Sundarbans diary - Leaving Bangladesh

In the fifth and final episode of her travelogue, Jennifer Nandi comes away admiring the simplicity of Bangladesh country life

A village pond with a mugger/ marsh crocodile

JANUARY 7, 2010

We come away from Bangladesh with an impress free from agitation of mind or spirit. This glowing effect devoid of conflict or commotion lasts us throughout our travels. This feeling was nourished by our soft-spoken team on the boat, by their generosity, their eagerness to please, their pride in their spotless vessel, the care and attention we received. And now driving through the countryside from the port of Mongla on our way to Jessore, the feeling settles nicely like a warm tea cosy. We pass villages that are clean, their surroundings well-attended. Even though on occasion village-life abuts the main road, there is a surprising lack of strewn garbage. Cows are not the hazard they are in India, where their aimless wanderings even on National Highways is a given.

Village scene in Jessore, Bangladesh

We stop at a fish market and are at once welcomed by the local people. They see us watching birds and ask whether we are conducting research. They witness our moment of high drama when we spy a small group of Grey-headed Lapwings. Our pleasure gratified by this serendipitous find, we invite them to look at the bird books. Ken shares his binoculars with them but the gesture is greeted with more puzzlement. If it’s your first time, it’s not easy to peer through field glasses. It takes some getting used to. They sheepishly pass the binoculars around and then, unrewarded, back to us. Our enhanced enjoyment of the ordinary puzzles them.But they are friendly and proudly show us their fish, sticking their fingers into the eyes and gills in a bid to show freshness of produce. They graciously make way for us to leave and wave goodbye enthusiastically.

At Bagerghat, 17th century architectural wonders at a UNESCO World Heritage site

En route to Jessore, we stop at Bagerhat to visit the country’s UNESCO world heritage site, the Shaat Gumbaj or sixty-dome mosque and other 17th century mosques built by one Jehan Ali Khan. To me, they all look the same and hold little architectural appeal. There is also a 16th century Hindu temple whose corbelled arch is a load-bearing feature - an architectural projection from the face of a wall to support weight, adding an interesting dimension to the temple. But what we really like is our unfettered access to walking in the surrounding villages. The people are again warm and friendly. They shyly peer at Ken - European tourists rarely come to this part of the world and he does cause quite a sensation. Sometimes local visitors from the cities ask that we be photographed with them. Yet the interest is not as undesirably prominent and in your face as it is in Rajasthan.

The corbel arch of a 16th century Hindu temple

Our flight to Dhaka is on schedule and we celebrate the end of our Bangladesh experience with a bottle of good red wine at the Hotel Westin’s fine Italian restaurant.

JANUARY 8 
The next day we use the hours before our flight to go on a guided city tour. Traffic is horrendous but we do get to see Dhaka to get a sense of the place. At the airport we face a few hours delay before we return to more eating at the Oberoi’s superb Thai restaurant. And, of course, there is always more re-packing to be done for the next leg of our journey, this time to the Indian side of the Sundarbans.

Missed the previous episodes of Jennifer Nandi's Bangladesh travelogue? Read them here:

Episode 4: Bangladesh Sundarbans - At the Tiger's Dining Table

Episode 3: Beautiful Forest - Adrift in the Sundarbans

Episode 2: Heading for Bangladesh's Sundarbans

Episode 1: Slowly down Bangladesh's Shitalakhya River

Text and photographs by Jennifer Nandi. All rights reserved.

Bangladesh Sundarbans - At the Tiger's Dining Table

Despite the many natural treasures they harbour, the Sundarbans are most famous -- and notorious -- for the creature that dominates the food chain. In the fourth episode of her Sundarbans travelogue in Bangladesh, Jennifer Nandi has a brush with the Royal Bengal Tiger.

