Sundarbans whisper secrets at dawn, shared over hushed breakfasts before trekking into its verdant embrace. The midday sun finds some sprawled in languid relaxation, while others drift on emerald waterways, laughter rippling with sunset hues and warm tea. As night paints the sky with moonbeams, stories unfurl, serenaded by rustling leaves and echoing with joyous song.
Five days in this mangrove symphony, played by a motley team of 27. MV Kokilmoni, a comfortable vessel, hosted them during the Sundarban trip, orchestrated by Chhuti’s meticulous arrangement.
A tapestry woven with renowned threads: Anisul Haque, the wordsmith, and Marina Yasmin, his diplomat muse; Utpal Shuvro, a chronicler of sports; and AKM Zakaria, a journalist’s pen honed sharp; while Sharier Khan, Rafat Binte Rashid, Sohana Shafique, and development warriors like Shahana Huda Ranjana, Farhana Alam Swarna, and Noor A Nazia Bipa, their threads vibrant with purpose. The tech-savvy Imran Ali Imam wove in software brilliance, while Shaiful Azim Mohim orchestrated moments with the event maestro’s flair.
Though tiger stripes danced in their dreams, only an alleged paw print became their souvenir. Yet, the primal scent of the beast in the deep woods sent shivers down spines, a tantalizing glimpse denied but savored. Nature’s bounty unfolded like a vibrant scroll—herds of deer grazing, a symphony of avian wings, slithering serpents, and silent guardians like crocodiles. Emerald trees whispered secrets, monkeys cavorted in playful troupes, and every breath hummed with the lullaby of life.
Amidst this symphony of sights and sounds, the 27 hearts shed mundane worries. Laughter was their anthem, stories their rhythm, and food their fuel. Gossip and discourse intertwined, fueled by steaming cups of chai and the embers of current affairs. Cameras captured fleeting moments, but it was the soul’s lens that truly etched memories—of shared smiles, whispered jokes, and the quiet joy of simply being.
Is this symphony sweeter than A Glimpse of the Striped King? Perhaps. For the Sundarbans, serenade lingers long after the last boat departs, woven into the fabric of their souls, a chorus of laughter and whispers under the full moon.