& çâÌæÚUæð´ ·¤è ¥ôÚU Îð¹Ùæ ÁæÚUè ÚU¹ð´ ¥ÍæüÌ ¥ÂÙð ÜÿØ ÂÚU ŠØæÙ ÚU¹ð´Ð ãæÚU Ù ×æÙð´, €UØô´ç·¤ ·¤æ× ·¤ÚUÙð âð ¥æÂ·¤ô ©gðàØ ·¤è Âýæç# ãôÌè ãñ ¥õÚU ÁèßÙ ·¤æ ¹æÜèÂÙ ÎêÚU ãôÌæ ãñÐ ÖÜð ãè ÁèßÙ ×ð´ ç·¤ÌÙè Öè ·¤çÆÙæ§ü €UØô´ Ù ¥æ°, çÁ™ææâæ ¥õÚU ©ˆâæã ÕÙæ° ÚU¹ð´Ð ŠØæÙ ÚU¹ð´, ÜÿØ ã×ðàææ ¥æÂ·Ô¤ Âæâ ãôÌð ãñ´ çÁ‹ãð´ ÂæÙð ·Ô¤ çÜ° ÂýØæâ ¥æÂ ·¤Öè Öè àæéM¤ ·¤ÚU â·¤Ìð ãñ´Ð

TANGENTS

In Jibananda Country

BY IHTISHAM KABIR
Wandering through giant tambul, raintree and gab trees interspersed with coconut, shupari and mahogany, walking along the serpentine canals, circumnavigating small ponds around which grow hijol and myriads of unnamed plants, I begin to see how this land with piles upon piles of vegetation cast a spell on Barisal's son, the great poet Jibananda Das. Nature here is intimate. You are surrounded by it, you can feel it in your bones; in fact, you can just about pour and drink it.
I am in Sutiakathi, a village in Barisal's Pirojpur district, visiting the ancestral home of Dr. Shamim, my cousin Dr. Shad's husband. Our group arrived here after an overnight launch journey from Dhaka's Sadarghat. In morning's crisp light, our first look at the immaculate village (or small town, depending on your perspective) reveals narrow but neat roads with canals running along both sides. To reach houses on either side you first have to cross a canal by a footbridge. Floating greengrocers, offerings displayed with geometric perfection on their boats, ply these canals, stopping occasionally to sell.
There are no cars or buses. Public transport is by easy-bike or battery powered rickshaws. Shutiakathi is directly reachable from mainland Bangladesh only by launch. If you come by car, you must leave it on the other side of the Shondha river at Shorupkathi, and ferry across the river.
A striking feature of the village is its houses. Many are made with old teak. For generations, this area has been a hub of timber business. Shamim Bhai's grandfather, for example, imported timber from places as far away as Assam and Burma, distributing it far and wide. Elegant bungalows made of beautiful wood, dark and rich, are
common here, and the massive, century-old teak doors of our host's house exhibit exquisite workmanship. Newer constructions, however, choose concrete for obvious reasons.
Today the area is the leading timber hub of Bangladesh. A cruise on the Shondha and its tributaries reveals thriving timber-related activity. I chat with Zahed Chairman, erstwhile timber merchant, who regales me with stories of Sundarban and her tigers from the days when the Forest Department partitioned off the forest into blocks and auctioned them to traders. After harvesting, the block was left alone for twenty years before you could log it again. Logging in Sundarban is long gone.
Timber is the end of a tree's lifecycle; however, the local economy, which supplies seedlings for nurseries all over Bangladesh, relies on all phases of a tree's life. And there are acres upon acres of guava orchards which hum with activity as fruits ripen at monsoon. Coconut - both fruit and coir products - is another important crop. Poultry and fish farming is a recent profitable trend in the area.
Early the next morning I stand underneath tall trees, next to a doba hidden behind a jhop, waiting silently for an unknown bird I had glimpsed earlier. The sun is beginning to slice through the morning mist. I smell the earth, the water, the trees, the leaves on the ground, some fresh, some decomposing. Surrounded by infinite shades of green, Jibananda's immortal words resonate in my soul: I have seen the face of Bengal so I no longer want to see the face of the world.
The bird never reappears, but that is quite alright.
tv1vw.fa4xbook.com/ikabirphotographs or follow ihtishamkabir on Instagram