Along the serene shores of Bangladesh, Kuakata unfolds like a whispered secret of the sea, where rolling waves tell stories of time and the land bears the quiet scars of nature’s fury. I recently visited this beautiful coastal town, not just for its stunning scenery but for the stories hidden in its sandy shores. Despite being battered by powerful cyclones, Kuakata remains breathtaking, a symbol of resilience and strength.
I was accompanied by a close friend, a dedicated dentist who has spent nearly a decade serving Kuakata’s poorest residents. In his small but vital clinic, he provides much-needed dental care, offering not just treatment but also comfort to those in need.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold, we were about to leave the clinic for a peaceful walk along the beach. Just as we stepped toward the door, it creaked open, and in walked Belal, a 36-year-old fisherman, his face twisted in pain. A stubborn wisdom tooth had been troubling him, causing severe discomfort. Without hesitation, my friend got to work, treating him with the skill and kindness that defined his profession. After offering some medication and gentle advice, Belal finally stood up, relieved but not completely free of pain.
As he turned to leave, I noticed a deep, jagged scar running across his left arm—an old wound that seemed to hold a story of its own. My curiosity got the better of me.
“How did you get that scar?” I asked, leaning in with interest.
Belal smiled, as if he had been expecting the question. “Tiger,” he said, pausing for effect. “A Royal Bengal Tiger.”
His words stunned me. Tigers in Kuakata? That didn’t make sense. Everyone knows these majestic animals roam the dense forests of the Sundarbans, not this quiet coastline. But the certainty in his eyes made me hesitate.
“Sit with me,” I said, pulling out a chair beside me. He accepted with a knowing smile, settling in as if we were old friends.
“Are you in a hurry to get home?” I asked, hoping he would share his story.
“No rush,” he replied casually. “I’ll meet some friends at the bazaar, watch a little TV at the tea stall, then head home.”
And so, for the next twenty-five minutes, as my friend chatted with the clinic staff, Belal took me on a journey with his words, weaving a tale of adventure, danger, and the untamed wild—a story that transported us far beyond the walls of that small clinic.
Belal’s story wasn’t unique; it represented the struggles of Kuakata’s fishermen—tough, weathered men who brave the Bay of Bengal in fragile trawlers. They disappear for weeks, facing dangerous waves that could easily overwhelm them, only to return with fish they sell to local wholesalers. It seems like a fair trade—risk for reward, hard work for money. But it’s far from fair. Beneath this simple business lies a system that traps men like Belal in deep poverty.
“Every trip starts with a debt,” he explained, his voice tired but clear. “We need money for boats, equipment, food—everything. That’s where Nuru Sardar comes in.”
Nuru Sardar, a weathered man in his fifties, controlled everything in this fishing community. He provided loans and equipment, but with strict conditions—the fishermen had to sell their catch to him, often at extremely low prices that barely covered their debts. This was just the beginning of a cycle of exploitation.
“But it’s not just about money,” Belal said, his expression darkening. “Nuru has connections with pirates—criminals who roam the Bay of Bengal and the Sundarbans, stealing fish, smuggling drugs, and cutting down trees illegally. Some say he controls them, using fear to keep us in line.”
Belal spoke of fishermen who had tried to resist Nuru, only to be beaten by his men when they couldn’t repay their debts. Nuru wasn’t just a moneylender; he was like a local dictator, using money, politics, and even religion to maintain his power. He acted as though he was pious, but he used faith to manipulate the fishermen, making sure they remained obedient.
“And the tiger?” I asked, still thinking about the scar on his arm.
He let out a bitter laugh. “They aren’t supposed to be here, but sometimes they wander in. I was lucky—just a scratch. Others? Not so lucky.” The dangers of the sea, along with the crocodiles, snakes, and tigers of the Sundarbans, only added to the hardships these fishermen faced.
As our conversation ended, my friend returned from his work. “Shall we wait for Belal?” he asked.
“No, let’s go,” I said, standing up. I reached out my hand to Belal. “Thanks for sharing your story.”
“Goodbye,” he said with a faint smile, as if he knew we would never meet again.
We stepped into the evening air, heavy with the scent of salt and the soft murmur of the sea. The beach stretched before us, a ribbon of sand kissed by waves, while the sky faded into twilight. But Belal’s words lingered in my mind like a shadow over the beauty of Kuakata.
This peaceful shore hid a harsh reality—men like Belal were trapped in Nuru Sardar’s system, their lives dictated by forces that thrived on their suffering. It was a small example of a much bigger truth, one that echoed across the global south and beyond. From remote villages to high-level government offices, the machinery of exploitation kept turning, disguised by polished speeches and empty promises from governments, NGOs, and even the United Nations.
Belal’s easy smile masked a lifetime of struggle. He wasn’t naive—he simply had no other choice. He had learned to survive in a world driven by greed, deception, and the hunger for control. As we walked along the shore, the waves touching our feet, I reflected on the true dangers here—not the storms or the wild animals, but human greed and the systems built to exploit the powerless.
Interestingly, amid the darkness, there was a hint of hope. Technology had the potential to break these chains—if only it were used by the right people. It was a tempting idea: tools designed to help, guided by a fairer society. But that was the problem—those in power believed they were above corruption, a belief as old as time itself.
When the stars lit up the Kuakata sky, I felt the unique magic of this place. It wasn’t just the landscape—the sea shimmered as if whispering secrets to the moon—but the people. In Belal’s quiet defiance, in his ability to smile despite everything, there was something extraordinary. It was a kind of magic woven into the daily struggle for survival.
Maybe by telling these stories, we can start to extricate this trap of injustice and create a future built on fairness and compassion. After all, it’s not the storms or the tigers that define us, but how we stand against them—how we find strength in the struggle and manage to smile when the odds are stacked against us. In Kuakata, amid the salt and scars, that is the truest beauty of all.
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Rajeev Ahmed
The Editor of Geopolits.com and the Author of the book titled Bengal Nexus
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