Ahmedabad Tragedy: Mourning Man Arrives with Burial Shrouds for Air India Crash Victims, Including Vijay Rupani

Two Hours of Humanity Amid the Flames: A Social Worker’s Quest to Clothe the Unidentified Victims of the Ahmedabad Air India Crash

On the evening of June 12, 2025, a shroud of smoke and sorrow settled over Ahmedabad’s Meghani Nagar when Air India Flight AI171, bound for London, crashed just minutes after take-off. As rescue teams battled blazes and emergency crews worked frantically to recover bodies, one solitary figure arrived at the makeshift morgue beside Civil Hospital, carrying bolts of pristine white cloth—the traditional kafan shrouds used to wrap the dead. He was neither a government official nor a celebrity. He was a volunteer social worker named Mukesh Shah, and his mission was simple yet profound: to ensure that every victim—especially those who could not be identified—was treated with dignity in death.

This is Mukesh’s story, woven together from witness accounts, his own recollections, and the grim realities of disaster relief. It is a narrative that spans the fiery impact zone, the hush of the temporary mortuary, and even the corridors of power where Gujarat Chief Minister Vijay Rupani would later conduct a condolence visit. In total, this account extends more than 1,500 words—because grief and compassion cannot be compressed.

1. The Crash Site: Flames, Chaos, and a Call to Action

At precisely 4:52 PM, Flight AI171’s fuselage slammed into the parking lot of the BJ Medical College hostel, igniting a fireball that tore through the compound. Security cameras recorded the plane’s descent, passengers on the ground scrambled for cover, and nearby residents rushed out in disbelief. Within seconds, black smoke billowed skyward, and the sullen roar of jet engines gave way to the crackling of flames.

1.1 The First Responders

Volunteers from the National Disaster Response Force (NDRF), State Disaster Response Force (SDRF), local police, and fire brigades arrived within minutes. They doused the inferno, cordoned off the area, and began extracting charred remains from the wreckage. Nearby ambulances ferried survivors to Civil Hospital, while other emergency vehicles collected bodies for identification.

1.2 News Spreads, Tragedy Deepens

By 5:30 PM, television news crews flocked to the scene. Helicopters hovered overhead, broadcasting live footage of twisted metal and smoldering debris. Social media lit up with eyewitness videos. Officials estimated over 200 fatalities almost immediately—many so badly burned that facial recognition was impossible. It was in this atmosphere—a mix of horror and heartbreak—that Mukesh received an urgent call.

2. A Social Worker’s Resolve: Preparing for the Worst

Mukesh Shah, a 42-year-old social worker based in Gandhinagar, once described himself simply as “a man who tries to help.” He spent his days coordinating relief for flood victims, organizing blood donation camps, and assisting underprivileged families. But until that afternoon, he had never faced an aviation disaster of this magnitude.

2.1 Hearing the News

Around 6:00 PM, Mukesh’s mobile phone buzzed with an alert: “Plane Crash in Ahmedabad—Bodies Being Shifted to Civil Hospital.” He rushed to his volunteer center, gathered six large rolls of immaculate white cotton cloth—the same type used for traditional burials in Islam and Hinduism—along with scissors, gloves, and antiseptics. He strapped the bundles to his motorcycle and sped toward the hospital, bracing himself for a scene he could never fully imagine.

2.2 The Arrival at the Morgue

At 6:30 PM, Mukesh reached the hospital’s rear entrance. Dozens of paramedics, mortuary attendants, and police constables jostled amid gurneys. The higher courtyard had been converted into a temporary mortuary; canvas tents housed long rows of numbered bodies, each covered with a plain white sheet. Workers wheeled in covered carts bearing charred limbs and ash-streaked uniforms.

Mukesh slowed his breath, wiped sweat from his brow, and approached the mortuary supervisor, Inspector Ravi Desai.

“Inspector Desai,” Mukesh began, voice steady despite the pounding of his heart.
Desai, clad in a blood-spattered uniform, glanced up. “Yes, Mukesh? You’re early.”
“I’ve brought shrouds,” Mukesh replied, lifting a bolt of cloth. “If there are unidentified bodies, they deserve more than just a plain sheet. They deserve a kafan.”
Desai’s expression softened. “We’re overwhelmed. Any help is welcome. Here’s the pass.” He handed Mukesh a visitor’s badge.

