The Lushai village and a road coiled like a mitochondrion

After a little longer there, we went to see the Lushai village next to the helipad. In a small space they have presented their heritage beautifully, and many of us got busy taking photos in their traditional dress. Abul Kashem sir and Mihir Lal Saha sir arrived a while later, and Mihir sir gave us an important talk on the Lushai village and on Japanese culture, which we listened to attentively. He was also the first to point out how strongly lichens had taken hold there. After a look around we headed back to the resort for breakfast, and on the walk back I spotted some Cycas plants. Breakfast done, we packed up, said goodbye to the Darjeeling Resort and set out again for something new. This time the destination was Khagrachari town.

The chander gari rocked along, rising and falling with the waves of the hills, and I was enjoying today’s ride even more than yesterday’s. The road to Sajek has one peculiar quality: you can see where you are going from a long way off, it even looks quite close, but the road is coiled like a mitochondrion. The jeep goes right, goes left, swings round, and then you realise that after all that road you have moved only a little way forward from where you were. Little by little, in this way, we left Sajek behind and moved towards Khagrachari.

On the way the children were waving tata again, just like the day before. Then a gentleman in the jeep ahead of us threw a ten-taka note towards them. Watching the children run after that note reminded me of Sanjib Chandra Chattopadhyay’s travelogue “Palamau”, and the scene where the children are given money at a river crossing. That was a lovely story. But here the children were chasing the money without looking around them, and a serious accident could happen at any moment. I was still thinking about that when we reached Khagrachari town. There I was a little surprised to see the flags of Brazil, Argentina, Germany and other teams; the World Cup had clearly touched the whole country. Brazil were playing that night, and you could feel it here and there. Taking all this in, we arrived back at yesterday’s hotel, Eco Chari Inn.

A dash for Jumma and the steps of Risang falls

It was a Friday. The moment we got out of the jeeps, a few of us ran for the mosque for Jumma prayers. But it was already half past one, and in the middle of the road we split into two camps. One side said the time is gone, let us go back, shower, freshen up and pray afterwards. The other said we are nearly there, let us just pray and go. We were still debating what was best when we found ourselves in front of the mosque. The time had passed, true, but the khutba was still going on, so there was still a ray of hope. We did a hurried wudu and managed to join the prayer. Two lessons that day: stay hopeful, and keep at it until the end. Back at the hotel we freshened up and went for lunch. The cooking at this hotel is genuinely excellent. We ate well, rested a little and set off again, this time to see Khagrachari’s famous Risang falls.

I rode on the roof of our pilot’s jeep, taking in the view. The funny thing was that ten of the twelve people in our jeep were on the roof, and the inside was practically empty. On the way back it was dark, though, so everyone sat inside. The jeep dropped us at a spot above the falls and we started down in groups, one after another. The way down was terribly steep and looked frightening, so quite a few people decided not to go down at all and stayed at the top. Bit by bit we descended until we were right by the waterfall. The path is a run of notched concrete steps hugging the hillside, also very steep, and you can tell just by looking that the falls are a long way down. Taking the steps slowly, my eyes fell on the hillside, and when I looked closely there was a carpet of ferns and Selaginella over it. Looking at those, we reached the bottom and the falls. We had been late leaving the hotel, so by the time we got there the light was already fading.

The teachers began hurrying everyone back. And that was exactly the problem: as easily as we had come down, that was how hard the climb back would be. I had come down late and was at the back of everyone, so I tried to run to the front, which was another piece of foolishness. A short run and I was gasping; I managed the rest of the way a little at a time. There were motorbikes available, and for a little money you could ride straight to the top, but nobody was keen on taking that risk, so we all walked up. At the top a forest department officer was waiting for us. He took us to the range office, which was under construction. The officer in charge turned out to be a senior from our own Botany department. It was 2 December, the 25th anniversary of the Chittagong Hill Tracts Peace Accord, and an event had been organised there for it. That he gave us his time in the middle of all that was a real pleasure.

After this courtesy visit we returned to the hotel. But this was our last ride in the chander gari. We took a photo with Sukash dada and said goodbye to him. I have been telling his stories for two days, and I think this is the first time I have said the pilot’s name. From tomorrow we would be travelling by bus again, no more chander gari, and that thought stuck somewhere in my mind. But it was all fate, and there was nothing to do but accept it.

The last night at Eco Chari

Everyone freshened up in their rooms and was ready for dinner, and the moment the call came we were all up on the hotel’s fourth floor. The food at this hotel really was wonderful. After eating and a short rest, some went to their rooms, some went downstairs to chat, and some stayed on a while where they were. A small group went out for a walk around the hotel, and I followed them. It was a beautiful, quiet place with hardly anyone about, and the crickets could be heard clearly. A little way along there was a small tong-like shop, where another group had already settled in before us. We joined their tea adda, and it felt good. Eventually we left that lovely spot and went back to the hotel, where the teachers and everyone else were waiting downstairs. There a small class took place on what we had learnt and seen on the tour so far.

After the class we went to our rooms. I thought I would get a peaceful sleep, but one glance at the television in the room and that idea vanished. I like football, but my roommates are hardcore. Brazil were playing at one in the morning and they were going to watch at any cost. For some reason the TV was not working, though, and while I felt sorry for them I felt a certain peace for myself. I thought they might go next door to watch, but the people next door were Argentina fans, so that did not happen. They checked the score on their phones now and then. By then I was already sinking into the world of sleep, and I could not hold out as a resident of this one.