Fishermen lay lines to collect crab

Another dawn breaks. Our guide hands us ‘jungle shoes’ and asks that we wear them to protect our own footwear from being clogged with miry mud. As we struggle for a comfortable fit, he shows us a tiger swimming across the water recently caught on film. Our thoughts are with that majestic animal as we board our speedboat. There is a slight wind whipping the waves and we draw our windcheaters tighter. Kotka Beach looms as a grey-brown patch on the horizon. Moving coloured dots appear. They materialise into a loud, long line of early local holiday-makers in footwear most unsuited to walking on a mangrove beach. The women hitch their sarees up in vain to aid their struggle for a firmer footing. At the end of this unlikely line is a single armed guard. One has to wonder what earthly use he would be should a tricky situation present itself! All halt at the sight of us. Some, with more daring, approach us for a photograph. We pose and smile and then make our way towards muddier parts in search for waders. We pick out Whimbrels along the shore; and further out Lesser Adjutant Storks are feeding. Further still are groups of Brown-headed Gulls readying themselves for the day’s feeding. In the spotting scope the birds show their fabulous detail.

One of the broader channels

The beach itself has very large Mangrove Apple trees. I’m careful not to trip over the air-breathing roots, but it is difficult to watch birds and to watch where you’re going! Here the silt has accumulated from river-borne sediments enabling the land to advance seawards. Pioneer species of mangroves with slender aerial roots which protrude from the mud have colonised this beach. Tiny pores on the surface of these roots absorb atmospheric oxygen to supply the subterranean roots with crucial life-giving air. Underground roots would otherwise suffocate in the closely packed sediments. These air-breathing roots serve a dual purpose – they trap more silt brought in with each successive tide.

Large mangrove apple trees show their air-breathing roots

So here I am, critically contemplating the muck! This exploration is really introspection. In order to be one with reality, in order to penetrate it as it were, I need to explore myself. It is an exercise I find myself frequently engaging in to find the answers to questions such as ‘How am I connected to this….?’ But the silence is being violated by the cacophonous crowd returning. So we make ready to walk toward denser forest. In a short distance we are plunged into a tangled gallimaufry of roots and shoots. It is suddenly dark; the daylight fades to black. Large Sundari trees push their stout prop roots at us. Artists must have come here to a mangrove swamp when they were looking for the archetypical tree to place in a witch’s garden. The Sundari tree is large with footholds of gnarled bark and tough vines to grip. Walls of roots, several feet broad and thick, steady the tree and provide it with extra space for breathing. But it looks like any moment it’ll start walking and it’s while I’m negotiating the roots of this witch’s tree that I hear a deep growl. Penetratingly powerful with strength to bolster it, the sound permeates my very being. I turn around to see if the others had heard it as well. Everyone’s face is as wide-eyed as mine. An armed guard motions us to keep together. He then loads his shotgun with ammunition. I am disturbed, wishing almost that the tiger would escape detection. I know the armed escorts’ intentions are good – that the shots they would fire, would be in the air, should the tiger make a charge. Yet the very idea of having to traumatise such a dignified presence is disturbing. The guard moves ahead and out of sight. We wait in the loud silence. When he returns it is with news that it is indeed the tiger and that we should follow him.

At the tiger's dining table in Kotka

Fresh tracks lead to a large mound - one of three - where over a hundred years ago men had descended from the hills to make their living selling the salt they’d collect in mud pots. Now only shards of pottery remain. We are now in the vicinity of what they call the Tiger’s Dining Table - we climb these mounds, several feet high, built of the remains of prey that had served as food for the powerful predator. The air is still. Armies of ants march in thick columns to demolish long-dead debris. There are tiger tracks and chewed antlers of a once-sprightly spotted deer. The air hums with sound and smell. Our unease is acute; we leave quickly and head for the speedboat.

Fresh tiger pugmarks in the mud

We pass by the remnants of Forest Houses. This is the part of the Sundarbans that had been devastated by Cyclone Aila two years ago. The severity of the storm is evidenced by the ruins of human habitation, large uprooted trees and general devastation. Our guide tells us stories of how they had clung to the roof of their homes for days in order to survive.

