On the road in western Bangladesh

The city of Jessore in western Bangladesh, with its winding alleys and lively markets, has always been commercially and strategically important. It is a transportation hub, where the main north-south road from Rajshahi and Kushtia to Khulna crosses the east-west highway to India. The frontier at Benapole, an untidy cluster of hotels, restaurants, warehouses and transport facilities, is less than 30 miles west. In 1971, as Pakistan’s army battled Bangladeshi regular forces and mukhti bahini guerillas, millions of refugees fled west along this route to India—an exodus memorably described in Allen Ginsberg’s poem, September on Jessore Road.  In early December 1971, Bangladeshi and Indian forces recaptured the city, a victory that set the stage for a rapid advance and the surrender of Pakistan’s forces.

Today, the Jessore road remains the main overland commercial route between the two countries. Trucks rumble west, carrying textiles, jute products such as rope and sacks, scrap metal and agricultural produce. Bangladesh imports coal, petroleum, chemicals, rice and manufactured goods, including cars and trucks. On the road south from Jessore to Khulna, we passed rail junctions where laborers off-loaded coal from trucks into rail cars, part of a supply chain that begins in the mines of Bihar and West Bengal and ends at the power stations that supply Dhaka’s garment factories and residents.

In contrast to the northern section of the road from Kushtia to Jessore, which is bordered by rice paddies, corn fields and mango plantations, the southern section is more industrial. The region has deposits of mica and bauxite and produces building materials; we passed the tall chimneys of brick kilns, cement plants and factories with rows of bicycles parked outside. The dull grey concrete buildings were interrupted by unexpected splashes of color—apartment blocks and commercial buildings painted from basement to roof in bright red or green, advertising cement, chips, tea and mobile phone services. Perhaps only in South Asia can you buy not only a roadside billboard, but a whole building to push your product. On some, an uplifting slogan was added to the product name and logo, a small dash of corporate social responsibility to atone for dunking yet another block in company colors. It was nice to know that the company that sold you chips also believed that “The Learned are Judicious.”

Beyond the kilns and plants, the rice paddies stretched into the distance, irrigated by diesel-powered pumps drawing water from the aquifer. Along the road, lined with eucalyptus trees, peanuts were laid out on tarpaulins to dry. The most important cash crop in this region is shrimp, raised in fresh and saltwater ponds; we saw blue nets stretched across the ponds and small fields of red—harvested shrimp drying in the sun. Logs were piled on the roadside, ready to be fashioned into furniture. South of Khulna is the Sundarbans, the delta area with the largest continuous mangrove forest in the world. It is home to deer, wild boar, otter, saltwater crocodiles, river dolphins and the last surviving Bengal tigers. Officially, it’s a protected area, but its vastness and lack of roads make it difficult to police. Illegal logging has become a lucrative industry.

Khulna, where we stayed overnight after a visit to the university, is an old river port on a distributary of the Padma. It used to be a center of the jute industry, but today shrimp is its major export. With a population of just over one million, it’s the third largest city in Bangladesh, but a distant third; Dhaka has a population of 8.5 million and Chittagong 4.5 million. It’s still a bustling place, crowded with trucks, buses, auto rickshaws and cars. We stayed at the City Inn, a three-star establishment with a temperamental elevator that promoted itself as the “symbol of elegance.”

From UNICEF’s perspective, there’s a lot to do in western Bangladesh. Poverty rates are high, and many children suffer from poor nutrition. Overall, the country has improved its maternal and childhood mortality rates, but some western districts are lagging. Many children work in agriculture and small industry, so child labor is an issue. On the other hand, why would parents send their children to school when the quality of primary education is low, and poorly-paid teachers sometimes don’t show up for class? The government’s failure to provide education, health and social services has created needs that are partly filled by development agencies and by the mosques which operate madrassas.

I was told there were Islamic State-affiliated training camps in this region where young Muslim men are radicalized and sent to Iraq or Syria. At the Islamic University of Kushtia, which has a large department of religious studies, I trod carefully in my discussions with faculty members. I need not have worried because they were typical academics, contemptuous of all authority.

I would have likely faced more hostility from the motorcycle gang we passed on the road near Jessore, waving red flags. The region, like its Indian neighbor West Bengal, is a stronghold of the Communist Party. I thought the bikers all looked rather revolutionary chic—sooooo Che Guevara with their red bandanas embossed with the hammer and sickle. But I was not about to stop and commend them on their sense of fashion.

Exploring Old Dhaka

Even with a guidebook, I was not ready to single-handedly tackle Old Dhaka, with its winding, unnamed streets and back alleys. I called Taimur Islam, director of the Urban Study Group (USG), a non-profit outfit that offers walking tours. He said the morning tour had already left, but that he would see if I could join the group. He called back a few minutes later. I passed the phone to my auto-rickshaw driver and Taimur gave him directions. We set off on a harrowing, bumpy ride through the narrow streets.

