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"This is stirring stuff,” Khosru reached into his bag to produce a green A4-size book with a sky blue jacket.
“With the wild animals of Bengal” reads the title. I turned the yellowing pages and small hand-set prints started to appear. It's about the author's hunting memoirs as Inspector General of Forest in the 1930s and '40s; all amazing tales.
“Read this,” Khosru thumbed through the pages and stopped at one point.
“Our boat is chased by an elephant” -- the bold subhead reads. Here the author talks about his expedition at a place called Mainimukh in Rangamati back in 1947 with her 10-year daughter, who has recently lost her mother.
"One evening, we were coming down the Kassalong river after inspection....I had once rowed into a whole herd of wild elephants bathing in the same river," the chapter reads. "Soon after relating the story we saw two elephants grazing on the bank and I pointed out to the children how far from Mainimukh the forest department's elephants had come grazing at night. We did not realise that they were wild ones. When our boat came near the second elephant, it charged at the boat and came rushing to the edge of the water... I fired two shots from gun to frighten the charging elephant and we bolted as fast as we could."
Now that was really stirring. I closed my eyes and could see the scenes rolling by in sepia colour -- the gurgling water, the charging elephants, the forest, the moonlight … It would be interesting to visit the same place that YS Ahmad travelled through decades ago. It could be truly a journey down the time lane.
“Let's go there,” I said.
Khosru grinned. “Why not?” and so our journey begins.
************************
From Rangamati we actually had one option to go to Mainimukh: by launch. But we were once again misled, as we have been many a time in the past.
We had an early breakfast and came out of the forest rest house. The forester who was to guide us suddenly said there is a roadway to Mainimukh and the journey time will be the same. Without any hesitation, we opted for the second route and set off.
About 15 minutes later we took a right turn and were engulfed by a strange world. We were now on a deserted winding road. On the sides were steep hills; tall trees had cascaded down the slopes. I have never seen such a road before; for miles we drove without meeting another vehicle. For the whole journey time -- five and a half hours -- we crossed not more 15 vehicles -- most of them army trucks, only two private trucks carrying goods and one Chander Gari, the traditional sardine-packed four-wheeler junkies.
Soon the metalled road ended and it became pure rough stones, grey in texture, just like the one you will find on way to Tibet. A weird silence had gripped the hill range on this winter morning. A soft yet glowing light had turned the forest into amber. Every leaf of the sal trees look like pieces of gold, like the land in the fairytale story.
The road rose steeply and then dropped suddenly. It stretched straight for ten minutes with the forest on the sides creating a tunnel view of the blue hills ahead and then suddenly started winding in tight turns. Tall feather grasses glinted bright against the sun like fluorescent bulbs. Whatever human habitation could be found along the way, all of them were of indigenous people. There was something wrong. Since the government started settlement of the Bangalis in the hill tracts, the plainsmen have invaded into every nook and corner. Our local fellow traveller cleared our suspicion -- this part of the land is controlled by the UPDF, the faction of the indigenous people which came into being after the government did not fully implement the Chittagong Hill Tracts peace agreement. The UPDF now opposes Shantu Larma's group and is often engaged in armed conflicts with the Bangalis and even the law enforcers. A number of the UPDF people are now engaged in kidnapping, toll extortion and gunrunning. All these factors make the area risky for the Bangalis.
"Nobody takes this route after dusk," the forester said. "A few months ago, two forest officials were stopped by the UPDF here and were released after paying money to the outlaws. This is a risky land."
But then a Bangali settlement appeared to our surprise. A few hundred metres further up, the puzzle was cleared. An army camp emerged on a hill top. So under the shadow of the army, the Bangalis are living. A few more Bangali settlements came into view and all of them were backed by army camps.
We reached an interesting bazaar at a place called Jurammapara. Rows of bamboo sheds stood empty and brown. A few indigenous women, old men and children sat scattered, looking us over with inquisitive eyes. On the opposite are three Bangali tea stalls.
Sipping tea and warming ourselves in the placid sun, I asked the Bangalis if they faced any problem. "No," came the reply. "We are 10 Bangali families living here and the army camp is over there."
With nods of understanding, we set off again and drove straight into thick fog from bright sunshine. The car slowed down to 5km an hour and every bend appeared like open death. It gave an eerie feeling on this lonely hills, what could we do if some UPDF men now appeared and abducted us? Big signboards reading "If you face any danger, contact the security camp" were posted by the road that made us all the more nervous. Suddenly out of the mist an army solider materialised with his Chinese rifle slung over the shoulder.
"Assalamu alaikum," the soldier said. "Where are you going?"
"Mainimukh."
"Are you going to come back today?"
"No, we will stay there at the forest rest house."
"Then you may go," the soldier looked relieved.
I had a thought. "In case we want to come back, what is the last time we can travel through here?' I asked.
"Five o'clock. Nobody passes through this road after that. You can be kidnapped," the soldier's youngish face looked grave.
Since Rangamati we had been hearing stories about abductions and killings by UPDF. Now hearing it from a soldier increased that eerie feeling, and with that we left. The road had now become even worse, mostly pure dirt road, bouncy and sandy. The car's engine revved ominously and the tyres spun rigorously. Very slowly our journey proceeded. After an eternity of back-wrecking journey, we were finally on top of the last hill. The sun again was shining brightly and the fog was gone. We stopped by a tall, lonely-looking tree against the unusually deep blue sky, the kind of sky you get to see only from the hills. The branches wavering in the chilly breeze.
Down there is Mainimukh where YS Ahmad trudged along the rivers for days with his little daughter, discovering the beauty of this land.
We took a look at the lake created by Kasalang river and Maini canal (and hence the name of the place), and started the final descend.