As soon as I woke, Rasif said, bhai, it was a good thing we did not stay up for the match, Brazil lost. Rakib, beside him, agreed: yes, bhai, just as well, it was not much of a game. Well then. Other people wake to birdsong and a good morning; I wake to football news. Fine. So today one of our camps would be observing a silence. And that is exactly what happened. When the call for breakfast came and we all trooped up to the fourth floor, you could tell as soon as you got near them that they were subdued and saying nothing. But halfway through breakfast someone said something about the match, the talk started up and things slowly returned to normal. We discussed the plan for the day. After breakfast we packed our bags, thanked our favourite hotel, Eco Chari Inn, and said goodbye. Mihir sir said a few words of guidance, we took a group photo for the memory, and walked to the bus that was waiting for us.

Nata at the Horticulture Park, darkness at Alutila

Today’s final destination was Rangamati, but on the way we would see the Horticulture Park and the Alutila cave before spending the night there. With the bus full of noise and singing we reached the Horticulture Park very quickly. It was still early, so apart from a handful of people there were no tourists; any later and you could not have stood the crowd. We got to wander around in complete comfort. Cross the hanging bridge and go inside and the atmosphere changes completely, so quiet and calm. Alongside the familiar plants we found several rare ones, and as at Sajek the strong presence of ferns and lichens was worth noticing. Both sides of the path had been planted with lovely flowering plants for decoration. Moving slowly on, we suddenly found ourselves in front of the hanging bridge again; the place is laid out so that you go in by one path and come back by the other.

We spent a little more time looking around and set off again. On the way back I came across the fruit of the nata plant by the roadside. I had seen its flowers beside the Darjeeling Resort in Sajek, so now, at last, I had the complete picture of the plant. It immediately brought back “Aam Antir Bhenpu”, the children’s edition of Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay’s Pather Panchali, and the games played there with nata seeds. Whether this nata was that nata, I was not sure. I looked around for a ripe seed but found none, and there was no time. So, hoping to meet it again, I went and sat in the bus.

Next, the Alutila cave. Everyone was so eager for the cave that you could hear it in the singing. Between the songs and the scenery, I never noticed when we arrived in front of the cave. We got off the bus and started walking towards it. The path is cut into the hillside, pretty, with neat rows of trees on either side, and it was a pleasure to go down the steps. The banyan tree halfway along was a real eye-catcher; its hanging roots were so beautifully draped that my heart lifted just looking at it. But sir had told us beforehand not to stop anywhere, as we were short of time, so we went straight to the mouth of the cave. There my eyes suddenly fell on the ground. I had never seen earth with such beautiful patterns, as if someone had painted it with a brush just the way they liked. One by one everyone was going into the cave, and now it was my turn.

I had imagined it would be like a crack running through a hill, but as I went in bit by bit, my idea changed completely. The deeper I went, the narrower the passage became and the less light there was. At one point it was properly dark inside; even with the phone’s flashlight on I could hardly make anything out. A stream of water flowing under my feet added a whole new dimension to this strange experience, and a creeping shiver ran through me. A little further on I saw a light ahead. I cannot describe how happy that light made me. I got out of the cave quickly, with a feeling quite unlike anything else. One by one those behind me came out too. But I was surprised to see Mihir sir emerge from the cave mouth last of all. He had said at first that he would not go in, but his tremendous hunger to know something new truly deserves praise. If you want to do anything in life, you need that kind of will. Then we all started climbing back up. There were a few more sights on the way, still under construction, but good to see all the same. It would have been nice to stay a little longer, but we were hostages to time. Everyone was called onto the bus, and we set off for Rangamati.

The red-earth road to Rangamati

A little way on, the road changed completely. Until now there had been hills, slopes and teak on both sides; now none of that was to be seen. Now there was only water, and more water. Rivers and streams everywhere, and the sunlight glittering on them took my mind away. It brought to mind Rabindranath’s famous song “Gram-chhara oi ranga matir path”, the one about the red-earth road beyond the village. Truly, everything was a delight to the enchanted eye. The one annoyance was that the bus had to stop at a BGB camp every little while. Annoying or not, there was nothing to be done; it was all for our safety.

In the afternoon we reached Rangamati town. We freshened up, had lunch and went to the market to shop for home. Prices were fairly affordable, so many people bought a lot: a fatua for themselves or a brother, a shawl for the family, clothes, or pickles and chocolate to their heart’s content. At one point I felt that if the teachers had not hurried us onto the bus, between us we would have bought everything in the shops. After the shopping we made our way to the Kshudra Nrigoshthi Cultural Institute, the government’s cultural institute for the small ethnic communities, where we would stay the night. It is essentially a government rest house: the people who run music and dance groups, rehearse and take part in various programmes stay here overnight. Chandan sir showed us our rooms, and we freshened up and rested for a while.

Dinner was arranged on the second floor, but the food came packed from a hotel, which spared us the trek there. As every time, it was delicious, and as every time it was on the spicy side. Because of all that chilli a lot of food was left over and some was wasted; everything has its good and bad sides. There was yogurt and sweets afterwards, though, which Subarna ma’am had arranged for everyone.

