The winding river road
It is now day three of the trip and Bandarban is well behind us. We drive back to Chittagong and I consciously realise that driving at night makes me nervous. We board the train once again and head back to Dhaka. Our next road is not made of asphalt, tar or steel: it is the river Meghna. We board the M.V. Aboshar, Guide Tours' largest boat, and begin the 28-hour journey to Mongla, the gateway to the Sundarban.
We board the boat at Naraynganj, where streams of workers load sand from boats on to the riverbank. The ant-like quality of the workers serves to emphasise the repetition of their shape. Crowns of mud top their chiseled bodies, their skin glistens in the morning sun.
We depart down the river and the members of my crew find their own spaces on the large vessel. I keep to myself today, and begin to contemplate the introspective journey I am taking in trying to capture the immensity of Bangladesh in one little guidebook.
As the scenery scrolls by, I realise that it is the sight of Bangladesh's daily life -- rarely hidden from view or packaged away -- that will stay in my memory long after I have left Bangladesh. It is the raw muscle power of the people that impresses me most -- so much its work is done by the force of so many hands. It is a world far removed from the mechanised cities of the "developed" world.
Eventually, the industrial grittiness of Naryanganj gives way to the farm fields of Mushiganj. We pass boatloads of commuters on their way to work, each of the small vessels filled to their rims with standing people. Their faces follow as we chug by. I find myself contemplating the differences between my world and theirs, for here there is only a river between us.
Mighty Meghna
Over a lunch of delicious fried fish, thick dal, and green spinach, we eventually enter Bangladesh's main river artery. The Meghna holds plenty to see, and soon the river splays to each horizon in front of our vessel. We pass dirt dredgers squirting their brown ooze on to transport vessels, gathered around collecting silt. The rivers throng with fishing boats of various sizes, some still sporting sun-coloured sails. The riverbank glows with a green shade I have certainly never seen in my native Canada.
Deeper we cruise into the arteries of the Ganges Delta, and finally we enjoy the first still moments of our trip -- still in the sense that there is nothing to do but watch the scenery go by, even though we are still travelling. The Meghna's waters are brown with the silt from the Himalayas and it strikes me how in Bangladesh, the mountains literally crumble to the sea. Romantically, I enjoy imagining the extraordinary power of the monsoonal rains in Bangladesh, and how the mountains are "reclaimed" to the ocean here.
Survivors, not victims
The riverine country is in fact one piece of this monsoonal patchwork and to understand the geographical position of the country is to understand the nature of its terrain and its formation. The geography also reflects the character of Bengali people. Despite the "victimised" image Bangladesh has around the world, most people I meet would rather label themselves "survivors."
I begin to realise that when I will write about the psyche of the people, it is their ingenuity and creativity I will focus on and describe in my writing, and how, with such limited resources and opportunities, people here have become extraordinarily good at creating life out of what seems to be a wasteland -- to the untrained eye. It is this sort of challenge that inspires me to write about the country, and share its positive story with the rest of the world.
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