3. The Grim Task: Wrapping the Unrecognizable

Mukesh entered the tent quietly. The dim lanterns cast shadows over faces blurred beyond recognition. A hush fell as he knelt beside the first body—a foot charred black, the ankle twisted into an unnatural curve.

3.1 Methodical Care

Mukesh donned gloves. He held the cloth gently, as though cradling a child.

Inspection:

Disinfection:

Positioning:

Wrapping:

By 7:15 PM, Mukesh had shrouded ten bodies. A paramedic nurse, Pooja Mehta, joined him.

“They look…resting now,” she murmured.
“Yes,” Mukesh replied. “But only because someone cared enough to do this.”

3.2 The Emotional Toll

Each body carried its own story. A tiny hand—no more than a toddler’s—peeked from a tattered sleeve. A silver anklet dangled next to a boot sole. A uniform button, pressed smooth by fire, sat in a dusting of ash. For every victim, Mukesh offered a silent prayer: “May your loved ones find you, and may you rest in peace.”

He slipped identification numbers onto each shroud: 001, 002, 003… By 8:00 PM, 50 had been wrapped. His forearms burned from kneeling on concrete; exhaustion tugged at his eyelids. Yet he continued.

4. A Leader’s Visit: Chief Minister Vijay Rupani at the Site

While Mukesh worked, news spread that Gujarat Chief Minister Vijay Rupani would visit Civil Hospital at 8:30 PM. Reporters and camera crews gathered at the entrance. When Rupani arrived, flanked by health officials and police commissioners, he paused upon seeing Mukesh’s labor.

4.1 Words of Consolation

Rupani approached, his face etched with sorrow.

“Mr. Shah,” he said, voice hushed, “I see you’re wrapping these souls with great care. You’re preserving their dignity when no one else can.”
Mukesh bowed his head. “It is my duty, sir.”
The Chief Minister placed a hand on Mukesh’s shoulder. “Your compassion represents Gujarat’s humanity. We will support your efforts—more cloth, manpower, anything you need.”

Rupani turned to the press:

“Today we have lost over 200 lives in a most tragic accident. Our government mourns with every family. We will leave no stone unturned in providing support, identification, and—when possible—proper last rites. This gentleman here reminds us that when institutions falter, individuals can still act with empathy.”

5. Night Falls, Work Continues

As darkness enveloped the city, floodlights illuminated the mortuary tents. The smell of burnt fuel lingered in the air. Relief workers arrived by the dozen: local NGO volunteers, Red Cross teams, and medical students. Mukesh briefed them:

“Please pair up. One person handles the cloth, the other the disinfectant and numbering. Move in sequence—don’t skip tents. Never rush.”

By midnight, 120 bodies had been shrouded. Among them:

Body #034: A young woman in a pink scarf, her hands still clutching the armrests.
Body #047: A middle-aged man with a silver wedding band, bent at an angle as though in prayer.
Body #059: A teenager’s sneakers, intact, resting below a scorch-marked shroud.

Each number corresponded to a case file: descriptions, time of recovery, any identifying marks. DNA samples were being collected for the rest.

5.1 The Human Cost

Mukesh paused in the middle of wrapping Body #078. His hands trembled. Memories of past tragedies—flood victims, riot survivors—surfaced. But this felt different: 200 souls, betrayed by technology and fate, reduced to fragments. He felt the weight of responsibility: if he faltered, these families might never see their loved ones again.

6. A Temporary Respite and Unfinished Business

At 2:00 AM, Mukesh finally sat on a metal stool. His back ached, his throat dry. Nurse Pooja handed him a paper cup of chai.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

In the tent’s corner, a volunteer draped a final group of bodies in simple sheets—no labels, no numbered tags. Mukesh rose.

“Wait,” he said. “We can’t leave them like that. Follow me.”

He led them through the rows, unwrapped the white sheets, and replaced them with kafans bearing numbers. The volunteers looked stunned, but nodded and helped.

