The temple at last...

The temple at last...

Ada Chai forest station looked forlorn in this deep forest -- an outstation with a pale existence. We walked down a long wooden pier that had developed gaping holes through its rotten wood planks. At the end of it was the wooden station its planks blacked by continuous rain, damp, musty smell hanging in the air. The lanterns could hardly beat the gloom of the gathering dusk as we entered the ramshackle station. The dampness enters your inside and you feel dizzy. I was taken aback by the unbelievably sorry living condition of the foresters.

What surprised me more was the backyard of the station. A long pier about ten feet above the ground had run to the toilets. And it was protected with tightly knit golpata partition all the way. The floor was also made with solid wood.

“The man-eaters,” one of the foresters smiled. “This is a tiger infested area. Only a few days ago, a tiger visited our station. We don't want to get dragged away at night while going out to the toilet.”

We took a short walk at the back of the station. Thick thorny hetal bush had spread all the way to the keora forest.

“Don't walk any further,” a forester warned. “The tiger often sleeps in this forest. We should not take risk at this hour.”

We felt bad for these people who were living in constant fear of the big cats. And worst still, their life had turned bleaker by the lack of drinking water. The only fresh water pond had become unusable after Aila had dumped salt water into it. Tonight they were left with only a jug of water and if fresh rain did not come tonight they would be left without any.

It was getting late and we had to leave the station in a sullen mood, leaving the poor souls to fend for themselves. As our boat crossed the river to the ship, we could see Shibsha forest on our left where that mysterious temple sits tight amidst thick forest and where that even more mysterious tiger lives. Tomorrow we are going to look for it.

……………

The day began with a heavily overcast sky. It rained the whole time last night and it was now drizzling. Breakfast was quick and then the ship set out along the Shibsha River. But at the entry to the Shibshah canal we had to anchor again. It was now low tide and we waited for the high tide so that we could enter the serpentine canals in an engine boat.

From here, I looked out to the deep forest lying ahead and wondered what a daunting task it was for Raja Protapadittya to set up a township here to fight the pirates some 450 years ago. Who were those brave men and women who came to this wilderness and tried in vain to make this place liveable? We were here to get inside that deep forest to have a look at the remnants of the temple that was built by the Pratapadittya settlers.

The tide turned soon and we took the engine boat to cross the choppy stretch of the river to enter the channel that twisted through the deep forest and gradually became narrower. We saw a huge white-bellied sea eagle slowly winging above us to the other side of the forest. What a majestic bird it is! We saw a honey buzzard and a grey-headed eagle too.

The journey was becoming mysterious now and we felt a kind of adrenaline rush thinking about the temple tiger. We were slowly rowing and a strange kind of silence had wrapped us tight. There were no songbirds singing. Only the crowing of an occasional red jungle fowl proved that it was not a dead forest.

Rows of golpata and hetal bushes frilled the blackish muddy banks. Beyond them stood the sundari and kewra and myriad other varieties in a tangle to form a dense forest. Reza Khan pointed out to the hetal fruits and said these are a variety of dates. They looked brilliant orange. Mudskippers and blue fiddler crabs crawled the banks among sharply pointed breathing shoots.

The canal had become so narrow here that the boatmen climbed down in the mud and pushed the boat as oars were of no use here. Khosru was looking intently ahead to locate the canal that would take us closest to the temple. The spiky hetal branches were brushing our faces and we had to be careful to save our eyes. It was drizzling again.

Suddenly Khosru signalled to stop. He was silently pointing to the bank. The pugmark was definitely imprinted a few minutes ago -- a huge male tiger had jumped across the canal. The claw marks were sharp and fresh -- the swampy mud had not blunted them yet. We silently watched the mark, a weird feeling descending upon us. We did not know whether the tiger was watching us from behind the bushes. What was he thinking?

