Ria Gope- Photo: BSS

By Nusrat Supti

NARAYANGANJ, June 16, 2025 (BSS) – On what would have been her sixth birthday, little Ria Gope—a bright, spirited first-grader who loved dancing and reciting poetry—was remembered not with laughter, but with tears, as her grieving parents sat before a birthday cake lit with candles no child would blow out, mourning a life cruelly taken by a stray bullet.

On July 19, 2024, amidst fierce clashes between protesters and police in Narayanganj, five-year-old Riya ran to the rooftop out of curiosity, with her father Deepak Kumar close behind trying to bring her to safety. Just as he lifted her into his arms, a sudden, deafening gunshot struck her head, causing her to collapse lifelessly into his embrace, ending her young life in an instant.

A few weeks ago, her grieving parents placed a birthday cake in front of her photo and wept in silence. It was evening, the same as every year. Carrying a cake in his hands, Dipak Kumar returned home to celebrate his daughter’s birthday. But this time, no small feet rushed to the door. No soft voice called out, “Baba!” No little arms wrapped around him. The cake sat untouched. The candle flickered in silence. The girl who used to blow it out was no longer alive.

Riya Gope would have turned six this year.

“She was eating rice,” Riya’s mother recalled, staring at her daughter’s photo hanging on the wall. “We heard the sound of gunfire outside. She said, ‘Ma, I’m just going to take a look,’ and ran to the roof before I could stop her. That was the last time I heard her voice.”

That gunshot was part of the deadly clashes that erupted across the country during the 2024 anti-discrimination Student Movement that ousted the Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina ending  16 years of dictatorship.

In Narayanganj, like in many other cities, chaos broke out between students, people, and security forces. Riya, a first-grade student at Nayamati Government Primary School, had no idea what the sound was. Like any curious child, she ran to see.

Her father followed her. “I picked her up in my arms,” said Dipak, voice breaking. “Then suddenly, a sound like thunder—and I was soaked in blood. The bullet hit her head while she was in my arms. If I hadn’t picked her up, I would have died instead. But my daughter took my death upon herself.”

Riya was rushed to the hospital and kept in intensive care for three days. On July 24, doctors declared her dead.

Dipak hasn’t been able to sleep since that day. “How do you carry your own child’s dead body?” he asked. “How do you explain the weight of that pain? I held her, and the bullet found her. I keep thinking—if I hadn’t picked her up, I would be dead. But instead, I’m alive. And I feel like a corpse walking.”
Today, the fourth-floor apartment of Dinbandhu Market where the family lives is cloaked in stillness. When this reporter visited, an elderly woman—Riya’s grandmother, Mina Gope—opened the door.

“What is the point of talking now?” she said softly. “The one who left us is never coming back.”

Another little girl peeked from behind her—a cousin, Snigdha, who used to spend every waking moment with Riya. “She doesn’t talk much anymore,” Mina said. “She hides when she sees new people. It's like death has cast a shadow even on her childhood.”

“There was a time when both girls would run around the house all day. Riya was the livelier one. Now the entire home feels cold. Even Snigdha avoids the roof. Can you imagine? In my own house, I’m no longer safe. They shot my granddaughter on our roof. How do you live with that?”, said Mina Gope.

In a corner of the house, Ria’s mother Beauty Ghosh sat silently, eyes locked on her daughter’s photo. She broke down as she spoke. “It took us four and a half years of treatment to have Riya. She was our only child. She loved to dance, recite poems, and study. She had just come first in her class.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever have another child. Everyone tells me to try again. But who will pay for it? My father-in-law helped us the first time, but he’s gone. My husband—he’s not the same man anymore. Since Riya’s death, he’s been lost. He beats himself, cries in silence. He works in a clothing shop, but barely manages now. I keep asking God: bring her back, just once.”

The family did not file a case. “We don’t know who fired the shot,” Dipak said. “How can we accuse anyone?
 
Their neighbor, Mamun, added, “No one in the family goes out much now. Dipak barely goes to work. Every time I remember Riya’s blood-covered face, my heart breaks. ”