Faith, Colors and Cheap Bus Rides in Sonargaon

The mirthful gift of chance plays a part in discovering and capturing moments that arrest an exigent sequence of a split-second itinerary. We were scurrying along compressed alleyways when - oops, wait - I found myself peeping through a grilled window and found this sobering sight of someone in deep communion with his God (see above). It's moments like this that makes me pause and cogitate on how fast I've been riding through life. We sometimes need to slow down and meditate on our journey so far. This renders every fleeting moment special. Suddenly, the anonymous corridors and forgettable alleyways I step on acquire meaning. Isn't that a better existence... to be made aware that I am not exactly wasting my waking hours navigating some remote place in the world?

On a separate note, we found this sari merchant (above) displaying his colorful products at the Sadarbari shop on the grounds of the Folk Arts and Crafts Museum. If they were candies, I'd have gone into a state of hyperglycemia. I had to feign disinterest simply because doing otherwise would encourage them to shove these luminescent products down my throat. Exquisite as they are, saris are almost never used in my country (except by Indian expats) the way they're not exigent properties in middle class America. Moreover, buying one would gravely place a dent on a tight budget. Isn't that a more valid concern than disinterest?

Potato economy. We passed by a "market" - well, it was a short line of makeshift stalls selling market produce, a great number of them were potatoes. There were aubergines (eggplants) and peppers too.

At around 1:45 PM, while navigating Sonargaon, we dropped by another small shop selling tea and these bread-based muffin. I didn't think it would qualify as lunch, but I didn't wanna complain.

Our ride back, from Mograpara to Dhaka (Gulistan Bus Station), was on this craggy non-AC bus. The locals were very accommodating, giving us their seats. For a measly 15 taka ($0.20 or PhP8.90), this is an interesting way to experience a slice of Bangladesh and its endearing populace. It takes 45 minutes to 1 hour to travel from Dhaka to Sonargaon (Mograpara).

Journeys in far off places aren't always easy, and it is when you're back home with your baggage half unpacked that you realize the big strides you've taken to become a part of these distant little worlds. I am forever grateful to the wisdom of other adventure seekers for encapsulating "journeys". Jean Luc Picard (the fictitious Starfleet commander) once said, "Time is a companion that goes with us on a journey. It reminds us to cherish each moment, because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we have lived."

Every one has to take his first step to venture into the world. This is never easy. Navigating outside your comfort zone. Dan Rather (former CBS news anchor) once noted that "If all difficulties were known at the outset of a long journey, most of us would never start out at all." But I am a living witness. These difficulties carry their Mastercard moments.

Priceless.

This is the Eye in the Sky.

Sonargaon Tombs & Mausoleums - Embracing a History of Death

The tomb of Ghiyasuddin Azam Shah

Something inside me was resisting an itinerary that included a lot of tombs in Sonargaon, for how morbid could one be if we dwell on death when there are enough on war, poverty and heartbreak all around us.

But little did I know. Tomb architecture is indeed a valid subset of topic all over Bengal. This concerns the types of buildings erected over the graves. Forget the hadith that imposes the practice of taswiyat al-qubur, i.e. that tombs should be on ground level as with the surrounding earth. These tombs have been relentlessly raised above the earth, from simple tombstones to grand eye-popping mausoleums fit for kings.

These structures have been classified according to the perceived date of construction: Sultanate (pre-Mughal), Mughal, and colonial.

The qubba or the domed cubic monument is the oldest and most common type of tomb in Bengal as in other parts of the Muslim world. It existed in pre-Mughal (aka Sultanate) and Mughal periods.

To get to these different places, we would shimmy through narrow streets while local folks gazed at us with bated breath. We were “interesting beings” – and every time we get off out rickshaws, a small crowd has already gathered around our path. Didn't I tell you how curious Bangladeshis are? That they have indeed mastered the art of gawking until they are blue. Though this may seem annoying to some backpackers, I find this trait utterly endearing, although it can be spine-tingling when you are crossing a busy road and 5 different, albeit unrelated souls ask you a hundred questions that start with, “Where is your country?”, “Where you from?” Suddenly, you are more important than the on-coming vehicles on a busy road. Now who wouldn't be flattered?