When the eating was over we all gathered in the room upstairs. The special event of the night was a lottery. Toufika apu and Nasiha had been selling tickets since we arrived in Rangamati, and now the show began. There were 18 prizes and 44 of us including the teachers. The numbers were called one by one, and every winner went as wild with joy as the actor Jasim. Finally the first prize went to Hasibur, and with that the lottery was over. Everyone was supposed to get ready for bed, but instead everyone got ready for Argentina’s match. When it was over, we went to our rooms and slept. The story of Kaptai Lake comes in the next part.

We were 39 students, four teachers (Mihir sir, Tahmina ma’am, Chandan sir and Abul Kashem sir) and one staff member, Saiful bhai, a team of 44 in all. The first destination was Sajek. Our tour had three main stops: Sajek, Khagrachari and Rangamati.

From St Martin’s to Sajek

Not that we had wanted to go to these places from the start. If the first plan had worked out, we would probably have been on our way to St Martin’s Island and Cox’s Bazar. But the route to St Martin’s was closed, so that was off. Where else could we go? There was a lot of discussion with our teachers. The Sundarbans came up first. Secretly I was all for it, because nothing else looks or feels like the Sundarbans. But we would have had to spend the whole time on a launch, which would have been hard on everyone, so that plan was dropped too.

Mihir sir asked everyone in the room once more where we could go. One of us said Sajek. Everyone agreed, Khagrachari and Rangamati were added, and the draft of a four-day study tour was ready. Today the first step of that draft was finally happening.

A World Cup night on the bus

Before long the tall brick-and-concrete buildings were behind us and we were out of Dhaka. The singing and clapping inside the bus died down after a while, and everyone settled into their seats. It went quiet; people were resting and only the bus kept going on its own. After a stretch of road we stopped at a restaurant, freshened up, had tea and got back on.

I thought the rest of the ride would pass in silence, but I had forgotten about the FIFA World Cup. At one in the morning the whole bus split into two camps, Brazil and Argentina, and the girls joined in just as loudly as the boys. The commentary was playing on the speaker and everyone was watching on their phones. Then the network started playing up, the stream kept freezing, and the mood dropped. At one point there was no network at all and no updates. Suddenly someone shouted that Argentina had scored, and the whole bus erupted in Argentina chants. After the match ended, some time past three, the bus slowly went quiet again.

It did not last. At about half past four we reached Matiranga, where the bus stopped. From here all the vehicles enter Khagrachari together, and there was some time before the convoy would move. We got down and wandered about, though the sun was not up yet so there was not much to see. We all sat down for tea at a tong, one of those tiny roadside tea shacks. Over that tea Chandan sir, Abul Kashem sir and Subarna ma’am talked with us in a way I could not have imagined. It felt like an elder brother and sister advising us about our future plans while we listened and worked out what to do. This is the one thing I love most about a study tour: you see everyone up close, you get everyone close. I secretly wished for a bit more of that time, but happiness never lasts long. The vehicles started moving and we all had to get back on the bus. Still, this was only the first page of a memory; the whole tour was still ahead.

Eco Chari Inn and the chander gari

Slowly we entered Khagrachari, which is the way to Sajek. The sun was rising in the east, and the winding road, the hills rising and falling beside it and the trees big and small were now faintly visible. Watching all this from the window, we came through Khagrachari bazar and arrived at a hotel at about half past six: Eco Chari Inn. To me the hotel itself was worth seeing. A handsome building clad in blue glass, hills on every side, and below it fields of paddy and sugarcane. The flowers in front were a delight: Rangoon creeper (Combretum indicum) over the gate, yellow bougainvillea inside, crown of thorns (Euphorbia milii) dotted red, and garlic vine (Mansoa alliacea) blooming in clusters. A perfect spot for anyone who loves taking pictures.

We freshened up, had breakfast and set off again, this time not by bus but in Sajek’s own vehicle, the chander gari. The name means moon car; they are the open jeeps that carry everyone up and down these hills. Four teachers and all of us piled into four of them. Before getting in we learnt that we would stay at this same hotel on the way back from Sajek, and I was quietly pleased to be returning to such a lovely place.

Within moments the jeep had left the town behind. The road wound through the hills, with a bamboo-and-timber house here and there beside it and rows of banana plants. The more I looked, the more I kept looking. In the jeep someone played the song “Chander Gari” by Tuhin Kanti Das of the band Krishnopokkho. Somewhere in the middle of that song and that scenery we stopped at a tourist police camp. We spent a little while there, drank sugarcane juice and got ready to move on. But before we left, something funny happened. Three or four people were taking a photo in front of the jeep, all Argentina supporters, and someone declared it the Argentina supporters’ frame. One by one people squeezed in shouting “I am Argentina too, I am Argentina too”, and when the teachers joined in at the end the frame was packed. We all enjoyed that a lot.

The slope at Baghaihat and a roller-coaster pilot

We set off again, and the football banter went on without a pause until the next stop, the Baghaihat army camp. Everyone climbed out of the jeeps and started looking around. The rest area sits beside a low hillock, but the sun was so fierce it was hard to stand in it. Many of us had brought winter clothes thinking Sajek would be cold, and now felt rather silly. Still, the heat was nothing next to the beauty around us. Some of us walked about; some sat in the shade of the trees by the hillock and rested. Plenty of other vehicles were waiting there like ours, and a few small shops had sprung up along the road to serve this stream of people. People were buying fruit, bamboo mugs and other cheap little things, and I was one of the buyers.

