The opposition political party, the BNP, had called a general strike starting February 1. I spent the morning wandering around Khulna. A few shops were shut, but most weren't. I walked to the river and along a narrow street full of craftsmen along it. People were friendly and eventually I reached the train station. Oddly, near the tracks right in the station a mass of peppercorns, or perhaps some variety of lentils, was drying in the sun, and two women were walking through them using their feet to turn them. They were highly amused at my photographing them. Nearby was a large room, a sort of warehouse, full of onions. I looked inside and was invited in by the friendly workers. Giant scales were at hand to weigh the onions. Walking back to my hotel I saw a pro-government march.
I wanted to go to Bagerhat, 15 miles east, for the day, but because of feared violence no buses were running from downtown Khulna. Instead, I had to take a crowded ferry across the river and from there a small bus for the scenic trip to Bagerhat, with rice paddies, coconut palms, banana trees, and even some pigs along the way. The pigs were a bit of a surprise in Muslim Bangladesh. Because of all the delays I didn't get there until 3, getting off at the 15th century Shait Gumbad Mosque. This stout brick mosque has 77 domes (though the name means "60 Dome Mosque') and was being repaired, with much scaffolding. In fact, the scaffolding and repair methods seemed out of the 15th century, too. I walked to two much smaller single domed mosques nearby through pretty countryside and villages and then back and to yet another mosque just across the road from the Shait Gumbad. I then took one of those electric rickshaws another mile or so east to the tomb of the Sufi mystic who founded Bagerhat and built the mosques. It was nothing special, much modernized. A tank is to the south, with another couple of mosques nearby, which I walked to as the sun was setting. Finally, there was one last mosque to see, to the north of the tomb. It, too, dates from the 15th century, with a single dome, but a large one, more than 35 feet in diameter. By the time I got there, though, it was dark. I walked back to the road to catch transport back to Khulna and was told there was none, because of the "general strike" and the threat of violence. There were quite a few policemen around and one of them told me to wait and there would be a bus. One did come through just before 7 and the police put me on it. We reached Khulna about 8 after an uneventful, but chilly, trip.
The next morning I left Khulna on a dirty and dilapidated train for Jessore, about 35 miles northwest and only about 10 miles from the Indian border. My first class ticket cost me a little over a dollar. There were three others in my dingy compartment, while the second class compartments (ticket only about 30 cents) were crowded. The train passed dusty little towns and lots of very green newly planted rice in watery paddies. Reaching Jessore about 11, after an hour and a half trip, I checked into a hotel. There wasn't much to see in town, other than a big red and white brick colonial era courthouse with a little park in front, full of people. On one side of the courthouse was a sort of car and scooter junk yard, with some interesting old vehicles in great disrepair. Nearby was an interesting bazaar, with fruit and vegetables, and there were also chickens, ducks, fish, and goats. I walked along narrow streets with lots of little shops, only some of which were closed. Quite a few women were veiled, and I saw hennaed beards and hair (on the men, not the women!) The day was sunny but it was cool in the shade.
The next morning about 9 I left Jessore by train, heading north. A captain of a dredging vessel sat across from me and was interesting to talk to as we traveled through pretty countryside with lots of bright green new rice growing, along with corn, vegetables and bananas. I also saw lots of palm trees, some with pots to catch the sap. The train skirted the Indian border before reaching Poradaha before noon. From Poradaha it took half hour trip to get to Kushtia in one of those golf cart-like electric richshaws, passing warehouses with lots of rice drying in the sun. In Kushtia the friendly dredge captain led me to the hotel I wanted to stay in. After lunch I walked around a bit in that friendly town, with lots of waves from people, on a much warmer day than the past few, and then took a rickshaw to the Shrine of Lalon Shah. He was a 19th century mystic and minstrel, acclaimed for his religious tolerance. The shrine itself wasn't much, but the atmosphere of the place was pleasant. In a pavilion behind the tomb musicians played, with drums, harmoniums (harmonia?), and ektaras, which are one-stringed instruments. I took a rickshaw back to the train station in time to see the departure of the late afternoon train to Rajshahi, where I was heading the next day. It left late and crowded at 5:45, just before dark.