I asked Mafuz to write down the names of these places because, as heaven is my witness, these tombs were either unmarked or have Bengali characters. He wrote this down: Panch Pir Dargah (Five Muslim Heroes Mausoleum), and for completion, he enumerated their names: Sultan Ghiyasuddin Azam Shah, Sultan Shamsuddin Azam Shah, Sultan Iliasuddin Azam Shah, Sultan Kalu and Sultan Gazi. These were the grave owners, according to him.

POPULAR SULTAN

I have heard of Sultan Ghiyasuddin Azam Shah. He was quite popular as a sultan, the 3^rdsultan from the 1^st Ilias Shahi Dynasty of Bengal. He was a military conqueror and satiated with war as well as with diplomacy. In fact, he would send envoys to bring gifts to Khwaja Jahan of Jaunpur (an independent kingdom of northern India between 1394 to 1479 found in the present day state of Uttar Pradesh with Lucknow as its capital), Chinese emperor Young-le, as well as to the powers that be of Mecca and Medina. During his rule, brilliant poets flourished under his patronage. In fact, a Bengali version of the Ramayana came about during his reign. And you wonder why he stood out from a slew of rulers, right?

Sultan Ghiyasuddin supposedly died in 1402, as the inscription writes, although some literatures mention 1410. The same inscription (see photo below) mentions 1410 as the date when this tomb was built. And if he indeed died in 1402, then there is an 8-year discrepancy between the death and the building of the tomb. Could a powerful, influential ruler wait that long for a proper resting abode?

This is the Eye in the Sky!

Sultan Ghiyasuddin Azam Shah, as this inscription mentions, died in 1402, but his tomb was built in 1410.

Goaldi Mosque as Witness to an Embarrassing Gaffe - Sonargaon Tales

The town of Goaldi has been described as a “sequestered hamlet” and “precariously surviving”. It’s a nondescript village hidden amidst thick bamboos groves, mango canopies and jackfruit trees, some 6 kilometers northwest of Painam Nagar in Sonargaon. But in its cloisters, we found a mosque – the oldest known structure in Sonargaon; an illustrious relic from the medieval past.

A pre-mughal structure known as Goalde Mosque rises in this sleepy village. This was a single-domed mosque built by Mulla Hizabar Akbar Khan in the early 16th century, during the reign of Alauddin Husain Shah, an independent late medieval Sultan of Bengal who rose to power after assassinating his sultan - Shams-ud-Din Muzaffar Shah of Abyssinia (a Habeshan tribe whose origins hail from Ethiopia and Eritrea in Africa). Alauddin was the deposed sultan's wazir (a high ranking political adviser of a muslim dynasty). Alauddin eventually founded a dynasty that ruled Bengal for years. This snippet of historical fact we're mentioning to place this story capsule in contextual perspective. Unfortunately, not much is written about Akbar Khan, the person responsible for the construction of the mosque.

On fast gaze, the mosque looks small; a single structure with rich thematic pertinence and an even richer past. Its colors have been dramatically washed up with the passing of time, seemingly departing its whispery grandeur in footnotes of tourist books. Except for the backside of the mosque, each side has 3 arched entrances, the central arch slightly higher than the others. The interior of the mosque is gated, thus a visit inside is not allowed.

For decades, Goaldi Mosque was in utter ruins until its restoration in 1975.

A more detailed description is in Banglapedia that says:” Provided with three arched entrances to the edifice on the east and one each on the north and the south (now bricked up) the base of the dome rests on squinch arches at the four corners which support the dome on pendentives."

"There are some ornamental black stone pillars inside the prayer hall for the support of the roof. Corresponding to the three arched doorways on the east there are three richly decorated mihrabs (a niche in a mosque positioned to face Mecca) on the west wall, of which the central one is bigger and beautifully embellished with curved floral and arabesque relief on dark black stone, but the flanking side mihrabs are ornamented with delicate terracotta floral and geometric patterns. The central stone mihrab is framed within an arched panel with an expanded sunflower motif in the centre. Below that the spandrels of the multi-cusped arch of the mihrab are decorated within a rectangular frame. The engrailed arched recess is carried on stunted octagonal pillars faceted at stages. Four round banded turrets at the outer corners rise up to the curvilinear cornice.”

