Translated from the Bengali by Dolonchampa Chakraborty

Unusually high chirping notes resembled the whistling sounds made by the convoy of military jeeps. Ample birds everywhere. But the specific one, which is making this song, couldn’t be identified. Moreover, our effort to follow that bird landed us into an impossibly difficult situation. The wind was blowing intermittently. It carried a smell of dried fish. Somehow, the primary route was found again. After walking for a few paces on the narrow jungle path, a pair of alarmed eyes observed drag-marks on crushed ferns, of some sort of heavy object having been dragged along. It was possibly some unconscious animal, or another inanimate object, because no effort to run away or of any apparent resistance could be found. Whoever dragged it along did it with much confidence. No one would have made this sort of arrogant tow-mark on the wet jungle with extreme lush vegetation and grasses, if they feared setting of alarm. Without even looking back, Smita realised that Bikasbabu was gossiping with Tandra about her. A thought about how he would react if he had noticed this thrashed road made her feel terrified. It was in fact reassuring that the almost silent old man and his partner were safeguarding them from the front and also from the back. She wouldn’t have allowed this annoying man to be a part of their team, if he didn’t have the special skill to differentiate between fake chirping and real birds. She would have still managed to leave him behind. But, Bikasbabu and Tandra nagged vehemently to let him accompany them. They had asked around and come to know that, without him, it wouldn’t be safe to visit these areas. That man’s behaviour had not been friendly so far during their journey from Ferry ghat up to here. It was rather disrespectful. As if he were providing free service. Bikasbabu and Tandra tried to keep up with Smita’s fast pace but the annoyance generated by their unwillingness reduced their speed. Neither of the two guides paid any attention to that. They were, however, a little more attentive to Bikas’ camera lens compared to Smita’s commitment to note down even tiny details. This was one of the reasons of her annoyance towards that man. And the other reason was his personality. She couldn’t somehow ignore him as a local guide only. He was just not paying any attention to Smita who was there as a journalist!

Condensed muddy water on the path, or brick colored and jelly like dense gatherings of ants on grasses would create chaos if somehow touching even a finger! Leeches were not around in the salty weather. How about snakes! Instantaneously, she glanced at the old man’s curved knife which looked as sharp as a sickle, and felt assured. Accepting this sense of mental reassurance made her restless. It meant people primarily want safety in any unknown environment! Safety comes even before food which results in taking shelter in caves, spending the nights in trees, and creating circles with fire. On top of it, people require safety from other people as well. That perception took shape in the form of religion, state, or anything else. Fasting for five days seemed more agreeable than living in an unsafe place.

As Smita pondered, the fern and grass jungle grew less dense. She saw a vast space right in front of them. A very shallow river crossed several splits of an elevated sand dune and met the sea here, through the Acacia and Casuarina forest. The man had said, it was a solitary place where high tide often swallows the island. The sea was now heard roaring behind the scattered trees. It meant that the confluence wouldn’t be far! To reach that seashore surrounded with trees, this river had to be crossed at some point. The guides stopped them where the current was extremely strong. The bank was mossy. Bikasbabu was very uncomfortable with that heavy camera and accessories. He was searching for an alternate route. He would by no means, accept any help with his camera. Tandra motioned to smoke coming from the back of the forest, on the opposite side. Obviously, an easier route would’ve existed if a settlement were nearby. The guide now convincingly stated that officially no one was allowed to live here. And that they were now required to walk faster to be able to spend at least some time on the decided spot. Protestations were useless!

Stepping into the water was inevitable. The man took all the accessories from Bikasbabu except the camera. Bikas babu kept moving forward quite grumpily. Tandra, Smita, and the old man followed them. With the camera and its open lens hanging from his neck and his shoes in one hand, he stepped into the water while managing his rolled-up pants. He moved forward a few paces, and then he discovered it! Muttering a sudden creaky sound, he jumped back towards the shore again and started to yell at the top of his voice. On the tranquil, open shore, which was surrounded with water and forest where nothing except chirping could be heard, his yelling sounded completely out of place. Tandra, and Smita followed his gaze.

Stones, sands and a muddy slope were visible on the other side of the shore. Seemingly, a hand was also stuck in a groove. ‘Seemingly’ came to mind because the similarity of that hand with the hand of a living person was pretty low. All three of them observed it, intensely. Yes, it was a hand indeed! That swollen, pale hand looked like a hand, made of wax. It resembled a piece of cloth which had been stuffed with cotton. Blotches like those of Vitiligo, could be traced all over the hand that had been chopped off from elbow to fingers, with no trace of blood anywhere on it, the stump had become a little wrinkled. From this side of the shore, they spotted a school of small fish, which had moved away from the vibration created by Bikasbabu when he had stepped into the water. Those fish were now pressing their tiny lips on the edges of the chopped hand and pouncing on it together. Instantaneously, the hand looked like it has been revived again. The tails of all those fish started to hit the water like the paddle of a boat, and the hand started to swing. Till now, there was no sign of anyone having smelt anything. But now, all three of them covered their nostrils. Those two men didn’t.