Story & Photo: Inam Ahmed & Towfik Elahi
© thedailystar.net,
“With the wild animals of Bengal” reads the title. I turned the yellowing pages and small hand-set prints started to appear. It's about the author's hunting memoirs as Inspector General of Forest in the 1930s and '40s; all amazing tales.
“Read this,” Khosru thumbed through the pages and stopped at one point.
“Our boat is chased by an elephant” -- the bold subhead reads. Here the author talks about his expedition at a place called Mainimukh in Rangamati back in 1947 with her 10-year daughter, who has recently lost her mother.
"One evening, we were coming down the Kassalong river after inspection....I had once rowed into a whole herd of wild elephants bathing in the same river," the chapter reads. "Soon after relating the story we saw two elephants grazing on the bank and I pointed out to the children how far from Mainimukh the forest department's elephants had come grazing at night. We did not realise that they were wild ones. When our boat came near the second elephant, it charged at the boat and came rushing to the edge of the water... I fired two shots from gun to frighten the charging elephant and we bolted as fast as we could."Now that was really stirring. I closed my eyes and could see the scenes rolling by in sepia colour -- the gurgling water, the charging elephants, the forest, the moonlight … It would be interesting to visit the same place that YS Ahmad travelled through decades ago. It could be truly a journey down the time lane.
“Let's go there,” I said.
Khosru grinned. “Why not?” and so our journey begins.
************************
From Rangamati we actually had one option to go to Mainimukh: by launch. But we were once again misled, as we have been many a time in the past.
We had an early breakfast and came out of the forest rest house. The forester who was to guide us suddenly said there is a roadway to Mainimukh and the journey time will be the same. Without any hesitation, we opted for the second route and set off.
About 15 minutes later we took a right turn and were engulfed by a strange world. We were now on a deserted winding road. On the sides were steep hills; tall trees had cascaded down the slopes. I have never seen such a road before; for miles we drove without meeting another vehicle. For the whole journey time -- five and a half hours -- we crossed not more 15 vehicles -- most of them army trucks, only two private trucks carrying goods and one Chander Gari, the traditional sardine-packed four-wheeler junkies.Soon the metalled road ended and it became pure rough stones, grey in texture, just like the one you will find on way to Tibet. A weird silence had gripped the hill range on this winter morning. A soft yet glowing light had turned the forest into amber. Every leaf of the sal trees look like pieces of gold, like the land in the fairytale story.
The road rose steeply and then dropped suddenly. It stretched straight for ten minutes with the forest on the sides creating a tunnel view of the blue hills ahead and then suddenly started winding in tight turns. Tall feather grasses glinted bright against the sun like fluorescent bulbs. Whatever human habitation could be found along the way, all of them were of indigenous people. There was something wrong. Since the government started settlement of the Bangalis in the hill tracts, the plainsmen have invaded into every nook and corner. Our local fellow traveller cleared our suspicion -- this part of the land is controlled by the UPDF, the faction of the indigenous people which came into being after the government did not fully implement the Chittagong Hill Tracts peace agreement. The UPDF now opposes Shantu Larma's group and is often engaged in armed conflicts with the Bangalis and even the law enforcers. A number of the UPDF people are now engaged in kidnapping, toll extortion and gunrunning. All these factors make the area risky for the Bangalis.
"Nobody takes this route after dusk," the forester said. "A few months ago, two forest officials were stopped by the UPDF here and were released after paying money to the outlaws. This is a risky land."
But then a Bangali settlement appeared to our surprise. A few hundred metres further up, the puzzle was cleared. An army camp emerged on a hill top. So under the shadow of the army, the Bangalis are living. A few more Bangali settlements came into view and all of them were backed by army camps.
We reached an interesting bazaar at a place called Jurammapara. Rows of bamboo sheds stood empty and brown. A few indigenous women, old men and children sat scattered, looking us over with inquisitive eyes. On the opposite are three Bangali tea stalls.
Sipping tea and warming ourselves in the placid sun, I asked the Bangalis if they faced any problem. "No," came the reply. "We are 10 Bangali families living here and the army camp is over there."
With nods of understanding, we set off again and drove straight into thick fog from bright sunshine. The car slowed down to 5km an hour and every bend appeared like open death. It gave an eerie feeling on this lonely hills, what could we do if some UPDF men now appeared and abducted us? Big signboards reading "If you face any danger, contact the security camp" were posted by the road that made us all the more nervous. Suddenly out of the mist an army solider materialised with his Chinese rifle slung over the shoulder.
"Assalamu alaikum," the soldier said. "Where are you going?"
"Mainimukh."
"Are you going to come back today?"
"No, we will stay there at the forest rest house."
"Then you may go," the soldier looked relieved.
I had a thought. "In case we want to come back, what is the last time we can travel through here?' I asked.
"Five o'clock. Nobody passes through this road after that. You can be kidnapped," the soldier's youngish face looked grave.
Since Rangamati we had been hearing stories about abductions and killings by UPDF. Now hearing it from a soldier increased that eerie feeling, and with that we left. The road had now become even worse, mostly pure dirt road, bouncy and sandy. The car's engine revved ominously and the tyres spun rigorously. Very slowly our journey proceeded. After an eternity of back-wrecking journey, we were finally on top of the last hill. The sun again was shining brightly and the fog was gone. We stopped by a tall, lonely-looking tree against the unusually deep blue sky, the kind of sky you get to see only from the hills. The branches wavering in the chilly breeze.
Down there is Mainimukh where YS Ahmad trudged along the rivers for days with his little daughter, discovering the beauty of this land.
We took a look at the lake created by Kasalang river and Maini canal (and hence the name of the place), and started the final descend.
Story & Photo: Inam Ahmed & Towfik Elahi
© thedailystar.net,
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