The next day was warm, too, a welcome change from the chilly days in the Sundarbans and after, and in fact from my arrival in Dhaka two weeks earlier. About 9:30 I took a rickshaw to the now dry and sandy riverbed at the northern edge of town and walked across that almost desert-like expanse to the other bank, maybe half a mile away. Lots of other people were doing the same. A big dredge sat in what seemed a pond in the sand. Near the far end of the sandy riverbed a temporary bamboo bridge crossed over a trickle of water, which easily could have been passed on foot without the bridge. On the other side I hired an electric rickshaw to take me the five or so miles to Kuthibari, the mid-19th century mansion of Rabindranath Tagore, Bengal's most famous poet. The trip there was very interesting, past villages and lots of newly planted rice. Some of the houses were entirely of metal, and must be almost intolerable in the hot season. I saw lots of dung being dried for fuel. The road was paved, but very potholed, and it took 45 minutes to reach Kuthibari. At times we drove along the wide Padma River (the Ganges, but called the Padma in Bangladesh). It joins the Brahmaputra (called the Jamuna in Bangladesh) about 40 miles downriver, to the east.
Kuthibari, two or three stories high and set in gardens, is now a museum. It is a pleasant place, and must have seemed very grand in the 19th century. Inside is some furniture and many great photographs. On the walls are some of Tagore's poems, in English. The Tagores were landlords with several mansions, including one in Calcutta and one Shanti Niketan, both in India. I walked around a bit outside. The gardens were full of flowers, with rice and rapeseed growing beyond.
After an hour and a half there, I came back to town, had lunch, and searched unsuccessfully for a bus to Rajshahi, to the northwest and on the Ganges, with India on the other side. So I had to take the train. It left after 5:30, only slightly less late than the day before. The train was crowded, but I got a seat. The ticket was 125 taka, only about a dollar and a half, for what turned out to be almost a four hour journey. The train was very slow. Leaving at dusk we reached Poradaha 15 or 20 minutes later, and then spent 20 minutes there. By the time we left Poradaha the sky was dark, with an orange moon eventually rising, one day past full. About 7 the train crossed the wide Padma River over a long bridge, formerly called the Hardinge Bridge, after a British viceroy, and now named after Lalon Shah. The bridge crossing took three or four minutes, and it was frustrating not to be able to see anything in the dark. The train trip was slow, dirty, and unpleasant, though a friendly family of five sat with me. Through the train's aisles came a never ceasing stream of vendors and beggars. The train finally reached Rajshahi's big train station about 9:15. I checked into a hotel and found a very friendly place for dinner. I didn't get to bed until midnight.
I wanted to go to Bagerhat, 15 miles east, for the day, but because of feared violence no buses were running from downtown Khulna. Instead, I had to take a crowded ferry across the river and from there a small bus for the scenic trip to Bagerhat, with rice paddies, coconut palms, banana trees, and even some pigs along the way. The pigs were a bit of a surprise in Muslim Bangladesh. Because of all the delays I didn't get there until 3, getting off at the 15th century Shait Gumbad Mosque. This stout brick mosque has 77 domes (though the name means "60 Dome Mosque') and was being repaired, with much scaffolding. In fact, the scaffolding and repair methods seemed out of the 15th century, too. I walked to two much smaller single domed mosques nearby through pretty countryside and villages and then back and to yet another mosque just across the road from the Shait Gumbad. I then took one of those electric rickshaws another mile or so east to the tomb of the Sufi mystic who founded Bagerhat and built the mosques. It was nothing special, much modernized. A tank is to the south, with another couple of mosques nearby, which I walked to as the sun was setting. Finally, there was one last mosque to see, to the north of the tomb. It, too, dates from the 15th century, with a single dome, but a large one, more than 35 feet in diameter. By the time I got there, though, it was dark. I walked back to the road to catch transport back to Khulna and was told there was none, because of the "general strike" and the threat of violence. There were quite a few policemen around and one of them told me to wait and there would be a bus. One did come through just before 7 and the police put me on it. We reached Khulna about 8 after an uneventful, but chilly, trip.
