Babies Who Never Saw the World

In a nursery in Islamabad,

it was not merely a fire that broke out

dreams were turned to ashes…

Nisar Banbhan

Hailing from Village Mir Muhammad Banbhan, Taluka Mirwah, District Khapurpur and based in Karachi, the capital of Sindh, Nisar Banbhan is a seasoned professional with nearly 25 years of multifaceted experience, encompassing 3 years in journalism and over two decades of service in a public sector organization. His extensive expertise spans content creation, scriptwriting, screenwriting, lyrics, poetry, and storytelling across multiple languages, including Sindhi, Urdu, and English. Nisar has honed his skills in writing articles, columns, and short stories, contributing to various national and regional media outlets. Additionally, he brings a deep understanding of program development, educational advocacy, and strategic planning, having led initiatives that promote quality education and foster community empowerment. His passion for literature and education merges seamlessly, enabling him to craft impactful narratives that resonate with diverse audiences while driving meaningful change in society. 

The Babies Who Never Even Got to See the World

In a nursery in Islamabad,

it was not merely a fire that broke out

dreams were turned to ashes,

prayers were silenced,

and the arms of mothers

were left empty forever.

 

Fourteen tiny lives, they say,

were swallowed by the flames

fourteen little souls

who had not yet seen

their mothers’ faces,

held their fathers’ fingers,

or whispered their first word

into the waiting world.

 

They were like

the first light of dawn,

fragile as drops of dew,

tender as unopened flowers,

each one a whole lifetime

wrapped inside a mother’s prayer.

For nine long months,

a mother had carried

another heartbeat beneath her own,

nurturing an entire universe

beneath her heart.

 

A father had already begun

building a sky of dreams

around a child

he had barely met.

Homes were waiting

for their first laughter,

courtyards for their first footsteps,

and hearts for a new beginning.

 

But they fell silent

before life had even

begun to speak.

 

Perhaps the fire began

with a faulty machine,

a single spark,

an electrical failure,

or a moment of carelessness.

 

But the death of fourteen newborns

cannot simply be called

an accident.

Fire may be an accident.

Smoke may be an accident.

A spark may be an accident.

But negligence

is the locked door

standing between life and death.

 

Negligence is the hand

that did not reach the alarm in time.

It is the emergency exit

that remained closed

when every second

was worth a life.

 

It is the moment

when a tiny child

needed a pair of arms

and no arms arrived.

 

We are told

that emergency exits were locked,

doors could not be opened,

and firefighters

had to break through a wall

to reach the nursery.

 

Then what were those exits for

if they could not become a way out

when life was running out of time?

What were the alarms for

if they could not cry out

before those innocent breaths

fell silent?

 

What were the safety systems for

if they could not stand

between the flames

and a newborn’s fragile life?

And where was the training

that should have taught

every hand in that ward

how to save a child?

But above all,

one question remains

Why were the babies the ones who died?

 

They could not run.

They could not open a door.

They could not call for help.

They were as helpless

as a bird beneath a storm,

as delicate as a flower

before the first touch of winter.

 

They had come into this world

only to learn how to live.

Today, somewhere outside a ward,

a father stands alone

empty hands,

tear-filled eyes,

and a question

burning deeper than fire:

Where is my child?

 

Somewhere,

a mother is crying

to hold her shattered world

one more time.

She carries no explanation

in her hands,

no consolation in her heart

only an empty lap,

a silent room,

and a question

no official file

will ever be able to answer.

 

O City of Power!

How many committees will be formed?

How many statements will be issued?

How many words of sorrow

will be written on official pages?

But committees

cannot return fourteen breaths.

Investigations are necessary

but before investigation,

there must be responsibility.

 

And after responsibility

there must be accountability.

These children

belonged to no politics,

no institution,

no ideology.

They were simply human.

 

A mother’s prayer.

A father’s hope.

A family’s first laughter.

A spring waiting to arrive

in a quiet courtyard.

 

They were fourteen little stars

waiting to rise

in the sky of their homes.

 

This tragedy

is not merely the tragedy

of one hospital,

one ward,

or one morning.

 

It is a question

written upon the conscience

of an entire system.

A hospital is not merely

walls, beds, machines and corridors.

It is a place

where people place their lives

into the hands of others

as a sacred trust.

 

And newborn life

is as fragile

as a drop of dew

resting on the edge of a leaf

one moment of negligence,

and the whole world

can disappear.

 

O fourteen little souls!

You never saw the world,

yet your silence

has made the world look at itself.

Your ashes have written

a question upon the forehead

of our history

a question

time itself may never erase.

 

Your mothers

will keep calling your names.

Your fathers

will keep searching for you.

Your homes

will keep waiting

for a laughter

that will never return.

 

Perhaps, before Allah,

you will raise your tiny hands

and ask:

 

“O Allah,

the world did not even give us

one chance to live.”

And perhaps

the mercy of God

will gather you gently

into His embrace

and whisper:

 

“Come, my innocent ones.

The world could not protect you.

I have called you

back to Me.”

 

But for those of us

who remain

tears are not enough.

 

Neither condolences,

nor official statements,

nor promises that disappear

when the headlines fade.

 

This grief

must become a promise.

A promise that in every nursery,

every hospital ward,

every place where a life

is entrusted to human care

 

emergency exits will remain open,

doors will open when seconds matter,

alarms will remain alive,

fire equipment will remain functional,

electrical and medical systems

will be inspected regularly,

staff will be trained for emergencies,

and evacuation drills

will be practiced in reality,

not merely recorded on paper.

Because safety

is not a clause in a file.

Safety is the first duty

we owe to life.

 

Every institution

is not merely the custodian

of a building.

It is the guardian

of the lives entrusted to it.

 

That is why this tragedy demands

a transparent and impartial investigation.

Every failure must be examined.

Every act of negligence

must be brought into the light.

Responsibility must be established.

And accountability must follow

not as revenge,

but as a warning

to protect the lives yet to come.

 

A mother should not be left

with an empty lap

and nothing but the advice

to “have patience.”

She deserves the truth.

She deserves justice.

And she deserves to know

that her child’s death

will not disappear

into the silence of paperwork.

 

O Allah

give these fourteen little souls

a place beneath

the vastness of Your mercy.

Give their mothers patience

when patience feels impossible.

Give their fathers strength

when words have failed.

And give us a conscience

that refuses to hide negligence

behind the convenient word

“accident.”

 

We pledge

that these children

will not be remembered

only through tears and condolences.

 

Their memory must become

a demand for safer hospitals,

a demand for open doors,

working alarms,

clear emergency routes,

trained hands,

and a system

that reaches the smallest breath

before it becomes silence.

 

Because grief

is not merely the water

that falls from our eyes.

Grief is a demand for truth.

And justice

is not merely the punishment

of those responsible.

 

Justice is also

making certain

that tomorrow,

some other mother’s arms

are never emptied

because we failed

to protect a life

placed in our care.

 

Fourteen little lives are gone.

But their silence

still speaks

Do not forget us.

Do not turn our deaths

into another statistic.

Do not let our silence

become ordinary.

Protect every life

entrusted to your care.

 

Because sometimes

the greatest measure

of a society

is not how loudly

it mourns its dead

but how fiercely

it protects

those who are still alive.

________________

Read: Sindh First, Sindh Forever