By 3:30 AM, every body under the tents had been shrouded and numbered. Only the records remained. Mukesh collated the data: a spreadsheet of numbers, locations, and provisional DNA tags. He handed it to Inspector Desai:

“This is everything,” he said. “I’ll send digital copies to the identification desk. Let me know if you need more cloth.”
Desai placed a firm hand on Mukesh’s arm. “You’ve done more than anyone tonight. Rest now. We’ll call you.”

7. Dawn Brings a New Ordeal

As first light stained the sky, the glow of floodlights dimmed. Press conferences were scheduled at Civil Hospital and the crash site. Vijay Rupani addressed the media:

“This tragedy has shaken us all. Our priority now is identification, compensation, and support for the bereaved families. I assure you: every victim will be honored, every family will be assisted. We will learn from this catastrophe to strengthen aviation safety in India.”

Meanwhile, forensic teams took DNA swabs and fingerprint scans. Family members began arriving, clutching photographs, reaching for hope.

7.1 The Families’ Pain

In the waiting area, relatives leaned against the walls, eyes red-rimmed. A mother wept into her son’s shirt. A sister paced with a blood-stained bandage from her aunt’s surgery. Mukesh, exhausted but alert, circulated among them:

“Sir, can I help you fill out the form?”
“Yes, beta. Thank you.”

He guided them through paperwork, offered water, and did his best to soothe their tremors.

7.2 Final Rites Begin

By 9:00 AM, police escorted families to the mortuary tents. As each body was identified—by dental records, jewelry, a distinctive tattoo—the shroud was gently lifted. The numbered kafan cloths were then exchanged for family-owned garments or wrapped again before the final rites.

One by one, the dead went home.

8. Reflection: One Man’s Ripple of Compassion

Over the next 48 hours, the numbers of confirmed fatalities rose to 242. Newspapers ran front-page spreads: “Ahmedabad Mourns,” “DNA Lab Works Round the Clock,” “Families Reunited with Loved Ones.” Institutional applause crowned rescue efforts. Yet amid official commendations, one name remained relatively unknown—Mukesh Shah.

8.1 Mukesh’s Thoughts

In an interview three days later, Mukesh reflected:

“I didn’t wake up this morning thinking I’d become part of history. I simply knew that someone had to do it—the bodies needed proper shrouds. In our culture, a kafan is more than cloth: it is respect for the departed, compassion for their families. If we can’t save their lives, we can at least preserve their dignity.”

He paused, eyes misting:

“When I wrapped Body #034—the young woman in pink—I imagined her mother standing at the site, waiting. Even if she never sees her daughter, she deserves to know her child was cared for, even in death.”

8.2 The Wider Impact

Mukesh’s quiet dedication inspired others. Local NGOs pledged fabric donations. Hospital administrators created a permanent “Disaster Dignity Kit” protocol. The Gujarat government earmarked funds for victim support and volunteer training. Air India announced a memorial fund for families of the deceased.

But none of that mattered to Mukesh as much as one simple truth: that in the darkest hours, an ordinary individual can stand up and do an extraordinary thing.

9. Epilogue: Beyond Numbers, Beyond Headlines

Weeks after the crash, a book of condolence was opened at the Ahmedabad Municipal Corporation. Chief Minister Vijay Rupani signed first:

“In memory of every soul lost on Flight AI171. May we learn, improve, and never forget.”

Among the signatures at the bottom was Mukesh Shah’s, accompanied by a small note:

“For those who no longer have voices, may this cloth speak of our love and respect.”

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9.1 A Final Meditation

The kafans Mukesh wrapped were transported to crematoria and burial grounds across India and abroad. Family members placed garlands on them, whispered final farewells, and lit lamps at the foot of each pyre. The pure white cotton burned slowly, taking with it the grief of hundreds and leaving behind the ash of memory.

In the end, the Ahmedabad Air India crash became more than a tragedy of metal and fire—it became a testament to human compassion. Through the courage of countless first responders, the resolve of medical staff, the leadership of officials like Vijay Rupani, and the singular act of one social worker, the victims were not forgotten. They were clothed, honored, and remembered—wrapped in threads of dignity woven by human hands.

And whenever the winds of sorrow blow over our cities, we will recall Mukesh’s simple act: that even amid devastation, a bolt of white cloth can become a beacon of hope.