Forest houses damaged in 2007's Cyclone Aila

Back on board the Bonbibi, we eat heartily at breakfast and are again ready for a boat ride. The speedboat takes us far out into the Bay of Bengal to another large island. The jetty is on the steep side of the island where the mangroves are. To get to the beach we must walk some three kilometres. Parties of locals play volleyball on this very wide and white beach. But there are no birds in sight. We follow evidence of tiger tracks advancing on spotted deer’s spoor. The deer’s footprints appear to be hurried and rushed as the herd must have had to bunch for safety. The trail ends abruptly. We turn back for a long walk in the sun to the boat.

Our guide with armed guards

We pass through open country with grassland and scattered trees. Shrikes show themselves prominently. The black hood identifies one as the sub-species tricolour of the Long-tailed Shrike; close by is another, reminiscent of the Long-tailed but much greyer with speculums on its wings. It is the Grey-backed Shrike. But there is one that at first sight we dismiss as a rather common bird. It looks like an ordinary Indian Roller but only darker. It’s perched on a dead tree scanning for prey. We plough through short grass and scrub to see whether it’s the glare or the mid-morning light that interferes with our mind’s eye. But no, it is indeed, the ubiquitous Indian Roller but with a difference – it’s a Bangladeshi version of the same bird. . Its throat is a beautiful mauve lacking the white streaking of the race that we are familiar with. Its under parts have a strong purplish-blue flush; its mantle almost a brownish-green. Its crown and wings gleam a bright turquoise blue. It could very well be another species, so different in aspect it seems. Undoubtedly it is the affinis subspecies of the nominate Coracias bengalensis. We are delighted with our find. And as it flies off to another perch, we are now prepared for the all-turquoise tail.

Sundari trees, after which the Sundarbans take their name

The volleyball-playing groups have now gathered to picnic in the shade. Some wave and call out to us. Our team of ship’s crew and guide pick up the trail of garbage the picnickers leave behind. This is standard practice we’ve noticed on all our outings. Taking the cue, the holiday-makers too are motivated to help and dutifully pick up pieces of garbage. Once the collection is done, they are pleased to hand it over to us, the garbage-pickers! And we dutifully accept and carry it back with us. I did, however, on one occasion tell them what a beautiful place the Sundarbans were and how lovely it would be to keep it clean. Yes, they all cried in unison while handing over their garbage!

Sea Holly (Acanthus ebracteatus)

After lunch we take another one of those lazy boat rides into a channel further upstream. From the Bonbibi we see the splendid White-bellied Sea eagle. Thirty years ago when we lived in Goa I had grown accustomed to seeing it circling at great heights or stooping from a prominent rock to seize a fish close to the water surface. Being able to watch birds while we cruise is truly an experience to treasure. We are very pleased with the operations run by Guide Tours in Bangladesh. The itinerary is so planned that when we are on board, we are always cruising. We have been supported with a lovely boat, an excellent crew and the table always groans with delicious Bangladeshi fare.

No birds at the beach, but plenty of tiger pugmarks chasing spotted deer

Leaving the Bay of Bengal behind, the MV Bonbibi anchors at one of the smaller channels. Our country boat paddles us into the smaller creeks and we drift down looking for birds. Ashy Woodswallows perch at the treetops. A Crested Serpent Eagle settles itself on a nearby branch looking down at us. We get a glimpse of Bangladesh’s biggest bird – the Lesser Adjutant stork. We had seen fine examples of this bird earlier in the day along the shore. On occasion we’d pass an opening of the thick mangrove forest that leads down a steep bank of very grey mud to the water’s edge. All of these exits have tiger pugmarks. The elusive animal‘s presence is evident everywhere and we feel privileged to pass through its terrain. On trees that stretch their branches out over the water perch those lovely kingfishers, noisy at this time of the day. We see the uncommon Brown-winged, the more common Collared, the Black-capped and the Ruddy. A bird of spectacular beauty, the Ruddy has a very large coral-red bill. Its orange upper parts have an almost iridescent violet sheen. However when it flies, its brown mantle, wings and tail contrast sharply with its turquoise rump. And when it perches high in the mangroves watching for prey, the rich brown-orange of its underparts are beautiful. Towards sundown the tide begins to ebb. Soon the water level will be inadequate to support the boat. In fading light the boatman slowly completes the turn. A large bird flaps into view. The owl perches nearby looking directly at us, its facial disc very prominent, its white collar almost gleaming in the falling dusk. The Brown Wood Owl is large and not very common. We are extremely lucky. It perches within easy viewing before flapping away into the now dark forest.

