang rape, and 18 who were raped and then killed. And these figures represent only incidents reported in newspapers; it is easy to assume that the actual number of unreported and suppressed cases is many times higher.
Various sources indicate that the rate of children going missing in Bangladesh is rising at an alarming pace. According to data held by the Police Headquarters, 15,917 cases were filed as general diaries (GDs) at police stations across the country over the seven months from January to July this year, following reports of children going missing. That amounts to an average of 2,274 GDs a month and more than 75 a day. In other words, a report of a missing child was filed at a police station every 20 to 21 minutes.
Vast in size but calm by nature. Seen from afar, the Indian Ocean may appear that way. Blue waters. Long maritime routes. Rows of commercial vessels. But over the past decade, the picture has changed. Major construction projects have begun across the ocean. Deep-sea ports in some places. Long runways in others. Military bases elsewhere.
The Daspara village in Rangpur appears unusually silent even after four members of the same family were murdered. Four people were killed inside a house in the densely populated neighbourhood, yet residents of neighbouring houses say they knew nothing and heard no screams. The victims were Ganapati Chakraborty, his wife Pritilata Chakraborty, their daughter Agami Chakraborty Prarthi, and son Ayush Chakraborty Priyam.
Nine years ago this month, nearly 1.2 million Rohingya fled Rakhine State to Bangladesh to escape brutal military crackdowns in Myanmar. When they crossed the border, they believed they were seeking temporary shelter and would soon find an opportunity to return to their homeland. But nine years on, that wait remains unending. What was meant to be a temporary refuge has, over time, turned into a seemingly permanent exile.
Rangpur Metropolitan DB Police has revealed why Mugdha Das and Siddhartha Chandra Das came into the police’s list of suspicion in the murder of Ganapati Chakrabarti and three members of his family in Kamalkachna Machuapara (Daspara) area of Rangpur metropolis. Alongside, several detailed pieces of information from before and after the arrest have come up citing locals.
Bablu Kumar Biswas, assistant professor of the Forensic Medicine Department of Rangpur Medical College Hospital, has said that there are no signs of rape on the bodies of the deceased mother and daughter of retired teacher Ganapati Chakravarty of Machuapara in Rangpur city. On the other hand, a mortuary worker (dom) has told Views Bangladesh that the mother and daughter may have been raped before the murder.
On the dawn of August 24, 1995, the lifeless, bloodied body of a teenage girl lay by the roadside in front of the BRAC office at Raniganj intersection in Dinajpur town. Her name was Yasmin Akter. According to Bangladesh Mahila Parishad and most reliable accounts, she was only 14 years old. At an age when a girl should have been carrying schoolbooks, Yasmin’s lifeless body lay on a city street in the early morning light. She had been working as a domestic helper in a Dhaka household and was travelling by bus to return to her mother in Dinajpur.
In the official narrative of Pakistan, the term "peace" is associated with a troubling history. Elections occur, parliament convenes, and prime ministers are sworn in; however, alongside political authority looms an unseen presence—the military chief of the country, whose sway often surpasses that of the elected prime minister. When political ties between the central government and a peripheral region deteriorate, the discourse of dialogue is swiftly supplanted by the discourse of security.
Today, I wish to share a narrative regarding a darkness that the media in Bangladesh is hesitant to confront. It is a realm afflicted by exploitation, disdain, and humiliation, yet none of the nation’s prominent editors, tenacious investigative journalists, esteemed columnists, or well-known talk-show commentators appear capable of addressing its suffering.
In October 2025, just before Durga Puja, the price of a one-kilogram hilsa rose to around Tk2,900 at Dhaka’s Karwan Bazar. Yet the fisherman who spends night after night casting his net in the Meghna estuary often cannot afford to put even a piece of hilsa on his own children’s plates for months on end.