From the boat we stepped right onto the bank and sank knee-deep in the spongy mud. Very slowly we climbed up the steep slope and found ourselves into a hedo bush. Hedo is the ideal place for tigers in the Sundarbans as the cats can use the reed like plants as mat to sleep on in the swamp forest.

“Everybody! Shout! Shout loudly!” Siraj yelled. “Not every forest is a good place to sight a tiger. Make noise as much as you can!” Siraj had seen some recent human victims of tiger attack and the memories were still fresh in his mind.

“Whaaaoooo,” we hollered, almost in unison. And we started walking, trying to cross the hedo brushwood as quickly as possible. But however fast we tried, our progress was painfully slow. Every step saw us sinking deeper in the most sticky mud. And we almost lost balance with every step too. That posed a most perilous prospect as the sharp breathing shoots were everywhere around us in great numbers. One fall and at least ten of them would pierce you through.

But then there were two more dangers. Our shoes were getting stuck in the mud and we had to vigorously pull our legs to free them. This was really challenging. And then we had to first place our foot slowly and carefully to be sure that we were not stepping on any breathing shoots hidden in the mud.

Some of us were slowing down and Khosru shouted us to a halt.

“One guard in the front and the other in the rear,” he ordered. “Everybody must be covered by the guards. No-one should fall behind!”

I very much doubted how much protection the two forest guards could provide in case of a tiger attack. Before they could aim their rifles, they would skid and roll over on the mud. But still they gave us a kind of mental protection -- by now a strange kind of fear had seeped into our mind and we did not want to meet this mysterious temple tiger any more.

Soon one by one we got rid of the shoes because with them on it was impossible to move any further. Barefooted, we were exposed to more danger though. Anytime a breathing shoot could nail through our soles. And a little later our situation was further jeopardised as Reza Khan dragged out a dog-faced water snake by its tail from the mud. Who knows how many of them are lying on our path. And I remembered Khosru warning us to be extremely careful at the temple sight because it is teeming with cobras.

Thickets brushed against our faces and they stung like wasps. The drizzle, the danger, the crooked branches of the trees and the deep shadow of the forest created a ghoulish atmosphere. Suddenly Reza Khan stopped dead. He was the only guy still courting a boot.

“The tiger is close by,” he whistled. “It is stalking us.”

The words hit us like bullets and froze us for a moment. An icy wave trickled down my spine. We felt helpless in this terrible terrain. For the first time, I resented having come here. And I did not know whether I would have the energy left, if not life itself, to cross the same distance back. Worst of all, we had no idea how much path we had yet to cross to the temple.

“Shout louder!” Khosru ordered and we tried to best use our lungs. Someone suggested the guards shoot in the air. But the foresters looked unsure they have to explain to their officers for any bullet spent.

“It's useless,” Ronald Haldar murmured beside me. “If it is a man-eater, no shouts can deter it.”

“But we are twenty together. The tiger surely would not dare to attack such a large pack,” I said hopingly.

“Ha! There you say,” Ronald snorted. “I know of tiger attacks on bigger packs. Man-eaters are man-eaters.”

We started walking faster now probably by the fear of the unseen tiger softly following us. And no-one wanted to be too far away from the guards. After sometime, I lost track of time. We were all walking mechanically like some haunted souls. Plop, plop, our feet rose and fell in the mud. I was no longer glancing at the reeds that almost sandwiched us from all sides. We just kept treading. In empty heads. In empty minds. And then finally came in view a bright brick structure through the bush.

Slowly the temple became clearer. It is about 30 feet high, a very old structure. The thin bricks had lost their sharpness of edge over the centuries. Plants had grown all over it, darkening its haunted look. There was an opening through which we tentatively stepped inside and held still for a few seconds. We did not want to be bitten by a cobra. Then as vision adjusted to the semi-darkness we panned our eyes around and then tilted up. It was a small place, about 350 square feet. The ceiling had arched and showed some obscure designs. Some 450 years ago, people used to come here and place their offerings. Smell of incense would swirl in the air, mixing with the strange outer smell of the forest. Sundarbans would then become a magical existence. Some 450 years ago, these people the kaguji or papermakers and molongi the salt producers would find spirituality in the shadows of this temple.