I met Ana, a USG volunteer guide, at a 19th century merchant’s home, built in brick in the British colonial style with colonnades and balconies. Like most historic structures in Old Dhaka, it was in serious need of restoration. Years of baking heat and monsoon rains had taken their toll. The stucco had peeled off the walls and columns, exposing the brick, and the wooden balconies sagged. Small trees sprouted out of cracks and gutters.

Old Dhaka, wedged between the commercial center of Bangladesh’s densely populated  capital city and the River Buriganga, began its life as a river port with bazaars. From the 17th century, under India’s Mughal emperors, it became the most important commercial center in East Bengal, producing and exporting muslin, a high-quality woven cotton. Dhaka thrived until the 19th century, when British merchants took advantage of favorable tariffs to flood the market with imported cotton goods, sending the local industry into decline. It was cheaper to buy shirts from the mills of Manchester than to produce them at home.

Entrance to Shakhari bazaar

The city attracted Bengali Hindu artisans who lived peacefully alongside their Muslim neighbors. On March 26, 1971, when Pakistan’s army launched its offensive to put down the independence movement in what was then East Pakistan, politicians and clerics declared they were fighting a “holy war” to defend Islam. The army targeted the Shakhari bazaar, killing hundreds. Some Hindus fled to India, but many stayed. Their storefronts spill onto the bazaar’s narrow central street; down side alleys, in workshops squeezed between small Hindu temples, artisans fashion bangles and jewelry from metal and conch shells.  

In 2004, an old building in the bazaar collapsed. The government, supported by developers who saw an opportunity to grab prime real estate, proposed that many historic buildings, some from the colonial era, be demolished for safety reasons. Historians and conservationists were outraged, arguing the city’s cultural heritage would be destroyed. The controversy was the impetus for the founding of the USG by Taimur, a trained architect. The group campaigned to have streets and buildings designated as historically significant, and so protected from demolition. Some building owners opposed the designation, saying they did not have the money to maintain or restore their properties. The debate over preserving Old Dhaka echoes conflicts in other cities, with government agencies, developers, property owners and preservationists taking their disputes to the courts and the media.

The USG may have met its original goal of saving the buildings from demolition but restoring them will be a longer struggle. Landlords are unwilling to throw out tenants, lose rental income and invest in restoration. In Western countries, a government agency might buy the buildings and restore them, but in Bangladesh the government has other priorities. It’s difficult to argue for public funds for historic restoration when schools and health clinics are under-staffed, roads need to be repaired, and flood levees built.

The Water Palace, Old Dhaka

On the bank of the Buriganga River, a former merchant’s mansion, the Water Palace, is in a dilapidated state. It houses families of the Army Corps of Engineers, one of the government agencies that provides free or low-cost housing to staff, partly to compensate for their low salaries. We stood in the central courtyard, looking up at washing draped over the balconies as children played hide-and-seek among the pillars and narrow passageways.

One part of the palace has been taken over by Old Dhaka’s spice bazaar. From the mid-18th century, the French and British East India companies competed for the export trade in turmeric, ginger, garlic, chili, and other spices. The French were kicked out in 1757 after their ally, the Nawab of Bengal, was defeated by Major-General Robert Clive at the Battle of Plassey. The victory allowed the British East India Company to take over most of Bengal, and then expand its control across the sub-continent. In Old Dhaka’s Farashganj (the name is a corruption of Frenchganj, meaning French market-town), the merchants left behind stylish mansions with balconies and wrought-iron balustrades.

From the rambling Chowk bazaar, which for four centuries has been the city’s main wholesale market for fruit and vegetables, we emerged at the busy Buriganga waterfront. Bangladesh is dissected by more than 700 rivers; although its highway system has been improved, much of its commerce and many of its people still move by water.

Three-deck ferries (called launches) were lined up, waiting to take on passengers and cargo for destinations in the southern delta, where three major river systems, the Jamuna (Brahmaputra), Padma (Ganges) and Meghna, empty into the Bay of Bengal. Small cargo freighters loaded with building materials sat at anchor, ready to unload. On the south side of the river, freighters were hauled up on the bank for repairs; workers clambered over the hulls and decks, the sparks from their acetylene torches flashing. Motorized wooden nouka, the traditional Bengali river craft with a flat bottom and high prow, loaded with pumpkins, gourds, cauliflowers and coconuts, sacks of onions, garlic, potatoes, chilis and mangoes, were pulled up on the bank near the bazaar. Porters piled the produce into broad baskets and formed a human chain, carrying them on their heads and passing on to the next link.

There is no bridge over the Buriganga. The only way  to cross is in a narrow nouka, poled by a boatman. One USG volunteer asked if I would like to take a trip.  I looked at the wobbling craft and the dirty water. “I think I’ll just stick with the walking tour,” I said.