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Last winter, I went backpacking in Bangladesh, and stayed for two weeks in the remote village of Panchuria. To get there I took a dilapidated bus from Dhaka for 5 hours, a ferry to cross the mighty Ganges for an hour, another bus on the other side for three hours more, then a three wheeled rickshaw for 16 kilometers, and finally a short walk across yellow fields of mustard to reach the hut of my host. I was really tired, but what a sight greeted me, and I have to share it with you. It was yellow as far as the eyes can see, with the monotony broken only by the occasional palm tree :-
Most of Bangladesh is the low laying delta of three mighty rivers originating from the Himalayas - the Ganges, the Brahmaputra (or Jamuna) and the Meghna. Every year the country is lashed by rains from the Bay of Bengal, causing massive flooding which often kill hundreds of people. But the floods deposit fertile soil on the land, and Bangladeshis harvest rice in the summer and plant mustard in the fallow season in winter. So in winter the countryside is a beautiful yellow, a little like the rape fields in temperate climes. Incidentally, that scraggly palm tree, second from the left, produces a syrup which is cooked to make brown sugar. And the palms often host wild bees which make a lovely and fragrant yelow honey from the mustard flowers.
Here is the father of my host, an imposing figure who told me he was once in the Pakistani Army serving in the North Wetern Frontier Region, during the time when Bangladesh was East Pakistan. I thought he had a very kind face, and I couldn't imagine him pointing a gun in anger at the enemy.
Bangladesh is a poor country and there are not enough jobs for everybody. So nearly 2 million Bangladeshis work abroad in countries like Malaysia, Singapore and the Middle East, doing jobs that locals dont want. They go away for three years at a stretch, leaving wives and children behind. The husband of this young mother is working in Malaysia. Her child has never met his father, as he was born just after his Dad left home to work in Malaysia. He will only see his Dad for the first time when he is about three years old.
Here is another Bangladeshi mother whose husband is also working abroad. Her young daughter has had a cut on her finger, and Mom is blowing on it to make the pain go away.
Staying in the village of Panchuria is a humbling experience for me. We are so used to the modern amenities of living that we take everything for granted, and we are never grateful. We only notice them when we dont have them. As it was winter, night time temperatures in Panchuria goes down to about 12 Celsius. There is no heating, no electricity, no piped water, no telephones, no TV, no newspapers and no pollution by vehicles. Panchuria only has bicycles and trishaws on the narrow paths joining homes scattered in the mustard fields. They survive from the land, rearing cows, goats, and chickens and breeding fish in ponds behind their huts, and planting their own vegetables. Despite their hardships, I found the people of Panchuria to be kind, friendly, hospitable, generous and remarkably happy. Nearly every villager wanted me to visit their home and eat with them. They are so generous and the whole village is like one big family where people help each other. Children look well fed and healthy. Here's a little girl with her little brother in her arms. She couldn't be more than 7 years old, yet she was minding her brother like a veteren while Mom works in the fields.
And here's another little girl in the mustard fields.
And yet another little girl...
Surprise, surprise. Cricket is a favourite game in Bangladesh. Here are a few Imran Khans practicing in the mustard fields and hoping to join the national team.
I left Panchuria for home after two weeks, humbled, and bringing back a runny nose from the cold, and a runny rear end from the food, which was delicious but not very agreeable to my stomach. It was really a test to wake up in the morning and having to wash your face with ice cold water from the fish pond. After breakfast of curry and Chappatties, a thin wheat bread, its off to the toilet, which is simply a hole dug in the ground with a few palm fronds around it to offer some privacy. The days were spent exploring the villages and shooting pictures. To charge my camera batteries I had to cycle 16 km to the nearest village market where there was electricity. Dinner was eaten under an oil lamp. And as there was nothing to do after dinner, i usually went to bed by eight. They live a hard life in rural Bangladesh, and as I sit here in front of my computer, I thank my god for the conveniences that I take so much for granted at my home. I leave you with a picture of two children going home with water from the pond......
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