Someone called out from outside and my spell was broken.

“Tiger marks!” a voice was heard.

Right beside the temple we saw the pugmarks of the temple tiger. So fresh that even the grasses were yet to lose their rumple. It looked like a tigress. Was the large canal-crossing male its mate? The tigress was probably resting on the high ground of the temple when its sleep was disturbed by our shouts. She got up and went down to see who the intruders were to enter her kingdom.

“We must get back fast,” Khosru announced.

Headcounts were done and we lined up again -- one guard in the front, another in the rear. Then we plodded on through the mud, through the needles, through the same danger. Again.

Naturally Narail...

Naturally Narail...

WE were supposed to visit Narail months ago. But then many moons moaned by and all our plans collapsed one after another for one reason or another. Finally when we found time, it began with a disaster.

On a perfectly nice winter morning, we parked our car at the Mawa police station for two nights and went over to the speedboat terminal. On the other side of the Padma would wait a microbus. This arrangement would have been the quickest to Narail. With a heavy backpack and the jacket wrapped round my hand, I first stepped on the front deck of the speedboat. As I was about to step inside the canopy, two more halfwit fellow travellers with no knowledge of a speedboat's behaviour jumped in.

It took a second for the boat to rock vigorously, like a bucking horse; and the next second I found myself floating on the Padma. My backpack felt like a tonne of brick and impossible to dislodge. My jackets were fitted tightly. Somehow I swam against a current that was trying to carry me out to the middle. Then I found the white hull of the speedboat above my head. I grabbed its edge and calmed myself.

Then I was laughing manically. All those birdbrains responsible for the mayhem and my watery state were also in water. All with their backpacks and one of them swimming like a rat thrown into the pond.

There were people stretching out their hands to me and I caught a few of them, or they rather caught me and pulled. Try to climb onto a speedboat from the river and find out how difficult it is. Almost when I was thinking the rest of my life would be spent on the Padma bobbing like the float of a fishing rod, they landed me on the deck. The rest were rescued as well.

Drenched, we sat like some catfish and chattered teeth as the speedboat roared through the Padma for half an hour. I tried to see the best of the river view -- the seagulls dancing on the waves, the long sandy beaches and wonderful squirt of silts thrown up by dredgers looking like whales spraying water.

Thankfully, the chilly ride was over, but not our indignation. All the fools on the other side of the bank -- from village morons to newly-wed girls going to in-law's house -- asked if we fell over the speedboat. Our answers varied -- No, we were scuba-diving, only we forgot to change clothes; No, we were up in the sky too high and got drenched by the clouds; No, we are Argentinean pearl fishers.

..............................................

Once on the other side, the journey transformed into one of bliss and wonderment. The road was wide and empty eerily empty for Bangladesh . For minutes we traveled before meeting another vehicle. The roadside view also changed dramatically. The fields spread away to the horizon and uncountable palm trees gave that special feature to the landscape. Then I realized all those tals we have in Dhaka must have come from here. Jute sticks were piled up along the road in the most interesting fashion. The stacks looked like witches' hats.

In exactly four and a half hours from our journey in Dhaka we found a narrow side road and followed it to a beautiful river. The narrow river meandered very gracefully through bright yellow mustard fields. Not a ripple in it. Its marbled water looked almost blue. Only occasionally a jute-laden boat would appear lazily and sail away.

A few blackened figures stood knee-deep in the river and used buckets to throw water onto their saplings on the slanted paddy fields. We looked at the cotton-balling clouds above and inhaled the utterly village smell -- of water, mud, mustard and paddy -- and knew heaven is here.

There was a strange ferry here -- a private one inscribed “Arunima Modhumoti Ferry” on it. Its triangle shape made us to research out that it was in fact the sawed-off front of a steel boat, probably a cargo ship. A Chinese diesel engine has been fitted to its side in a watchtower like room.