When I looked more closely at the hill slope beside the road, I found all sorts of pteridophytes. The Selaginella spreading over the ground like grass was impossible to miss. A few naturally grown Macaranga peltata trees kept the slope in shade, while around the camp itself there were planted rain trees (Samanea saman) and akashmoni (Acacia auriculiformis). The plant that really caught my eye on the slope was castor, bherenda (Ricinus communis). It was in flower, and a small crowd of plant lovers had gathered around it.

We spent a good while looking at this and that, and then the drive continued without any more stops. On the road to Sajek I noticed something new. Whenever a chander gari passed, the small children standing by the roadside waved and called out tata. It made me very curious, and at some point I started waving back. Hills rose and fell on both sides of the road, small waterfalls appeared now and then, and the teak (Tectona grandis) plantations along the road looked beautiful. Between the teak trees grew another plant I recognised, the broom grass phuljharu (Thysanolaena latifolia), whose flower heads are made into the brooms we sweep our houses with.

Perhaps going slowly would have made it all more enjoyable, and we would have seen much more. But our pilot, which is what the drivers of the chander gari are called, was driving as if we were on a roller coaster. At first the speed was a little unsettling, but the moment we overtook one of our own four jeeps everyone shouted “pilot, pilot”, and that was the start of it. We kept chanting to cheer him on, and one by one he left every jeep in front of us behind. The overtaking felt risky, on a hill road that was also very narrow, but everyone was having so much fun and the pilot seemed so skilled that I forgot the risk and joined in. At one point we passed our second jeep too and were right behind the first. Just as he was about to overtake it, the pilot stopped the jeep and got down. What was that about, everyone asked. He had a paper packet in his hand; he handed it over at a shop there, exchanged a few words and came back. By then every single vehicle we had passed had gone by us again. Everyone was so disappointed. We stayed hopeful that he would work his magic again, but no, not that day, and not until the very last day did he overtake a single vehicle again.

First day in the land of clouds

At about half past twelve we reached Sajek. Our friend Robiul knew someone there, so rooms had been booked in advance at the Darjeeling Resort. It was a beautiful, peaceful place. Look out from the back of the resort and the view runs away into the distance: masses of cloud, and the play of light and shade they throw on the ground. After freshening up we went for lunch. The menu was quite different from what we usually eat in the city or the village, and though it was on the spicy side the food was delicious. We ate well, went back to the resort for a short rest and then set off for Konglak hill. This time we were allowed to sit on the roof of the jeeps, so most of the boys rode on top, whooping all the way. On top of Konglak there was a frenzy of looking around and taking pictures. There were few people at first, but within minutes the summit was packed, so that if you tried to photograph one person several others walked into the frame. Everyone took their pictures and we said goodbye to Konglak before dusk.

We reached the helipad right at twilight and sat down in a big circle. Sir asked whoever could sing to start, and the rest of us to join in. Siam sang and everyone followed. Tired from the whole day, listening to songs over some light snacks felt wonderfully restful. Dinner time was approaching, so after a little longer we got ready to head back. The resort is only a short way from the helipad, so most of us walked. There is a row of food stalls just below the helipad, and we went to see what was on offer before going back: all sorts of food, most of it the kind you get in the city too. Tahmina ma’am treated those of us who were there to momos and bamboo chicken, which is chicken cooked inside a length of bamboo, and I was one of the lucky ones.

Back at the resort we showered and went for dinner at the same place as lunch. As agreed, they had everything ready for our barbecue party; we only had to go and eat. I had thought it would be more fun if we did the barbecue ourselves, but given how exhausted we were, this was the better way. At the very start of the tour Chandan sir had told us he had searched the internet, asked people who had been there, and fixed on whatever would be best. Now it seemed he had been exactly right.

With dinner over, the day was done and there were no more plans, and even the thought of that was a relief. At the resort there was no looking around, straight to bed. And there something funny happened. Like the other buildings in Sajek, the Darjeeling Resort is built entirely of wood, so you can hear every word from the next room. We could hear what our friends next door were discussing, so I knocked on the wooden wall and asked whether everything was all right in there. The answer came back: it’s going fine. The deeper the night, the clearer the sounds became. Someone snoring next door, even footsteps on the floor above, kept jolting my ears. But no sound could get in the way of a body that tired, and I never knew when I fell asleep.

Palash, shimul and tropical almond

First I took the Hatirjheel circular bus from Rampura bridge and got off at the very last stop, and from there I began walking the whole length of it, looking at everything as I went. The first ones I met were palash, the flame of the forest, and shimul, the red silk cotton tree, and after them the tropical almond, our kathbadam. The almond trees were covered in flower from top to bottom, and they were a pleasure to look at. As I went on along the footpath I found a good number of mahogany trees along the edge of the water, with wild date palms among them. The other trees that catch the eye here are the hijal, and now and then a mahua.

A kingdom of yellow and lollipop jhau

A little further on, the one spreading its yellow everywhere was the ranichura, Senna polyphylla. Oh, and radhachura, the peacock flower, is present in plenty of places here too. Then came a flyover. Along its edges the lollipop shapes of jhau trees stretched all the way to the far end, with bougainvillea tucked in between them. After that began the play of kamini, the orange jasmine, and kanchan, the orchid tree, with debkanchan alongside. It was fun to see them turn up one after another. The frangipani, kathgolap, Plumeria obtusa, in its various forms caught my eye as well.