On our last evening in the Bangladesh Sundarbans

Before we settle down to dinner, our guide beckons us to the bridge. He throws a mug of water overboard and we gasp. It’s unbelievable. The patch of disturbed water is lit by the phosphorescence of diatoms and other plankton. It’s beautiful. We make him throw some more only to gasp again. We can’t seem to get enough of this. I point out to other lights in the water. They are stable and don’t seem to be going anywhere. He laughs and says that those are the reflections of the stars. The stars, I cry out disbelievingly and gasp again. I can’t get over the beauty that surrounds. I look up at the night sky and it’s difficult to see the constellations; they hide among so many stars. I want to remember this moment for the rest of the year so that the stars will glow in recollection. We are acutely aware that this is our last evening in the Bangladesh Sundarbans. Over a good dinner we savour the delights of the day and know that this has been very special. 


Missed the previous episodes of Jennifer Nandi's Bangladesh travelogue? Read them here:


Episode 3: Beautiful Forest - Adrift in the Sundarbans
Episode 2: Heading for Bangladesh's Sundarbans
Episode 1: Slowly down Bangladesh's Shitalakhya River


Text and photographs by Jennifer Nandi. All rights reserved.

Beautiful Forest - Adrift in the Sundarbans

In the third episode of her Bangladesh travelogue, Jennifer Nandi enters the sinuous spiderweb of the Sundarbans, where the sluggish rivers are reluctant to lose their freedom to the sea

There are three main rivers with their tributaries that make up the Sundarbans. The River Jamuna (Brahmaputra, in India) joins the River Padma (Ganges, in India); and further down its course, joins the River Meghna, whose source is in the Sylhet hills. The western portion of this river system lies in India. Though the Sundarbans have lost half of their inland area over the last 200 years through human encroachment, over 10,000 km of continuous mangrove wilderness remain.

The myriad channels that crisscross the Sundarbans like a spider’s web draw visitors such as us. Innocent of human structure, this landscape answers to a name that means ‘beautiful forest’. One-third of its total area is permanently covered by water. Yet, it is the only mangrove forest with tigers; it harbours one of the largest remaining global population of this highly endangered species. Its coastal waters are home to the world’s largest population of Irrawaddy dolphins. It comes as no surprise that these mangrove forests are one of the two Ramsar sites in Bangladesh. But the Sundarbans is not an easy place to be in.

Twice a day, the character of the water changes from fresh to salty. And twice a day too, much of the mud is exposed to the air. Creatures that live in these stressful environments tolerate the fluctuating changes of fresh to salt water. Rewards for doing so are huge because of the nutrition that is available in such waters. Food is delivered to the estuary every day from both the sea and the land, so the creatures that are able to survive here flourish.

Water hyacinth snagged on a tree after high tide

Cleaning crabs after an early morning catch

The sandbanks being covered by water twice a day snag prodigious amounts of food that are inviting to the daytime gleaning of birds. This is particularly vital for the winter migrants that need to strengthen themselves for the ordeal of their journey to the half-frozen nesting grounds farther north. Small, short-billed waders exploit surface-dwelling organisms of the tidal mudflats. Most waders possess ear openings positioned much further forward than those in other birds. In this way, they are better able to detect vibrations in the mud.

The shifting sandbars of the rivers part the braids of their wandering channels and on this cold, damp and foggy morning, we witness life at the very edge of existence. Pastels of dawn paint the early morning water and jungle a strange hue. We are sitting on a mattress in a flat-bottomed ‘country boat’. The boatman paddles into a small creek. There are other boats like ours – though their compulsion to be out, so early, on such a cold morning, is driven by sheer necessity. They are fishing vessels – anchored with a bit of rope to a convenient snag. The men lean forward, yielding beneath a burden of life, as they lower their nets for fish; others catch crab.