Goaldi interiors. This photo and the one directly above only are courtesy of Ershad Ahmed's blog - http://dhakadailyphoto.blogspot.com/2009/06/historical-masjid-at-goaldi-and.html

Terracotta designs of hanging lamps and flowers.

On a rickshaw, we arrived in front of a small, seemingly ignored compound where, at its center piece is this pre-mughal mosque named after its town. Mafuz eventually sequestered my camera. My tour guide was enamored with the sight he was showing Karin and I. Even the details of moldings were photographed in their intricate design.

Each of the four sides measures 4.8 meters thus it was easy to go around it and appreciate its otherworldly appeal. While winding down with our visit, I realized that I have been erroneously calling my Swiss friend "Helen" when it should be "Karin". From the side of the mosque, in a soft whisper and an abashed discountenance, she corrected me. This tall blond girl with a timid smile - I had been calling her with someone else's name - the whole duration of the visit, and I was red with embarrassment! Being inattentive is a scourge and I am not too proud of my gaffe. The funny thing is, Mafuz actually captured this embarrassing predicament (see below) while I was profusely apologizing to her beside Goaldi Mosque.

But the shadows of the past weren't lost in our moments of frivolity. It cloaked us like the warm sun.

This is the Eye in the Embarrassed Sky!

Goaldi Mosque's washed out colors echo a colorful almost-neglected past.

Cylindrical turrets characterize the four corners that rise up from the ground to the cornice (ornamental molding around the wall of a room just below the ceiling) .

Mosque is my embarrassed witness.

Terracota moldings adorn this pre-mughal architecture.

Intricate designs found in the moldings around the turrets.

Writings on the wall.

The Washing Woman at Dulalpur Bridge - Sonargaon Tales

When you're navigating around Sonargaon on a rickshaw, you're bound to catch some images that will take your breath away for their sheer natural beauty. Funny thing is, the locals aren't even aware that they walk on and live around some of the most picturesque vistas in Asia. Take for example the sight of a woman, veiled in red, slouched down before a pond inundated by water lilies. The little space where water floats by becomes this woman's natural laundromat. And though I was conscious of taking a photograph for the possibility that it will be misconstrued as rudeness or plain obtrusion, some involuntary muscle started clicking for this particular snap. And I know that when I am old and grey, this will be among my favorites. This photo was taken on a moving rickshaw.

We sauntered through a pre-mughal bridge (from an era where sultans ruled this once ancient capital) until we reached a piece of land teeming with imeldific canopies. And in the sheer lushness of their foliage stood what they called Kalo Dargah (Black Mausoleum). Nothing much was said about it except that some important historical figure lay here in his eternal rest.

Kalo Dargah (Mafuz spelled it "kalo dorgah") rises like a church, it slopes as it reaches its pedestal. The surface is rough, half gothic, and dark - thus its name. There's nothing much to see as there's no windows to peep in, nor doors.

Nearby was another dark structure called Ondhokar Masjid (Dark Mosque), but we were in quick transit. I am partial to the puddles of bodies of water that I found in several areas around Sonargaon. After all, 4 great rivers bind this once great capital. When there's water, people always find ways to live - and that's something to celebrate.

This is the Eye in the Sky.

Pre-mughal structure called Dulalpur Bridge

Kalo Dargah or Black Mausoleum

A Nawab's Princely Mansion - Surreal Visit Around Sonargaon (Bangladesh)

I wasn't sure if we were still on the street that made up the ghost city called Painam Nagar (Panam City) right in the heart of Sonargaon where an ancient city once stood proud. Painam Nagar was supposedly a single line of narrow street made up of 50 once-lavish mansions owned by rich Hindu merchants. They have fled the country ever since - to escape ethnic persecution against the growing Muslim population. We rode the rickshaw until we reached a crumbling mansion separated from the other dated, but lavish excrescences.