Sparks of fire and clusters of oranges

A bit further on, another flyover. Around it there was nothing but bottlebrush and more bottlebrush. Every tree had flowered well, and it looked as though sparks of fire had been splashed over them. And here the fruits of the kantamehedi, the golden dewdrop, truly charmed me, because never in my life had I seen its fruit like this. At first I thought the bushes were hanging with bunches of ripe oranges.

A small disappointment at the far end

But at the far end came yet another flyover, and at first I was a little disheartened. I saw that some kanchan trees and some bottlebrush trees had been planted very close together, one after the other. Seeing the white flowers of the kanchan right next to the leaves of the bottlebrush, I must have imagined that day that I had seen a new tree. My heart really did sink a little, because after an hour of walking, tired out, the thing I had wanted, the thing I had come hoping to see, did not exist. Still, there was nothing to despair about, I had enjoyed every bit of it. No, no, it is not over yet. There is still something left.

I had not seen wrong

On the way back, right beside the flyover, my eye suddenly fell on the very trees I had seen the other day. The tree looks like a bottlebrush, with white flowers hanging in clusters. I took photo after photo of it. Seeing me at it, a passer-by actually stopped to ask, brother, what is the name of that tree? I could not even tell him the name, which was a little embarrassing for me. But yes, at that moment the tree seemed enormously precious to me, because it kept reminding me that my guess had been right. I had not seen wrong that day.

Anyway, by the time I got near Police Plaza I was so tired that I had no choice but to get back on the circular bus and return to the Rampura bridge stop. I was heading home, but what can you do, on the way I had noticed some bandarlathi trees, Cassia grandis, near the stop. Bit by bit, very slowly, I made my way over to them, took a few photos and came home. As for the hero of this trip, the one I had gone to Hatirjheel for that day, I got his identity from our respected Jasim sir. I had given him some photos, and it was he who put a name to it: Callistemon pallidus (Bonpl.) DC.

The plants I met that day

• Palash, flame of the forest, Butea monosperma
• Shimul, red silk cotton tree, Bombax ceiba
• Kathbadam, tropical almond, Terminalia catappa
• Hijal, freshwater mangrove, Barringtonia acutangula
• Ranichura, Senna polyphylla
• Khejur, wild date palm, Phoenix sylvestris
• Baganbilash, bougainvillea, Bougainvillea spectabilis
• Shwet shimul, kapok, Ceiba pentandra
• Kamini, orange jasmine, Murraya paniculata
• Shwet raktakanchan, white orchid tree, Bauhinia variegata var. candida
• Debkanchan, purple orchid tree, Bauhinia purpurea
• Bottlebrush, Callistemon citrinus
• Kantamehedi, golden dewdrop, Duranta repens

At the gate

Friday finally came and we set off for Baldha Garden. We had been told 9 a.m. and we got there at 8:30. As soon as we reached the gate I caught the smell of Buddha coconut (Pterygota alata) and looked up over the wall of Cybele. Sure enough, a huge Buddha coconut tree stood there, and the scent of its flowers hung over the whole street. Baldha Garden actually has two parts. One is Cybele, which is open to everyone. Anyone can buy a ticket and walk in. The smaller part is Psyche, and that one is protected. Before going I had read a post by Asma Annesha ma’am that explained all of this really well, and it helped a lot. Looking toward the main gate of Cybele I spotted a raj ashok (Amherstia nobilis), a tree I had wanted to see for a long time. Over the wall of Psyche my eyes landed on another huge tree whose fruits looked like big pointed gourds. It was a Burma shimul, also called white silk cotton (Ceiba pentandra).

We had time to kill, so Shamim and I walked once around the outside of Psyche. You can’t see much from outside, but one tree caught my eye. At first I called it an ashok, though I was fairly sure it was some kind of ashok and not the ashok itself. Later, inside Psyche, I learned its name: swarna ashok (Saraca thaipingensis). After walking all the way around I realised Psyche isn’t a very big place. Then we came back and stood at the gate again. It still wasn’t nine.

Then came the first shock. We stood there and stood there. Nobody. Not one familiar face. Every time someone walked up I thought, this must be someone from Udbhid Chottor. But no…

Around nine a few older people gathered at the gate and I thought they might be with us. Then they walked in as well. Now we were in real trouble. We didn’t even have a phone number to call. Shamim said we should have taken the number the day before, that was our mistake. We went back and forth about what to do. I opened the Udbhid Chottor group and looked at the photos of the event managers, Asma Annesha ma’am, Zayed Farid sir and Aloka Haldar ma’am, again and again so I would recognise them. It didn’t help. There was one man standing outside who looked a bit like Zayed sir. I told Shamim to be brave and ask if he was with us. Shamim went up to him. “Bhai, are you from Udbhid Chottor?” He said, “Udbhid Chottor? What’s that? I’m waiting for a friend.” Great. Now what?

Questions started going round in my head. Had we really come this close to Baldha Garden only to go home again? I kept saying to Shamim, “Bhai, do something.” Every time he gave me the same answer. “What can I do?” After a while another man came out through the gate, and I started pushing Shamim to ask again. This time he was annoyed with me. “What’s all this? Go and ask him yourself.” In the end it was still Shamim who went. “Bhai, have you come with Udbhid Chottor?” When he said yes I could finally breathe. Alhamdulillah, we had found someone! So we were going into Baldha Garden after all. Riaz Roni bhai was the first person we talked to.