Nypa palms

The forest dawn is long. The dark, impenetrable mangrove forest narrows the channels. We paddle through these tortuously twisted creeks and the mangroves press closer. The water is shallow and dark. On the harsh, sluggish grey, steep banks that lead down to the water’s edge are clear prints of tiger. If one had to emerge for a morning’s snack, I don’t think we had much of a chance, armed guard notwithstanding. Eerie sunlight sifts through curtains of fog. It’s still cold. As we paddle into wider channels, flowerpeckers and sunbirds gather on the blossoms of the flowering trees taking advantage of the cold shafts of sun that part the fog.

The river beds of the Jamuna, the Padma and the Meghna together with their tributaries are full of sediment by the time they reach their estuaries. They become sluggish in their reluctance to lose their freedom to the sea. Mingling with the dissolved salts of sea-water, their sediments clump together and drift to the bottom. These fine-grained, great, grey banks of mud trap the gases produced by the decomposition of organic debris. Earthworm-like creatures, called lugworms, ingest quantities of this mud to extract this organic material. These fat-bodied worms are in turn food for birds whose beaks are able to probe deeper into the mud. We see Whimbrels with their long down-curved bills feeding on the squelchy ooze at low tide. They also feed on fiddler crabs, probing into their burrows with their superbly adapted bills. Curlews with their even longer bills are fewer in number. But it’s still too early for any serious birdwatching and two hours later we head back to our luxury boat for some sustenance.

Sundari trees, after which the Sundarbans take their name

Ken is particularly pleased - I’d taught the cook to use the percolator, so Ken could drink Italian coffee with his substantial breakfast. We are now sailing towards Katka, a port 6 hours away at the very tip of the Sundarbans where we meet the Bay of Bengal. We move onto the bridge. It is flooded with a tide of light. We sit in its warmth and softness with mugs of the hottest coffee, and our binoculars at the ready. It is a delightful winter morning, and we waste it watching waders. We spot the rare Finfoot and then had the vessel halt for a better look! It’s a shy and secretive bird – we are lucky to see it riding high in the water. We see more Whimbrels and Curlews. The steep banks provide little space for them to stand. Brown-headed gulls tail us for a long while. Brahminy Kites circle overhead, and those great white birds, the Large Egrets, with their fierce fiery eyes and spear-like bills, fly from tree to tree in their effort to get away.

And now the true splendour of the mangrove forest reveals itself in a study in halftones. The trees are of different species that have all found ways of adapting to their very particular environment. Of the 50 mangrove species in the world the Sundarbans harbour 20. The Crab-apple mangrove is the most common species we find this morning. Each tree has its share of Fire-breasted Flowerpeckers and Sunbirds that suck nectar from the few flowers remaining. The Mangrove Apple is taller but deer are able to reach its leaves. Rhesus Macaques gather its fruit. The villagers also relish the Mangrove Apple fruit and grind it into a chutney. Local fishermen use Nypa Palm that line the water’s edge, to thatch their country boats for shelter. The Blinding Mangrove has sap, as its name suggests, that blinds. Its wood was used to manufacture safety matches and newspaper. Not anymore. It’s a tall tree which we keep a look out for perching birds. Irrawaddy freshwater dolphins show themselves as fast-disappearing dark shapes.

We settle into lazy inaction. Like light, that great zeitgeber of biological clocks, the stable rhythm of the boat’s engine lulls my body rhythms to a state so peaceful and warm that I close my eyes and hold the moment, as even the wind holds its breath, making it last till the afternoon sun yawns over the water and another sumptuous meal is served.