The next morning I left Khulna on a dirty and dilapidated train for Jessore, about 35 miles northwest and only about 10 miles from the Indian border. My first class ticket cost me a little over a dollar. There were three others in my dingy compartment, while the second class compartments (ticket only about 30 cents) were crowded. The train passed dusty little towns and lots of very green newly planted rice in watery paddies. Reaching Jessore about 11, after an hour and a half trip, I checked into a hotel. There wasn't much to see in town, other than a big red and white brick colonial era courthouse with a little park in front, full of people. On one side of the courthouse was a sort of car and scooter junk yard, with some interesting old vehicles in great disrepair. Nearby was an interesting bazaar, with fruit and vegetables, and there were also chickens, ducks, fish, and goats. I walked along narrow streets with lots of little shops, only some of which were closed. Quite a few women were veiled, and I saw hennaed beards and hair (on the men, not the women!) The day was sunny but it was cool in the shade.
The next morning about 9 I left Jessore by train, heading north. A captain of a dredging vessel sat across from me and was interesting to talk to as we traveled through pretty countryside with lots of bright green new rice growing, along with corn, vegetables and bananas. I also saw lots of palm trees, some with pots to catch the sap. The train skirted the Indian border before reaching Poradaha before noon. From Poradaha it took half hour trip to get to Kushtia in one of those golf cart-like electric richshaws, passing warehouses with lots of rice drying in the sun. In Kushtia the friendly dredge captain led me to the hotel I wanted to stay in. After lunch I walked around a bit in that friendly town, with lots of waves from people, on a much warmer day than the past few, and then took a rickshaw to the Shrine of Lalon Shah. He was a 19th century mystic and minstrel, acclaimed for his religious tolerance. The shrine itself wasn't much, but the atmosphere of the place was pleasant. In a pavilion behind the tomb musicians played, with drums, harmoniums (harmonia?), and ektaras, which are one-stringed instruments. I took a rickshaw back to the train station in time to see the departure of the late afternoon train to Rajshahi, where I was heading the next day. It left late and crowded at 5:45, just before dark.
The next day was warm, too, a welcome change from the chilly days in the Sundarbans and after, and in fact from my arrival in Dhaka two weeks earlier. About 9:30 I took a rickshaw to the now dry and sandy riverbed at the northern edge of town and walked across that almost desert-like expanse to the other bank, maybe half a mile away. Lots of other people were doing the same. A big dredge sat in what seemed a pond in the sand. Near the far end of the sandy riverbed a temporary bamboo bridge crossed over a trickle of water, which easily could have been passed on foot without the bridge. On the other side I hired an electric rickshaw to take me the five or so miles to Kuthibari, the mid-19th century mansion of Rabindranath Tagore, Bengal's most famous poet. The trip there was very interesting, past villages and lots of newly planted rice. Some of the houses were entirely of metal, and must be almost intolerable in the hot season. I saw lots of dung being dried for fuel. The road was paved, but very potholed, and it took 45 minutes to reach Kuthibari. At times we drove along the wide Padma River (the Ganges, but called the Padma in Bangladesh). It joins the Brahmaputra (called the Jamuna in Bangladesh) about 40 miles downriver, to the east.
Kuthibari, two or three stories high and set in gardens, is now a museum. It is a pleasant place, and must have seemed very grand in the 19th century. Inside is some furniture and many great photographs. On the walls are some of Tagore's poems, in English. The Tagores were landlords with several mansions, including one in Calcutta and one Shanti Niketan, both in India. I walked around a bit outside. The gardens were full of flowers, with rice and rapeseed growing beyond.
After an hour and a half there, I came back to town, had lunch, and searched unsuccessfully for a bus to Rajshahi, to the northwest and on the Ganges, with India on the other side. So I had to take the train. It left after 5:30, only slightly less late than the day before. The train was crowded, but I got a seat. The ticket was 125 taka, only about a dollar and a half, for what turned out to be almost a four hour journey. The train was very slow. Leaving at dusk we reached Poradaha 15 or 20 minutes later, and then spent 20 minutes there. By the time we left Poradaha the sky was dark, with an orange moon eventually rising, one day past full. About 7 the train crossed the wide Padma River over a long bridge, formerly called the Hardinge Bridge, after a British viceroy, and now named after Lalon Shah. The bridge crossing took three or four minutes, and it was frustrating not to be able to see anything in the dark. The train trip was slow, dirty, and unpleasant, though a friendly family of five sat with me. Through the train's aisles came a never ceasing stream of vendors and beggars. The train finally reached Rajshahi's big train station about 9:15. I checked into a hotel and found a very friendly place for dinner. I didn't get to bed until midnight.
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