Inside Psyche

They opened the gate of Psyche for us. What a place. Right inside I saw behesht-er bulbul, the peace lily (Spathiphyllum wallisii). Then, the more I looked around, the more amazed I was. I loved the water lilies most of all. White water lily (Nymphaea pubescens), blue water lily (Nymphaea nouchali), Cape blue water lily (Nymphaea capensis) and red water lily (Nymphaea rubra), all in one place. Just looking at them made me happy.

As we went further in, every new plant made me more excited. There was a cage with a collection of orchids, and I managed to get a photo of one whose name I still don’t know.

Psyche really surprised me. Most of the plants were new to me, and even the familiar ones were there in several varieties. I had no idea a basak, the Malabar nut (Adhatoda vasica), could grow into such a big tree. The cycad collection was great too. I kept writing down the names of new plants and the list just kept growing. When we had gone around the whole area, we all headed to Cybele.

In Cybele

Walking into Cybele was a relief in a way, because at least some of the plants were familiar. I saw quite a few basket badam trees (Sterculia foetida) in both Cybele and Psyche. I didn’t expect to find padauk (Pterocarpus indicus) here either. At the far end of Cybele there was a camellia (Camellia japonica) and an African tulip tree, rudra palash (Spathodea campanulata), growing side by side.

On the way back we were walking past the old room where poets once sat and wrote, and suddenly someone opened it up for us. I couldn’t believe it. If I had come on my own that would never have happened. We all went up, took photos and talked for a long time.

Goodbye, but not the last one

Then it was time to leave. Everyone gathered at the gate. Just as we were about to say goodbye, someone said there was a light lunch arranged and we should all come to Fakruddin. So we went and had a good meal. After that it really was time to go. I don’t know why, but after all the shocks of that morning I half wished for one more, something that would let me stay with them a little longer. People who had been strangers a few hours earlier felt like friends. I said goodbye to everyone and left, but in my mind it wasn’t the last goodbye. We’ll meet again on the next trip, insha’Allah.

Plants I saw that day

• Buddha coconut (Pterygota alata)
• White silk cotton or Burma shimul (Ceiba pentandra)
• Peace lily, behesht-er bulbul (Spathiphyllum wallisii)
• White water lily (Nymphaea pubescens)
• Blue water lily (Nymphaea nouchali)
• Cape blue water lily (Nymphaea capensis)
• Red water lily (Nymphaea rubra)
• Raj ashok, pride of Burma (Amherstia nobilis)
• Swarna ashok (Saraca thaipingensis)
• Basak, Malabar nut (Adhatoda vasica)
• Basket badam (Sterculia foetida)
• Padauk (Pterocarpus indicus)
• Camellia (Camellia japonica)
• African tulip tree, rudra palash (Spathodea campanulata)

It is about as peaceful as a place can get. Birds call all around you, and under it all is that lovely, steady sound of crickets. Anyone would like a place like this.

It is also a huge collection of plants, familiar and unfamiliar, native and foreign, from small ones to giants.

The trees I managed to write down

Out of all those trees, I only managed to note down a few:

• Segun, teak (Tectona grandis)
• Batna (Castanopsis indica)
• Garjan (Dipterocarpus turbinatus)
• Roktan (Lophopetalum fimbriatum)
• African teak oak (Chlorophora spp.)
• Jai bamboo (Bambusa vulgaris)
• Dewa (Artocarpus lacucha)
• Mahogany (Swietenia mahagoni)
• Golapjam, rose apple (Syzygium jambos)
• Lohakath, ironwood
• Bhutum (Hymenodictyon excelsum)
• Oil palm
• Bon pepe, wild papaya
• Mitinga bamboo (Bambusa tulda)
• Jarul (Lagerstroemia speciosa)
• Chapalish
• Lotkon (Baccaurea ramiflora)
• Kadam (Neolamarckia cadamba)
• Torla bamboo (Bambusa burmanica)
• Pitraj (Aphanamixis polystachya)
• Sundari (Heritiera fomes)
• Banshpata (Podocarpus neriifolius)
• Telsur (Hopea odorata)
• Kankra tree

There is also an experimental bamboo garden here from 1981. It covers 10 acres and has eight species of bamboo. There’s a small Khasia village too, but we ran out of time and couldn’t visit it.

Anyway, all in all it was a good day.

How do we get there so early?

I was a little worried about getting there on time. The bus was supposed to leave TSC at 7 a.m. I was fairly sure they wouldn’t leave without us if we were late, but I didn’t want anyone kept waiting because of us. I didn’t want anyone thinking badly of us while they waited either. Zaman asked me the same thing every day. How are we getting there that early?

There’s the Dewan bus, but you won’t find one that early, and there aren’t many of them anyway. The number 6, then? No, that doesn’t go to Shahbag. What about Winner? No, that one goes around the whole world and takes forever. What other bus is there? Uber? Uber costs a lot. Was a CNG auto-rickshaw really the only option? So many things went through my head. What were we supposed to do? I missed Subastu. When the Subastu bus was still running, this was never a worry. I’d get on in front of my house at any time, get off at the GPO and walk ten minutes to Curzon Hall. Nothing was easier. But Subastu is gone, and that’s our problem. One person does wrong, the whole company gets punished, and ordinary people pay the price.

Anyway, whenever he asked, I just said Friday was still a while away and we’d figure it out when it came.