In the late afternoon we board the country-boat and paddle into the broader channels. We return before the falling river dusk and board our luxury boat to cruise down to Kotka in the Bay of Bengal. Ours is the only boat apart from a few crab fishermen. Here the tidal range is very large and much of the land is flooded. At Kotka we find three other large boats packed with local holiday makers. Tonight again we have an excellent view of the star stippled sky. Another good day passes.

Missed the first two episodes of Jennifer's Bangladesh travelogue?

Read them here:

1. Slowly down the Shitalakhya

2. Heading for Bangladesh's Sunderbans

Copyright: Text and photographs by Jennifer Nandi. All rights reserved.

Heading for Bangladesh's Sundarbans

Everybody speaks about the Sunderbans as if they belong in India. In the second episode of her travelogue in Bangladesh, Jennifer Nandi encounters fog delays and endures what seems to be an interminable wait. 

I wake up and draw the curtains. It’s white outside. The dark whiteness stretches all the way down to the road. We breakfast and head for the domestic terminal for a flight to Jessore. And of course there is an ‘uncertain delay’. At the check-in counter we’re told, “Joshshu, is fog too mach!” At noon we hear that the flight has been cancelled. I rush to the check-in desk and ask the GMG airline staff if what we heard was true and she says, “maybe cancelled” which translates as ‘definitely cancelled’! The other domestic airline stops selling tickets ‘because it’s too mach trable’! So I ring the Guide Tours travel agent to ask whether they have a man at the airport who could exercise his influence to get us on another flight and yes, they do. They work quickly. A representative collects our tickets and rushes to re-purchase two seats on the airline that had just closed its sales counter. Then he urges us to stand in a queue to check in and we’re through. We are told the flight is due to depart at any moment. We’re excited. At last we’ll be off. I see a lovely white plane with a gold motif on its tail, land. How beautiful it looks. Our flight is called. One has to keep one’s eyes on the ball at all times. Nothing is transmitted over the PA system. When a flight is ready to leave, a lectern is placed at a suitable position for the airline staff and a voice booms. So we scurry up to the gate and wait. When we haven’t scurried in vain, we board the bus. Then we play the waiting game.

We wait. And wait some more. The engine of the bus is then turned off. Everybody begins to disembark except us. I refuse to follow the crowd. Since no one has told us what to do, we sit and hope that may be for us, the news is different! I want to be told to get up and get out in no uncertain terms. And then of course that’s exactly what I’m told. The flight won’t take off because it’s ‘too dangerous’. The fog now is in Jessore and it hasn’t yet lifted. I explore the option of driving. But everyone advises against the plan. Roads are bad, it’s too dangerous…in fact, no passenger that I spoke to had ever driven to Jessore!. So the only real option was to take the half-hour flight.

Another hour of waiting and then miraculously, we are truly ready to go. The aircraft we board is not the pretty plane I had earlier longingly admired but a tiny Fokker Friendship with props. Anything would do. We’re desperate to get airborne. The stewardess is a pleasant woman, who serves, makes announcements and attends to the cockpit’s needs. She is too tall for her craft and must bend a bit to avoid hitting her head. At Jessore, on the tarmac, I try taking a photograph of the plane and am summarily shooed off. But I don’t give up. Just outside the confines of the airport, I ask our vehicle to stop so I could take my picture!

Lunch is at a local ‘fast food’ restaurant. The fare is rice, fish curry and a serious mutton curry, local vegetables, and dal. It’s ‘fast’ because the waiters are scurrying around busily taking everyone’s orders. We are shown a table and we all sit – the driver, the guide, and us. Lots of food is laid on the table. We can barely hear ourselves think above the din. The food is cold, but tasty. Ken recognises the meat as something he could eat. He is well-travelled and has eaten in some rather suspicious-looking places. After lunch we drive for two hours to Mongla Port. On the way we change guides. This young man speaks better English and is a pleasant chap although his birding knowledge, we discover, is very limited.