The eyes of the older guide were soft, while the younger man looked very reluctant! Bikasbabu quite naturally started to shoot pictures, and make noise. Tandra and he agreeably made it sound very simple, that the chopped-off hand should be delivered to the police. The investigative bureau would do the rest. A journalist is required to investigate only when the state looks away from the truth! These were not usual times! Smita felt more outraged by this point of view. All of them settled down on the riverbank to reach a common opinion. The guides went on to the other side of the bank. Upon returning, they poured tea from the flask, and started to sip calmly.
Tandra said, maybe someone had dragged the corpse to here. Didn’t we spot drag marks on the grass while coming here, Smita di?
While shutting his lens Bikasbabu said, my goodness! This place could be home to leopards, foxes or anything else. Does anyone visit these places without forest guards or police? And you were not even ready to let those men accompany us. As if we could have followed the GPS system here! Huh! Funny! To get a network reception, one has to climb up the trees here—
Then we’ll have to practice catwalking to the topmost branch, Tandra responds.
Smita became annoyed and said, you’ve jolted the media so many times by capturing innumerable terrifying moments, even murders. Why are you acting so childishly now?

Bikas babu retaliated with his usual annoyance, you know very well that I’m not a wildlife photographer. You couldn’t manage Shaad and instead got me stuck in this – do you have any idea about my pressure? A few days back, gout was also detected. You almost flew me here in a balloon-boat from the mainland – not even a normal ferry system exists! Those small boats carry people more than ten times of what they should ideally carry – and now this chopped-off hand in an utterly secluded place where there is not a soul around!

Tandra intervened, dada, we’re almost done here, Smita di understands your problem pretty well, it would be better to go back from here, these men don’t even have guns. Smita diverted her attention from themselves to focus on the two men. They just wanted to know the team’s decision. Otherwise, they didn’t look to be in any kind of a hurry. They were not anxious, which could only mean that this incident was not unexpected for them! In this river valley, the river’s stretch was elongated. Two more rivers were spotted a little farther on. These types of cascades naturally form near the confluence. Most of these are not deep, but the current is strong and the seawater enters there during high tide. The hand could have floated here through that route also. But then, how were those drag-marks created on the grass and the fern-land on their way here? Who would know! Since the hand resembled wax, plasticine or that of a fabric doll’s hand, Smita couldn’t even find it abhorent. In their childhood, sometimes, one or two chopped-off hands could be found here and there. Amid various arguments Smita said to Bikasbabu and Tandra, you can go back, sit it out, or do whatever you want. I’m moving ahead. She removed her shoes, pushed up the backpack a little more tightly on her shoulders, and started to roll up her pants. She reached that creek somehow by dragging her feet and splashing in the ankle deep water. But, by then, the hand had disappeared.

Smita had never witnessed the seashore filled with more blackish red sand than what she was seeing now. Neither had she ever been to a virgin seashore more secluded than this and devoid of a single tourist. Not the slightest mark of civilisation could be traced anywhere. Bikasbabu looked more acclimatised now. Tandra, after capturing a lot of selfies was trying to get network connection.

Mirong, the old man started a conversation with Smita using his broken repertoire of Bengali vocabulary.
Smita asked him, have you ever heard anything so peculiar before?
Mirong’s cheeks had wrinkles similar to the tree bark. While making a hole in the sand with his finger he said, things happen. Rains fall, storms hit, people die. These are peculiar too—
Smita felt alarmed. She smiled and asked, what else have you seen which is similarly peculiar?

Mirong said, there was only one island here before the earthquake hit this area the year before last. But it broke it into two pieces. Houses took a hard swing, were thrown far and rolled up and down. The next day, everyone discovered that the small area consisting of the ferry-ghat and the boatmen’s slum had become separated. And the devil river squeezed herself in between. Ingnu was sitting at the bottom. He could exhale fire. He could fly. The earth trembled when he spread his wings. A storm starts from the heat of his sizzling breath. These are truth, not mere fetishes. Seeing Mirong’s expression, Smita stopped herself from uttering something logical in response to his stories. She said in a rather low voice, did your leader give instruction to take us through the spot where that hand was found? Else, why did we cross the river through that exact spot? I saw many other spots where the water level was lower and we could’ve crossed more easily— didn’t you hide that hand because he had told you to do so? Didn’t it happen when we were quarrelling among ourselves? Mirong, had you come here earlier to dispose of that hand? It didn’t let out a stale odour because may be it was soaked in Formalin—

Smita’s voice became sharper and louder as she talked. The other guide startled her almost from her side, why are you coercing that simple man to confess something? It came here floating in high tide, and that’s how it has disappeared now. You’re not here to search for the hand, you’re here to search for fish. Why are you questioning him?
Before Smita could respond, Mirong moved away towards the confluence through the sand dunes, and disappeared. Seagulls were creating a canopy below the sky there.
The younger man had his olive blue pant rolled up till his knees. Hard, hairless calf muscles and flat feet were clearly visible. Blackish red sand has almost covered his skin. With strong, clean-shaven jaws, and sharp eyes that resemble blades, he stretched out his hand to offer her something more like a bidi. It was foiled with green leaf and tied with threads – available on both sides of the shore, because it is cheaper than both the real bidi and cigarette, he said.