A PRINCE'S MANSION

Mafuz, my guide, knocked on a gate until someone opened it. These were the present tenants, and Mafuz seemed to know them. We were allowed in to wander around. This was relatively bigger than those on the street. We were told that this was once the elegant home of a nawab (muslim prince). In fact, it even has an annexed building that's almost overwhelmed by growing foliage, and slithering vines snaked around its dilapidated walls; bricks chipping off. The roof from the annex caved in years ago. A staircase leading nowhere looked like one of those Harry Potter magical moment that's left hanging between incomplete spells. I was told that this particular house has a sinewy basement, with tunnels that go as far as Dhaka. If in case this were true, then they have an even better tunnel system than Saigon's Cu Chi tunnels. We had no way of confirming this, but such stories stoke the imagination - and were always an interesting topic of conversation.

Once again, at the back of these mansion, was a lake or pond. It's mirror-image reflection of the nearby scenery - huge trees, blue skies, each item parading placidly like sweet poetry from this wall-less portion of the tired old mansion. Decrepit it may be, this once grandiose abode still managed to convey its past, albeit in calculated whispers. This surreal experience just cost me 50 taka - not as an entrance fee, but as voluntary gratuities for the opportunity to relive a rich past.

I would be remiss if I failed to mention this sensation of awe that embraced me all throughout this visit.

With my imagination fired up, we moved on to the next stop. Like an Eye in the Sky!

A muslim prince's playground, now it's believed haunted.

Unfinished incantations

Nature overwhelms a once-lavish mansion.

Painam Nagar's Losing Battle with Time and Nature (Sonargaon)

Nature has a way of reclaiming their sovereignty, and this is all too evident in the neglected domiciles in an eerie street in Sonargaon. I like the way a Lonely Planet article on Painam Nagar describes this once lavish community:

“The once elegant town of Painam Nagar is busy fighting a losing battle with nature, and with every passing year the trees and vines drape themselves a little further over the decaying houses. The result is a delightful ghost-town quality where the buildings appear to hang like exotic fruits from the branches of the trees.”

I don’t have this description in my own LP so this must be a later version, but this poetically paints a surreal description of Painam Nagar.

From the Folk Arts and Crafts Museum (aka Sadarbari), we took a rickshaw north of the museum. It didn't take long. Karin and I were seated in front while Mafuz (our guide) was at the back – the proverbial “backseat driver”.

I was in my cotton shirt and jeans, Karin, all blond and a curious a sight to behold in her dark colored sari, while Mafuz was in an immaculately pressed long sleeved shirt, tucked under his pants. He looked very “official”. And the three of us sauntered around like three distinct peas in a pod.

Mafuz picked a house and wandered around with adequate authority, I'd suspect he owned the place had I not known otherwise. There was a household with an woman doing her chores – she was preparing something on leaves. When I looked closer, these were rice-based food, beautifully “designed” – on specially picked leaves. Were they desserts? Heck, no. This was food. Some of them, they eat; some they sell. They looked like frosted candies in their off-pink color. Mafuz reached down and offered us a piece to taste it. Weird. I expected it to be sweet, but it didn’t taste anything. Maybe this was one of those that acquire taste once you’ve eaten enough? The funny thing is, the lady kept working and didn’t even seem to mind that we were encroaching on her space, on “work” – and we didn’t pay anything for this visit. How much more “up close and personal” could you get?

The house stood like desperate relics; half the house facing the scenic lake has all but disappeared. We navigated through a narrow staircase. I was trying to keep a stable stance; didn't wanna fall into a sundry of accouterments that seemed second or third-hand, rusting in sweet salvation. At some point, it became too dark. I was still afraid I’d step on something I’m not supposed to. Our destination: the roof deck! From there, I could see a good part of Painam Nagar. We just sat and gathered our thoughts while Mafuz jumped on a ledge and started clowning around.

