The soft glow of the evening sun bathed the large two-story launch as if waiting just for me. In the distance, the vast expanse of the Bay of Bengal shimmered, bordered by lush greenery nearby. The afternoon was slipping gently into the evening as I stood at the bustling port of Kalapara in Patuakhali, waiting to board the launch that would take me on a long river journey back to Dhaka. The launch, named MV Pubali-6, stood ready to depart. With a deep breath, I stepped aboard, joining a crowd of passengers filling its decks. I climbed to the upper deck, leaning against the railing as I gazed back at the port. Kalapara was slowly fading into the distance, with moored boats swaying at the jetty and the air bustling with activity.
As the launch began its journey, the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the river with its golden light. The water shimmered like molten gold, and the sky turned shades of crimson and amber. It was as though nature herself had paused to admire this fleeting masterpiece. The banks of the river were lined with dense rows of trees, their outlines softened by the hazy horizon. I stood at the railing, mesmerized, the gentle evening breeze caressing my face and filling me with a serene sense of calm. The rhythmic hum of the launch’s engine blended harmoniously with the soothing splash of waves, creating a melody that seemed to echo the heartbeat of the river.
Nearby, a middle-aged fellow passenger struck up a conversation. “Isn’t this the most beautiful time of the day?” he asked, his voice warm with nostalgia. I nodded in agreement. “I travel by launch every month,” he continued. “I work in Dhaka, but my heart always remains here.” His words resonated with the quiet love that only the river could inspire.
As dusk gave way to night, countless stars began to twinkle in the vast sky. Inside the launch, dinner was being served, and the aroma of food filled the air. Passengers streamed into the dining area. I made my way to the canteen and grabbed a simple yet delicious meal—rice, fried hilsa, and lentils. Sitting by the window, I ate while gazing at the river outside. The water had turned into an endless expanse of darkness, interrupted only by the faint reflections of the launch’s lights dancing on the surface.
After dinner, I returned to the deck. The night was deepening, and the cool river breeze brought with it a profound sense of solitude. The steady hum of the engine and the gentle lapping of water against the hull wove a tranquil symphony. Closing my eyes, I let the sounds envelop me, their quiet rhythm lulling me into a meditative state.
As the night wore on, the river came alive with its own quiet story. I noticed small fishing boats in the distance, their dim kerosene lamps glowing like fireflies against the inky blackness. Fishermen were hard at work, casting their nets and pulling in their catch. Watching them, I felt a deep respect for their resilience. While the rest of the world slept, they toiled under the stars, relying on the river for their livelihood. One fisherman cast his net with a practiced hand, and moments later, another hauled it back, revealing a modest catch. Their movements were precise, their faces etched with determination. I watched in silence as the boats disappeared into the dark horizon, carrying their stories with them.
Later in the night, I ventured up to the roof of the launch. A few passengers were scattered across the deck—some chatting softly, others lost in thought under the vast sky. I found a quiet corner and sat down. The full moon had risen, its silver light cascading over the river, creating an ethereal glow.
I began to sing, my voice soft at first but growing in confidence:
"With tender care, I’ve loved your sweet smile,
Bound you forever to my heart's isle.
In life’s journey, this love stays strong,
Touch my soul, and I’ll sing you this song."
My voice carried into the night, blending with the serenity of the river and the soft hum of the launch. Other passengers turned toward me, some smiling, others quietly listening. The moonlight, the gentle ripples of the river, and the melody of my song wove a spellbinding atmosphere.
An elderly man approached me after a while and said, “Son, your voice is beautiful. This river, the moonlight, your song—it takes me back to my childhood village.” His words warmed my heart, and I continued to sing, letting the moon and the river accompany my melody.
As dawn broke, the first rays of the sun painted the sky in hues of gold and lavender. Standing on the roof, I watched the horizon brighten and the shimmering sunlight dance on the water. The launch was nearing Dhaka. In the distance, the city’s skyline came into view, its tall buildings rising against the lightening sky.
I reflected on the journey, which had been nothing short of magical. The golden sunset, the silent rhythm of the night, the fishermen’s quiet toil, the moonlit river, and the songs that carried my heart—all these moments had etched themselves into my memory. This voyage was a treasure, a reminder of the beauty and tranquility that life could offer.
The launch docked, and as I gathered my belongings, I looked back one last time at the river. Its waters sparkled under the morning sun, bidding me farewell. “Thank you for this beautiful journey,” I whispered silently, before stepping into the bustling streets of Dhaka. Yet, even amidst the noise and chaos, the river, the moonlight, and my song lingered in my heart, like a melody that would never fade.