Following his gaze Smita looked at the other side. A smoky shadow of a mountain or land on the north eastern direction of the sea. Suddenly, the sound of roaring waves hit her. Smita felt a little uncomfortable. Gusts of moist wind were blowing hard. It might even taste salty to a stretched-out tongue. Bikasbabu and Tandra were somewhere near. It was not possible for them to identify the accurate direction for going back. So, they compromised with the current situation for a few hours. The uneasiness Smita was feeling about them had also settled down. This place was really good only for a short trip. Creating trouble with that man wouldn’t make much sense anyway. Smita stretched her body, rubbed the sand-grains on her feet and stretched her spinal cord again to straighten out her curly hairs and said, we won’t be able to find those monster fish if you don’t show them to us. You know that, right? We’ve come from far to only witness those fish who changed their original nature and transformed into carnivorous beings— how is it possible that an entire school of fishes of an area has changed? His eyes slipped off her eyes. He said, let’s go, you’ll see how nature changes itself not in poverty, but in luxury.

Smita called out Bikasbabu and Tandra. The man now dusted off the backside of his pants and started walking towards Mirong. With the chutta held between lips, his long strides took him away through the downward slope. The emerald green water of the sea on her left had turned a little bluish under the shadow of the sky. Casuarina, Cashew jungle and impenetrable Screw-pine bushes stood tall along the right side of the shore. The edgy slope of the sand dunes touched down the confluence. A few shallow waterbodies found a way from there towards the forest. They had found the chopped-off hand in a river, similar to this. The sea was restless here. The shore was visible from here, with some upside-down boats on it. Some lost their balance and were now floating with their fronts bent in between the land and the water. Smita and Bikasbabu glanced at each other. Finally, they seemed to have found out why Tandra mentioned smoke! The way those airborne molecules of water were flowing, even the scorching sunlight couldn’t burn them. A sudden gust of rotten fish odour hovered through the moist, salty wind to hit their senses hard. This smell couldn’t be ignored even if all the holes of the body which let smells penetrate were covered. That meant, fish were replete here. Their guide, as well as the administration – everyone was a liar. People do frequent this route.
Tandra said, it’s an illegal dock area. That’s why no one was eager to bring us here.
The guide was then standing amid violent waves, precisely over the confluence where the river and the sea meet each other. Sand beside the cacti was already heating up. Mirong was bending over the water near those crab-holes, set almost in a row. Smita sped up, crossed the erect and fragile shoreline and reached where he was sitting.

Right then, Tandra, Smita, and Bikas babu’s gaze probably fixed at the same time on the creek where the river entered in a rather angular direction. Bones – white, pale, and somewhat covered in blackish, bloody flesh, were lying near the shoreline. Thrashing waves and foam had brought them in. Smita expanded her gaze. Parts of broken trawlers, torn-off clothes, and debris were visible along the shore, as far as the eye could see.

The guide casually pointed to the smoky-coloured mountains in the northeast, and said, the Naf River is over there. Continuously grabbing headlines for days and nights had made it as infamous as the Mediterranean Sea. Smita paused for a few moments and said sharply, the waves are eroding so much on this side. It points to a shallow seabed, full of rocks. It doesn’t look like these boats are being used for fishing. The guide said, fishing boats are there, but not these boats – these are not even made here. Bikasbabu by now had started to take photographs. His attention was here though. The shadow of the birds’ wings over them was very dense.
Smita said, it actually means that this is the place where the refugees land after crossing the rough sea on a rickety boat made out of banana stems. The possibility of surviving is nil.
The guide said, you’re here to search for fish. The genes of those fish have changed and they’ve transformed into violent and carnivorous beings. Why are they resorting to attack, why are those schools of fish who were calm and peaceful before, now attacking the humans on the land? Even people who merely bathe or swim are not safe from them either. You’re here to search for this lot, isn’t it so? Chased by the people, those half-dead refugees come stampeding across the waters and their boats are turned upside down.  It will be utter chaos if this news leaks – it’s about human flesh after all. Even out of respect for the humans, fish won’t let go of it though—
Mirong interrupted his younger partner as he made a sound of some sort of achievement. Two fish were moving within an open plastic bag They looked like Anabas, with huge bellies, pretty healthy. Although this was absolutely not the time for them to get pregnant or deliver.
The man hurried up. Smita tried to find his shadow in the dying twilight. She had countless information to gather. But it would have been better if she didn’t know the ending. In this story, she had nothing more to explain, and nothing else to write about.