I yawned, stretched, rolledover and slid down the bed. It was fog all around, as I stood on the forest bungalow balcony. The dew was dropping from
the tree leaves, leaving soft round marks on the dirt below. There was a pungent smell of the village -- of dirt ruffled by dews, trees and the sea.
Our forester Quashem appeared with a brush in hand and the other hand almost invisible behind his thick bush of long black beard. We had started calling him Bangla Bhai for his similarity to that infamous Islamist thug.
"Have your breakfast quickly," Quashem said. "We got to move on before the tide ebbs."
Distance: Appx. 240 km
Journey time: One and Half DaysHow to go, where to stay Nijhum Dwip is an offshore island in the Bay of Bengal situated in the extreme south of Hatia island which is separated by Hatia channel. There are several approaches to the island. Passenger launches everyday plies between Sadarghat in Dhaka to Tomoruddy Ghat of Hatia upazilla. Adventure tourists can hire a trawler from Tomoruddy to Nijhum Dwip. A trawler may cost between Tk 1,200 and Tk 1,500 per day. Another approach is from Chittagong. A coastal passenger vessel plies between Chittagong and Nalchira Ghat twice a week. Our Star Holiday team took the sea-truck ride from Char Jabber Ghat to Nalchira Ghat at the the northern tip of Hatia which took around two and a half hours. For overnight stay in the island you have to contact the UNO of Hatia in advance for booking the bungalow on the island, or you can contact the DFO of Noakhali to stay at Nijhum Dwip forest office. You must carry your food and other necessities.
Trip costs.
The trip may cost Tk 2,500 and Tk 4,000 per person.Life jacket * Light-soled shoe * Shorts, T-shirt * Sunscreen lotion * Sun hat
* A pair of binocular * Camera * Flash light * Sleeping gear * Insect repellent, Best time to travel Winter
Half an hour later, we were on rickshaws plodding along another broken dirt road. Last night's ghastly memories came fresh to my mind. Our bodies still ached from that horrendous journey. But fortunately, the rickshaw trip ended in less than half an hour. We got down beside a small forest. On the other side was the open sea. A narrow channel had flown inland and a 40 feet trawler awaited for us.
We put our haversacks on the trawler and soon sailed into the open sea. We lazed on the wooden deck as the sun shone pleasantly on us and watched the shore with the forest frill getting smaller. Finally it disappeared and we were now on the open sea. Lucky that it was winter, the waves danced gently. Gulls flapped around in low altitude, darting to catch fish. We shivered to think how people cross this channel to reach the island in stormy days.
Suddenly in the horizon we noticed a black dot rapidly growing bigger. We grabbed for the binocular. It
is a huge Shampan and moving very fast, we could see a triangular flag flapping in the wind, looking like a pirate ship. It grew bigger and bigger until it was almost upon us. With a frightening look and accompanying waves, it crossed us fast in a determined way.
"This is a smugglers' ship," said Quashem. "That is why they are moving at such a high speed. This place is infested with smugglers."
After that nothing happened in particular and so we felt sleepy. About an hour later, we saw our destination drawing close. Through a dense forest we entered a channel and coasted along with the engine of the trawler just idling in long, slow strokes. Then it stopped and the boatman used a long pole to push the boat forward.
It truly seemed like a nijhum dwip or island of silence. There was no human being in sight, no sound except that of the pole swishing through water. Then we saw the buzzards, huge and solemn sitting on tree stumps. There were at least 40 of them, brown and majestic. It was a rare sight to be seen in Bangladesh.
The canal took a turn and then we met the first sign of civilisation a group of fishermen. Using nets across the canal they were catching fish. The boatman cried out warning calls and the fishermen quickly folded up the nets. Carefully we crossed them to proceed. A few minutes later we crossed another bend and a beautiful bungalow perched on concrete poles came into view. We moored the boat and walked up to the bungalow.
At last, we are at Nijhum Dwip. The morning was almost about to elapse into noon. But we could not let it waste like that and so went on a reconnaissance. First, we stepped into the lone marketplace of the island -- two rows of tin sheds giving out a strong stench of rotten fish. There were a few ice vendors, fish stores where we found fishermen sorting out shrimp fry, and a few small retail shops selling rice, lentils, chips and juice in tetrapacks. We wondered who on this poverty-stricken island would care to drink juice, but then we know the poorest tend to spend most on trendy and junk items. Somewhere I read the starving Ethiopian mothers buy Coke for their malnourished children. At the farthest end stood a shack housing the local post office. Its big red signboard announces poses bold on this island. Inside, a man broods over an empty table. Mailshardly come to the island.
We walked through a village of mud houses -- they looked forlorn and wind-beaten on this island, and we knew they looked the same some 20 years, 30 years or even 100 years ago -- and then crossed a just harvested paddy field to reach the beach. The term beach did not evoke the same kind of picture here it is a long and wide area of slippery mud at the end of which the sea ripples gently. Fishermen were landing their catch from small non-mechanised fishing boats. They do not go far into the sea, we could see the other boats floating still some distance away, besides them were the nets cast in a wide area, the floats bobbing on the water. Some boats were approaching the shore, the tiny black bodies of the fishermen straining with each pull of the oar. It's an unreal scene with the strange silence, as if we were watching some silent movie of the past era.
We tried to walk down to the sea. After we took the first few steps, we knew we had made a mistake. I was the first to go down, then the rest followed suit. Instead of taking a cool dip in the sea, we were having a good mud bath, sliding and rolling, only it was getting painful as we got bruised by sharp-edged clams. Finally, our mud frolicking ended as we almost squished a snake. The long sea snake lay almost immobile, a bit of blood on its head. It must have been caught in the fishermen's net.
With some effort, we got back to harder, stable ground and walked along the shore. A boat just moored and fishermen came walking carrying bunches of hilsas. We found some children as small as three years sitting on the sand and mending nets.
We wanted to explore around the beach a bit, but there was nothing but the vastness of the sea and the shore. Yet we found some interesting things two huge hermit crabs covering their heads with hollowed-out clam shells like helmets. They lifted the shells like a human being holding a curry pot upside down over their heads. They put their helmets down and locked their arms with each other. Suddenly, one gave up, running away taking its helmet along and tried to enter a hole in the ground. Soon another kind of crab appeared, with one huge arm looking like that of Popye and another much rickety one. With its huge pincer, it snapped at the helmet carrier, which found it better not to get into another fight and went further away.
It was already high noon and all this mud sliding and walking had made us hungry. We broke off our tour and headed for the bungalow.
Photo: Syed Zakir Hossain
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