It took us a few minutes to cross the ferry. Here we had to board a rickshaw-van. A ten-minute trip through a village took us to the resort Arunima Countriside. The tree-frilled wide road welcomed us inside the sprawling resort to a cosy bungalow.

It's a beautiful place full of tall trees and big ponds. There was a beel as well -- a water body so huge that the end part of it had been turned into a bird sanctuary. Amid thousands of red lotus were nesting the winter birds, mostly whistling teals, cormorants, egrets and herons.

On the bank of the beel is the dining place. We watched the birds cackling and whistling and rising above the water and dropping again as we had our lunch.

I took a stroll around the resort. It has many promises. The whole place has been turned into a golf course as well. We were told that a team from Dhaka Club had recently come here to play. The landscaping has been outstanding at places. So close to the Dhaka city, it could be anybody's dream retreat. With conference rooms and all, a corporate attraction.

The bamboo rooms with ACs and all by the beel are interesting. Only their balconies are too narrow for any meaningful lazing.

……................................….......……..

There was this big field behind our bungalow and a high ground for the golf tee. We sat there in the after noon and watched two horses grazing nearby. There was this lonely farmland beyond the field -- the paddy stalks looked dry and golden in the dying sun. A long stretch of tall trees lined round the field like a looming forest.

Suddenly the sun died down and a fine layer of mist settled in. A little girl in a red frock limped along the field. The sun was now hanging very low, looking like a pink fireball. The horses neighed. The cackling of the birds peaked as their nesting time neared.

We watched the whole Dalisque transformation of nature and felt content.

………................................................

Before evening we took a walk through the village. It was the most beautiful village I had ever come across. Bamboo huts with clean yards fenced off with hedges. The traditional bamboo pigeon pens hanging under the ceiling ledges. The calf with their mothers chewing the cud. The jute straws burning in the mud oven. That old acrid smell.

You could hear the children's laughter and the silhouettes of the women cooking in the outhouse. The kerosene lamps and the burning firewood throwing a kind of wavering glow on the faces. The men were sitting in the yards, puffing on their hukkas. Their faces content with the smell of the hays stacked in the corner. The harvesting was just completed and it was a good year. The rain had lifted the crops in time and the pests were few.

Then I heard the unmistakable hoots. Our searching eyes found two owlets sitting in the gathering dusk on the electric line passing over the barren field. They were waiting for the field mice to come out.

We left them to their own affairs and walked to the Modhumati river. A half moon had cast a magic spell and flooded the river silver. We could see as far as the farthest bend. The river lay there prattling some mysterious songs to the universe.

We listened as a perfect night closed in.

……..............................................

It was time to come back. This time at Mawa we were extra cautious while getting on the speedboat. One after another we filed ourselves. No rush. Ah. All safe.

After about fifteen minutes we were in the middle of the Padma and something queer caught our eyes. Lots of speedboats were moored in the mid-river. What are they doing, we wondered. First I thought they were tourists enjoying the Padma cruise. But what interests should tourists find here? Then they must be some kind of geological surveyors looking for minerals. But then why so many women and children?

Just then our speedboat passed by one stationary boat. To our surprise we found that the outboard engine had been taken apart and the boatman was fiddling with it. Then we passed another boat and its engine was also dismounted. We passed another and another. And then we realized what had happened. The river was so shallow here that the boats were all stuck.

Hardly a second went by before our boat suddenly stopped with a sudden jerk and three of us just simply tumbled over into the river. The same three. I stood up sheepishly, all wet once again. But then I again started laughing maniacally.

Whoever has ever heard of the Padma flowing just ankle deep in midstream?

Cambodia by Bicycle...

Cambodia by Bicycle...

[ Two faces of Bayon.]