The road to Mongla was built five years ago. It’s still in good condition and the traffic is light. So we are in pretty good humour when we board the M.V. Bonbibi, a six-cabined boat. And we have it all to ourselves. We weren’t expecting this. We rush around excitedly. It’s bright and shiny and clean. Our cabins are tiny so we store our luggage in the vacant cabins. It’s just five o’clock and already the tide of darkness has us in its embrace. No more rising at unwelcoming hours to catch elusive flights. We’re at peace, at last. There is only one niggling problem. There is no booze on board. Everyone on the boat is Muslim, yet they call up their smuggler-contacts from a local village, and enroute to the forest checkpost, we collect a very expensive bottle of Beefeater Gin and some six bottles of San Miguel beer made in the Philippines. Having secured the permits to enter the narrow channels of the Sundarbans, and a cargo of two armed guards, we sail in great silence as light withdraws from around us.

Soon dinner is laid – an interesting mix – Spaghetti Bolognaise, deep fried prawns and French Fries! Having sailed from the checkpost down the Selagang channel for an hour or so in the dark, we drop anchor near Tambulbunia. I step outside. There is no ambient light to interfere with the viewing of the inky black sky crowded with brilliant fire. Orion is overhead. I search for the nebula and find it. I spot Cassiopeia, look for Pegasus and the Andromeda constellation. Then I pick out the Andromeda galaxy. It’s one of the easiest to spot. But haze and cloud roll in; clouds shroud the moon; and then everything fades to black. It’s time to go.

Text and photographs by Jennifer Nandi.

Slowly down Bangladesh's Shitalakhya River

Jennifer Nandi, our friend, fellow-traveller and tour guide to the machinations of the cosmos, contributes a guest blog to The Green Ogre about her travels along the Shitalakhya River in Bangladesh.

Cruising down the Shitalakhya River at Demra, two hours from Dhaka

Sitting in a geography class in school, burning images of impenetrable monsoon forests to memory, I had, in my impressible youth, dreamed of visiting them one day. Now, some two score years later, my dreams were about to come true. 


But first that knowledge of India, in its north-eastern reaches, required eking out. My imagination needed to be exercised - memories fleshed out, dreams re-run to produce both texture and depth to sustained, yet weak, hopes. Not easy, when the record is so richly confused; when layers needed peeling. The possibility of visiting that remote corner of India - where the Himalayan mountain chain bends to fracture into less substantial hills, where the mighty Brahmaputra must also change direction to flow through Bangladesh before it enters the sea - grew more remote as I grew older. But the bud was there, slowly exfoliating. 

Young boys row out to wave at us

My travels were to take me to the north-east corner of the subcontinent, where boundary lines were drawn arbitrarily – dividing the village headman’s home into two – one-half in India, the other in Myanmar; where bits of land lie disputed between China and India; where a river, known by various names, originates in one country, flows through another and reaches its delta of destiny in a third.

Ships at anchor on the Shitalakhya River

True, the trip had been in the womb of the future for a year. The itinerary I drew up would span over one quarter of 2010 - an implausible idea when you think of the political instability that is normally associated with the North-east. To the more substantial citizens of India, its established character is one of unrest, of being a hot-bed of violence, of a people that seem to have more in common with our Eastern neighbours. The cargo of implications of attempting to route a very important client through this area of insurgency were truly radical. Still, I gave it a try.

A hub of activity

JAN 2 


Ken arrived at Delhi airport carrying his majesty of manner rather well. Crippling conditions of fog were as yet absent, considering this was early January. Not so in Kolkata, where we had to spend a night enroute to Dhaka. Finally we flew under lifting mists to arrive very late at a truly luxurious hotel, the Oberoi Grand. We were admitted just before closing time for dinner at the hotel’s fabulous Thai Restaurant. The experience rejuvenated us sufficiently – we needed to re-pack before retiring for the night so that we could leave luggage behind and travel light on our journey into Bangladesh and back. 


Packing and re-packing was to be on the agenda and had to be taken seriously. We had, between the two of us 4 bags each. In addition, I carried 2 duffel bags that contained very important items such folding chairs and table, pretty table cloths and napkins, a well-stocked picnic basket, supplies of canned food, pasta, olive oil, Lavazza coffee with a coffee percolator, a selection of Darjeeling black and green teas, flasks, sheets, towels, pillows, sleeping bags… As the need arose, we would buy our stock of liquor – beer, Bombay Sapphire gin and Smirnoff vodka. Getting the tonic water was a problem but with some planning ahead, we sourced enough of that too!