Thursday night. Zaman asked again. “How are we going? At least tell me today!” We were still talking when Abdul Momin bhaiya called. When he mentioned going to the picnic I was taken aback. How did bhaiya know about the picnic? After a moment it hit me. Oh… he’s from Chapainawabganj too! His call was such a relief. I never imagined all our problems would be solved like that. I told him we’d go together then. That settled it, and a weight came off my shoulders.

Ten buses, ten mangoes

Friday finally came. I got up early and set off for bhaiya’s place. It isn’t far, so I got there quickly, and he was already waiting outside. Then we headed for campus. On the way a friend of his joined us, and I found out later that he’s a relative of ours too. That was nice. The four of us took an Uber and got to campus on time. I couldn’t help being amazed. So many people? All from Chapainawabganj? It was hard to believe. The place was packed. I didn’t recognise most of the crowd. They had come from all over, pulled together by their roots. I was stunned to see Ashik Anjum bhai. He came too? I couldn’t remember when I’d last seen him. We hadn’t even met last Eid. I spent the time chatting with him.

At 8:30 in the morning we finally set off for Comilla in ten buses. Ten buses, each named after a mango. Ours was Langra. There was an unofficial plan for which year rode in which bus, but for some reason a few senior brothers suddenly joined our bus, so we lost our seats in the front row and ended up on one of the long seats at the very back. Nothing to say there. They’re seniors, they deserve respect, and respecting them is our job. It made me a little sad, though. They could have shown some kindness to their juniors and said, “Stay where you are, we’ll manage.”

The heat or the smell?

And so the bus slowly set off. The Kanchpur jam that Robiul had warned me about was on my mind. Get stuck in that and the day is over. I kept praying that Allah would save us from it, but in the end there was no escape. Calling it a jam doesn’t do it justice. Anything I compare it to sounds too small. We sat and sat and sat. The bus didn’t budge. It stayed exactly where it was and didn’t move an inch. It was maddening. At one point it got so bad I can’t even describe it. The bus stopped right in front of a garbage dump. We were already worn out from the heat, and now the dump smelled so strong it felt like we would choke. Holding a handkerchief over my nose didn’t help, the smell went straight through it. And there was no sign of the bus moving. We shut the windows and sprayed some perfume, and that helped a little. It’s hard to imagine how people live in the houses next to that dump. Doesn’t it bother them?

Ashik Anjum and I talked about this for a long time. The first thing he said was, “If this were my house, I’d sell it and move somewhere else.” I asked him, “What if it wasn’t yours but your father’s or grandfather’s?” This time the answer was a bit different. “If it wasn’t mine, I’d rent it out and move somewhere else.” After a while he said something good. “I’d tell the City Corporation people to clean this up. Why should they dump rubbish near my house?” It was nice to hear such a solid answer, but nice feelings don’t last forever. Soon the heat became unbearable. The windows were shut and everyone was soaked in sweat. Want to escape the heat? Take the smell. Want to escape the smell? Take the heat… So which is better, the heat or the smell?

While I was thinking about this the bus lurched forward, and we finally got past the dump. The windows went straight back open and we could breathe again. Then we crawled along, moving a bit and braking, moving a bit more and braking again, as if the brakes were keeping the beat. Ashik Anjum bhai was really fed up. He’d sit down, then stand up, and if he could have he would have got off and walked. After a long, long time the bus finally started moving like a bus, and now it was going fast. Suddenly bhaiya called. Their bus had already reached the first spot, Magic Paradise. I checked my watch. It was 1:20.

Magic Paradise

Ah, just a little longer and we’d be free of this bus! Five minutes later the bus turned onto another road and I got very excited, but slowly all that excitement turned into frustration. The bus showed no sign of stopping. It just kept going. We finally got there around two. When we reached the gate of Magic Paradise I forgot my hunger and tiredness and the excitement came right back. I had never seen anything like it. Three dinosaurs were set up as if they were playing guitar and drums and singing. I really loved that. The gate looked just like the ones in Disneyland cartoons. But inside I was a bit disappointed, because almost all the rides were closed. Don’t judge a book by its cover. I saw how true that is all over again. Coming back in a year might be better, because a lot of things were still being built or redone.

My favourite part was the water park. It was the only part I really liked. We got into the water. It was only my second time doing anything like that. Something changes in you the moment you get in the water. It’s such a different world from the air we live in. There were three kinds of slides and I tried every one, as many times as I felt like it. We all had a lot of fun. There were games too: morog lorai, cricket, ludo for the girls and musical chairs. Evening came and we didn’t even notice. Oh, there was a little train as well. Right at the end we rode it, and that was the end of our time there.

That night we pulled ourselves away from the magic of Magic Paradise and went to the Comilla SP bungalow, the home of Nurul sir, the pride of Chapainawabganj. A lot of things were made easy for us because of him. He did more for this picnic than anyone. After dinner there, the music started. I fell asleep sitting in my chair. My body was exhausted, and after the water every muscle ached. You know the saying, it hurts everywhere, so where do I put the ointment? That was me. I dozed against the back of the chair and the time went by. Then Zaman nudged me. “Come on, we have to get on the bus.” It was 3 o’clock. Three! So what I had heard wasn’t a rumour after all. On the way there we had been talking. I said we wouldn’t make it back by ten, we’d be a bit late, and if we got home after half past eleven the gateman would lock up, so I’d better let them know. Someone nearby said, “They’re leaving at three, what are you talking about, late at ten?” I laughed to myself. The event said 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. He probably hadn’t noticed and was just saying it. Now he’s probably the one laughing at me. If I had been staying in the hall, maybe I’d have known the right time from the start and there would have been no problem at all.