"Whenever you see three Cambodians, remember the fourth one who was killed by the Khmer Rouge.” A friend shared this sobering thought on the eve of a special adventure I was about to embark on: a bicycling trip from Bangkok to Angkor Wat in Cambodia. While this undercurrent of sadness was a part of the trip, my adventure was also filled with unexpected challenges, friendly people, and awe at seeing the magnificent ruins at Angkor.

After spending our first day (March 14) cycling in Thailand, we reached the Cambodian border at Prum at noon of the second day. We bicycled onward 17 km to Pailin and stopped there for the night. Pailin is famous for two things: sapphire mines nearby and several retired Khmer Rouge officials. Luckily I did not run into the latter while exploring the town in the afternoon. The streets of Pailin were torn up for installing sewage pipes and it was dusty and hot. Many more children than I had seen in Thailand played in the streets. The market reminded me of the bazaars of the smaller towns of Bangladesh, with the vendors waiting with their offerings while their children entertained.

The next day was our most difficult: 92km from Pailin to Battambang, the second largest town of Cambodia. Expecting another hot day (mid-30s) we started bicycling at 7am. Having braved Dhaka's traffic and shattered roads for many years, riding through Pailin's potholes was easy for me. But just outside the town I ran into trouble. That's because we started climbing the foothills of the Cardamom Mountains.

Drop Of Life All the world's water

Drop Of Life All the world's water

If all the world's water were to form a single drop, this is how big it would be: A sphere stretching from Salt Lake City, Utah to Topeka, Kansas. Though this mega-droplet looks small compared to Earth's bulk, the two dimensionality of this image is somewhat deceiving. In fact, the water sphere would have a diameter of about 860 miles (1,385 kilometers) and a volume of about 332,500,000 cubic miles (1,386,000,000 cubic km).
That's a lot of water, but you wouldn't want to drink this droplet. More than 96 percent of Earth's water is saline. About 68 percent of the world's fresh water is frozen in ice sheets and glaciers, with another 30 percent stored underground. Rivers make up just 1/10,000th of a percent of the globe's total water.
Source: Live Science

Tagging Ray Satellite tracks manta rays

Tagging Ray Satellite tracks manta rays

The Wildlife Conservation Society, the University of Exeter, and the Government of Mexico have published the first-ever satellite telemetry study on the manta ray.

Using the latest satellite tracking technology, conservationists from the Wildlife Conservation Society, the University of Exeter (UK), and the Government of Mexico have completed a ground-breaking study on a mysterious ocean giant: the manta ray
The research team has produced the first published study on the use of satellite telemetry to track the open-ocean journeys of the world's largest ray, which can grow up to 25 feet in width. Researchers say the manta ray -- listed as "Vulnerable" by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) -- has become increasingly threatened by fishing and accidental capture and now needs more protection.
The study was published May 11 in the online journal PLoS ONE. The authors include: Rachel T. Graham of the Wildlife Conservation Society and the University of Exeter; Matthew J. Witt of the University of Exeter; Dan W. Castellanos of the Wildlife Conservation Society; Francisco Remolina of the National Commission of Protected Areas, Cancun, Mexico; Sara Maxwell of the Marine Conservation Institute and the University of California-Santa Cruz; Brenden J. Godley of the University of Exeter; and Lucy A. Hawkes of Bangor University, Bangor, United Kingdom.
"Almost nothing is known about the movements and ecological needs of the manta ray, one of the ocean's largest and least-known species," said Dr. Rachel Graham, lead author on the study and director of WCS's Gulf and Caribbean Sharks and Rays Program. "Our real-time data illuminate the previously unseen world of this mythic fish and will help to shape management and conservation strategies for this species."
The research team attached satellite transmitters to manta rays off the coast of Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula over a 13-day period. The tracking devices were attached to the backs of six individuals -- four females, one male, and one juvenile.
"The satellite tag data revealed that some of the rays traveled more than 1,100 kilometers during the study period," said Dr. Matthew Witt of the University of Exeter's Environment and Sustainability Institute. "The rays spent most of their time traversing coastal areas plentiful in zooplankton and fish eggs from spawning events."
Like baleen whales and whale sharks, manta rays are filter feeders that swim through clouds of plankton with mouths agape.
The research team also found that the manta rays spent nearly all their time within Mexico's territorial waters (within 200 miles of the coastline), but only 11.5 percent of the locations gathered from the tagged rays occurred within marine protected areas. And the majority of ray locations were recorded in major shipping routes in the region; manta rays could be vulnerable to ship strikes.
Source: Science Daily