JAN 3 


With half the number of bags left at the Oberoi Grand, for we were to re-visit it on five occasions, we left for the airport, optimistically believing that our flight would indeed leave at 5 am. It left at mid-day! Mercifully, the flight to Dhaka was short. It was just the beginning of a long trip and we were already much fatigued. Worse was to follow. What looked like a rehearsal for final chaos awaited us at Dhaka airport. Weather conditions had forced all flights to arrive Dhaka at the same time. This left us no place to stand. Signboards for queuing meant little. The locals queued up in the foreigners’ line because it was shorter! Ken and I split, taking our stand in different queues. Finally we were through. Then the luggage. Anarchy prevailed. Bales of cloth were strewn across every available floorspace. Overburdened conveyor belts did not display flight numbers. For a while we lost each other. Then Ken found me in the general scrum, bent over, hauling bags in an untidy corner. Importantly, we did locate the luggage amongst a hundred others, did meet our escort and all was well in the end. 


Our woes soon forgotten, we were transferred to a luxurious brand new Westin Hotel, some 23 stories high! The afternoon was to be spent on a boat – all arranged by Guide Tours, our Travel Agency for the Bangladesh sector. We drove for two hours to Demra, the point of boarding for the cruise down the Shitalakhya River. Our launch looked a lot sturdier compared to what the local people were using as a ferry. Refreshments were provided by the boat’s cook. After the city’s crush, to cruise serenely, waving at kids rowing out to greet us, was a sweet pleasure. But one had to take the reality in. 

Cement factories line the banks of the Shitalakhya River

Between the cement factories, the dredgers and the anchored ocean liners discharging their cargo or loading up, weak attempts at farming showed up as squash-growing, carefully trained on trellises. A vast anonymous mass of humanity works and lives in this commercial and industrial squalor. Children run along the water’s edge, calling and waving, skirting and tripping over human and farmyard ordure. But their faces are bright. 

Weak attempts at farming on the river bank show up as squash-growing

Mountain heaps of scrap, untidy hangars, rusty corrugated sheeting, dominate the water’s edge. The huge industry on the river, we were told, was ship-building. Destined for the less developed countries in the Pacific Ocean, ship-building provides some badly paid employment. Scrap metal is beaten into shape by hand and unbelievably, a ship emerges. They are cheap and sea-worthy. Work was being carried out at a frenetic pace to finish before the monsoons, still a few months away, when the water level would rise several feet high, enough to launch the hand-beaten ships. 

Ship-building on the Shitalakhya

We stopped at a 19th century landlord’s mansion, which now functions as a college, and at a private Hindu temple, which, given its eclectic style didn’t look like a temple at all. They were built by an enterprising Hindu merchant who had made his commercial successes during the days of the British. Several architectural styles were combined on the front façade of the mansion, and sometimes even on a single arch. We tried to pick out the different styles – Persian, Islamic, Greek, Corinthian. Both the temple and the building are in sad disrepair, its interior walls burdened with political posters. The large pond where the merchant no doubt bathed still had water but was much diminished. The women’s quarters were housed within even more beautiful courtyards. 

A 200-year-old temple outside Dhaka

The grounds surrounding the palace now provide space for an army camp. The OIC came up to speak to us very politely and in excellent English. We chatted for a while, and then left for the long journey back. Late evening traffic was horrendous. It did much to diminish our spirits. We slept for much of the way. It seemed to be the easier option. Later, we dined at the hotel’s Italian restaurant where a live band played. Both were very good. Another late night – more re-packing – to leave more mountainous bags behind to be collected on our return from the Sundarbans. It was well past midnight and we were truly tired. 

Courtyard of a 19th century mansion, now used as a school

Text and photographs by Jennifer Nandi.