The way back

We got on the bus. I don’t remember much after that. In the morning I opened my eyes and saw the road, with our bus stuck in the middle of it. What a jam, brother. It could steal Gazipur’s crown! I sat with my face at the window watching everything around. The vehicles got smaller and smaller into the distance, until the last one I could see was the size of an ant, and even that ant-sized car wasn’t moving at all. It was about 7 then. Bhaiya called. “Where are you? Our bus has reached campus.”

What? How? We were only at Sonargaon, not even at Narayanganj yet! I told bhaiya not to wait for us and to go home. On any trip, almost 90 percent of the time is spent on the road, and the person who matters most is the driver. If he isn’t good, you don’t enjoy the trip and you don’t get any peace. That was exactly our problem. We had all left at the same time, and some were already on campus while others sat in a bus counting cars on the road. My arms and legs ached from sitting, and I was getting hungrier. If the bus had been moving even a little, I could at least have guessed how much longer, but it was standing perfectly still. I raised my head to see how everyone was doing. Most were asleep, some with their head on someone’s shoulder, some with their legs folded up on the seat somehow. The ones awake were looking around like me. The weather outside was nice, so sitting there wasn’t too bad. Every now and then a cool breeze came in and made us forget everything. Then bhaiya called again. I don’t know why my eyes always go to the clock when I answer the phone. If I didn’t see the time I wouldn’t get frustrated, but my eyes go straight to it. It was 8:30. Bhaiya said they had reached home. Alhamdulillah, okay, I said, hung up and looked out of the window.

A little further on I realised that part of the reason for the jam was a Hindu pilgrimage that day. Everyone had gathered in Narayanganj. We reached campus around 10:30, and Nafiul bhai and Parvez bhai were there. I asked, “Bhai, I guess we’re the last bus?” The only thing I could make out from the answer was that we were the only ones this late. Everyone else had reached campus at more or less the same time.

Finally I said goodbye to everyone, headed toward Shahbag and got home at 11:30, and that was the end of the Comilla trip.

I have only one regret. I don’t have a single group photo, not even one with Anjum, after spending so much time with him. If someone shares a group photo, that’s all I can hope for.

The morning bus

I knew in my heart that the buses wouldn’t actually leave campus that early. I know how everyone is by now. Still, you never know, so I got there on time. I had barely arrived when Sujon called and we talked for a bit. In front of the department there were only a few people and no sign of the rest. I put Shamim to work calling the others to find out where they were and to remind them what time it was.

We finally left for Bhawal a little before 8, the whole botany department in four buses. There was a bit of traffic, but our bus moved along nicely to the beat of the music. Breakfast was good: two slices of bread, a sweet, a boiled egg and an apple. At first I felt a little awkward because our teachers were sitting in the front seats, but the whole way they were right there with us. Whatever the boys and girls got up to, they didn’t say much. The rows of palash and debkanchan flowers along the road kept me staring out of the window. Around 10:30 we reached Champa without any trouble. One of our buses was already waiting outside because the gate wouldn’t open. The gate staff won’t open it without word from above. Our teachers sorted that out, and all our buses drove in together onto the narrow roads of that famous sal forest. Along the road there were signboards about different animals, their current status and how many of them live here. I was a bit surprised that there were only animals on them and not a single plant.

We all got off the buses in front of the resort. Juniors, seniors, the most senior of all, everyone standing together in one place. That’s the real fun of a picnic.

A boat, an auto and a Java cassia

The weather looked like it was turning, and we even got a little rain, but by Allah’s grace it cleared up. Our teachers told us Champa is the best resort there, the VVIP one, and it felt great that they had booked it for us. When they finished talking, everyone scattered wherever they liked. I went straight to the pond and got into a boat. I called Rasif, but he had his own plans and didn’t come. A few of us went out on the boat together. Seeing red water lilies in the pond was a real joy. That alone can turn a boat ride into something special.

I had just got off the boat and was wondering what to do next when a man said, “Bhai, ride my auto. I’ll show you the whole area.” He asked for a lot of money at first, so we said no, but he kept at it. “Who knows when you’ll come again? How will you understand the place if you don’t see it?” In the end he won. Hasibur, Nafis, Tarikul, Jafirul, Jubayer and I went off together. There was a small zoo and a watchtower, and he took us to both. On the way back a flower suddenly caught my eye, one I had been looking for for a long time. I went closer. Yes, that was it, a Java cassia. I never thought I’d find one here.

The three-legged race

We went back to the resort. Our teachers called us for lunch. If you ask me, the food was better than what you’d get in a really good restaurant. We ate till we were full, rested a bit, and then the cultural programme began. Our senior brothers and sisters had organised all kinds of games. The three-legged race. I liked the name. Two people tie one leg each together, so the pair has three legs, and then you run. I was just telling Konok that he and I should run together when Zaman bhai said, “You and I should run. I’ve got a lot of experience in this game.” And thanks to Zaman bhai, we actually came first. The games ended with a prize-giving, and that was the end of the official programme there.

Then it was time to go back. Everyone got on their own bus, and soon all the buses were slowly moving again. Like last time, I didn’t go all the way back to campus with the others. I got off halfway and headed home.

That was the whole day’s fun.