Footprints Of David Earliest proof of biblical cult

Footprints Of David Earliest proof of biblical cult

The excavation of a shrine in the 3,000-year-old city of Khirbet Qeiyafa near Jerusalem.

For the first time, archaeologists have uncovered shrines from the time of the early Biblical kings in the Holy Land, providing the earliest evidence of a cult, they say.

Excavation within the remains of the roughly 3,000-year-old fortified city of Khirbet Qeiyafa, located about 19 miles (30 kilometers) southwest of Jerusalem, have revealed three large rooms used as shrines, along with artifacts, including tools, pottery and objects, such as alters associated with worship.

The three shrines were part of larger building complexes, and the artifacts included five standing stones, two basalt altars, two pottery libation vessels and two portable shrines, one made of pottery, the other of stone. The portable shrines are boxes shaped like temples.

The shrines themselves reflect an architectural style dating back as early as the time of King David (of the biblical David and Goliath story), providing the first physical evidence of a cult in thetime of King David, according to an announcement by Yosef Garfinkel, an archaeologist at Hebrew University of Jerusalem. [Religious Worship: Top 10 Cults]

The research is presented in the book, "Footsteps of King David in the Valley of Elah" (Yedioth Ahronoth, 2012).

Radiocarbon dating on burnt olive pits found in the ancient city of Khirbet Qeiyafa indicate it existed between 1020 B.C. and 980 B.C., before being violently destroyed.

According to Biblical tradition, the ancient Israelites' belief in one God and their ban on human and animal figures set them apart from their neighbors. However, it hasn't been clear when these distinct practices arose.

The discoveries offer a clue to the timing, since they contain none of the human or animal figurines common at other sites. No bones from pigs showed up here or elsewhere in the city.

Source: Live Science

Light Of Baghdad A brief history of the house of wisdom

Light Of Baghdad A brief history of the house of wisdom

n the medieval Arabic world "House of Wisdom" of Baghdad was the epicenter of learning.

Obaidur Rahman

The legendary Bayt al-Hikma meaning “House of Wisdom” was a library and a translation institute established somewhere later in the 8th century by Caliph Harun al-Rashid which later flourished under the rule of his son Caliph Al-Mamun and his immediate successors. This ancient grand institution was modeled after the Sassanid Imperial Library (the pre-Islamic Persian Empire, 224-651 AD), given the strong bond that Abbasid Caliphate had with the Persians, a great association which many experts believe spawned the very birth of Islamic Golden Period in the first place. It is in this House of Wisdom, for the next 4 to 5 hundred years alchemists, scientists, scholars, writers, men of letters, copyists painstakingly learned, read, wrote and translated manuscripts that were originally Farsi, Aramaic, Syriac, Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Sankrit, Devnagari and other languages and linguistically converted them into Arabic and circulated the Arabic translated texts throughout the then Arabic speaking world. In this process many works by ancient Persian, Greek and Indian scholars like Aryabhata and Brahmagupta were translated and further researched which was also one of the tasks of the historic library. There were a couple of technical reasons why House of Wisdom was in Baghdad. For starter, it was the then capital of Islamic empire and secondly it was in Baghdad where, during this era, world's very first recorded paper mill was established which made it possible for widespread literacy in that region and by 10th century paper replaced the usage of parchment and papyrus in the Arab world. And that era was glory times for Baghdad, which was known as the world's richest city housing over a million people, not by the might of oil by the way, and a true centre for the intellectual development of that time, a great accomplishment that many modern day Arab states failed to achieve even at this day and age regardless of their immense monetary wealth and easy access to global scholarship.