MUSINGS OF A SWISS TRAVELER

I liked Karin. She's from Interleukin, Switzerland. She was mild mannered and toothsome, and she had a sincere smile. She would intermittently regale me with some of her travel anecdotes: the German paraglider who dove to his near-fatal accident in Pokhara Nepal (Karin had to accompany him in Delhi where he was eventually flown back to Germany); her life as a relatively new physician; her passion climbing mountains; what is it like being a single woman traveling around Asia. She mentioned that 40% of a Swiss' salary goes to the government as tax; and that Switzerland isn't part of the E.U. (really?). She just completed General Surgery, and she's seriously looking into Visceral Surgery which, to be honest, I've never heard of. She's taken to wearing sari while navigating around, try to be inconspicuous, although I was sure she was not succeeding all that much. Glimpses of her life in a capsule.

I’ve actually made a friend that day. She has since emailed me about her unforgettable experiences traveling back to India, as well as her funny-scary stories visiting Andaman Island off the Bay of Bengal. Later that day, I bought a few Indian rupees from her for my onward travel to Kolkata (India) - I'd need local money for those meal stopovers - while she headed to the southern tip of Bangladesh – Cox's Bazaar, this is Bangladesh's Bali, their Boracay, their Phuket.

'
A pond just behind this row of run-down mansions.

Karin of Interleukin, Switzerland

Intricate details on the ceiling of one of the mansions.

From this short strip of dilapidated mansions, we visited another one – a bigger one actually; the once luxurious abode of a nawab (a muslim prince), supposedly with underground tunnels that reach Dhaka (although we weren’t able to see this). Check it out on our next post. This is our date with a grim historical Bangladeshi chapter.

And this is the Eye in the Sky!

Mafuz, our tour guide, up a ledge by the roof deck.

Painam Nagar - Crumbling Opulence in a Ghost Town (Sonargaon)

Sometime between 1895 and 1905, in a small area in the old part of the ancient city of Sonargaon, a single narrow street became a prosperous site of fervent construction of opulent mansions. Rich Hindu merchants, mostly clothes traders, put all the stops to build elegant homes characterized by graceful arches, columns, elaborate stairs, intricately designed pillars, and brick walls. However, during the partition that would eventually separate India and Pakistan, a tumultuous chapter in the Indian subcontinent, this schism resulted to violent in-fighting between the Muslims and the Hindus. The Hindu merchants who practically owned much of Painam Nagar (also called Panam City) fled to India to resist imminent death, leaving their mansions to the care of poor tenants.

Decades of political strife throughout Bangladesh, then under the political tutelage of Pakistan (most were Muslims thus they went with Pakistan during the "partition") hasn’t allowed the merchants to return. These lavish mansions have fallen into decay, their brick walls crumbling along with their rich historical past.

As a result of this, the whole street of Painam Nagar, including its 50 mansions, has become a ghost town. Despite absence of the most basic necessities – no electricity, no water lines, no sewage disposal system – many of these houses have poor tenants who refuse to leave (nor get relocated). And if you’ve been inside one of the slums of Mumbai or Tondo, you would realize the sheer despondency of the tenant’s living conditions. Mumbai and Tondo slums suddenly seem posh.

Why the Restoration and Heritage Departments of the Bangladeshi government have all but neglected Painam Nagar is such a wonder. I am aware that restoration of 50 mansions wouldn't be cheap, but preservation of history is priceless. I read several articles regarding plans to relocate these tenants (there must have been half a dozen generations since the owners abandoned their mansions) and start restorations, but these have turned out to be mere publicity stunts in the last 5-10 years or so. Nothing concrete has happened.

These present tenants will fight getting relocated, but I really can’t imagine a harder life than staying in Painam Nagar. They hardly look like inhabited homes. At least the other slum dwellings elsewhere in Asia have vestiges of home partitions (living room, sleeping quarters, kitchen, bathroom). The ones we saw here have none! Government-aided transfers can’t be worse.

I am pretty sure that restoration of these mansions would eventually pay off in terms of tourism, not to mention the historical implications in a nation too pulverized by civil war, poverty, cyclones and other disasters, and population explosion.

This is the Eye in the Sky!

Up next: A travelogue in visiting Painam Nagar - Getting inside some of these decrepit and abandoned houses.