It was in this House of Wisdom, that the Islamic empire witnessed some of its most brilliant minds whose work later gave birth to the European renaissance. Some of the Islamic scholars associated with House of Wisdom were Persian mathematician Al-Khwarizmi, the Banu Musa brothers of Persia who were known for their works on automatic machines and machinery devices, the Sindhi scientist Sind ibn Ali who was born in modern day Pakistan, the great Iraqi scientist Al-Kindi, who is unanimously considered as the “Father of Islamic or Arabic philosophy”, the Iraqi-Christian physician, scholar Hunayn ibn Ishaq, known for his translation of Syriac texts into Arabic and the mathematician Thabit ibn Qurra, who was born in modern day Turkey and belonged to the Sabian religion of the Mesopotamia and many other scholars and gifted minds.

Sadly in 1258, the prestigious House of Wisdom was utterly destroyed during the Mongol invasion of Baghdad. Historically there is a saying that during and aftermath of the invasion the waters of Tigris river ran black with the ink from the enormous quantities of books that were thrown into the ancient river and red from the blood of all the scientists, scholars and philosophers who were killed by the armies of Hulagu Khan, the Mongol ruler who committed histories one of the most atrocious massacres.

Evolution of the Universe: From big bang to present day

Evolution of the Universe: From big bang to present day

The very early Universe was a dense, scalding hot soup of fundamental particles...within about a billion years clouds of matter formed into galaxies.

Quamrul Haider

According to the Big Bang theory, the universe came into being with a violent explosion from which all matter and energy originated. At the zero hour, the entire known universe was a mathematical point of infinite density, called the singularity, from which matter and energy burst out and the universe began to expand. This cataclysmic event occurred, as estimated by Hubble, approximately 14 billion years ago

A microsecond after the explosion, temperature of the universe was 10 trillion Kelvin and it was a dense, scalding hot soup of fundamental particles - quarks, leptons and the force carriers. Most of the radiation consisted of high energy gamma-ray photons. Photons are massless particles travelling at the speed of light. They had enough energy to make matter (electron, proton, neutrino) and anti-matter through pair production. But matter and anti-matter quickly annihilated each other. Fortunately, there was an asymmetry in favor of matter. A consequence of this asymmetry was that the universe was able to mature in a way favorable for matter to persist. The universe was also expanding at an extremely fast rate. This period is known as the Inflationary Epoch.

After one second, the universe grew older, temperature decreased to about 10 billion Kelvin, and the gamma-rays lacked sufficient energy for pair production. Hence, no matter or anti-matter was produced and their amount decreased because of the annihilation process. The quarks and gluons (carriers of the strong force) combined into composite particles like protons and neutrons. At this time, the neutrinos stopped interacting with matter and have moved freely through the universe ever since.

The universe was a sea of high-energy radiation of gamma- and X-rays. Together with some neutrons, protons and electrons, it was an ionized plasma where matter and radiation were inseparable. Neutrons spontaneously decayed into protons and electrons. Also deuteron, an isotope of hydrogen, was formed through fusion of neutrons and protons. Initially, the deuterons did not survive because the gamma- and X-rays had sufficient energy to break them up into neutrons and protons.

One hundred seconds later, the universe cooled down to 1 billion Kelvin and the photons did not have enough energy to disrupt a deuteron. Abundance of deuteron climbed swiftly; protons and neutrons became the common state of matter. After 200 seconds, protons and neutrons slowed down enough for a series of nuclear reactions (nucleosynthesis) to take place, and the chemical makeup of the universe changed from hydrogen and deuterons only to helium, lithium and beryllium. They were, however, quickly torn apart by the energetic photons.

Radiation dominated the universe during the initial few minutes. This stage in the development of the universe is known as the Radiation Era. The universe was still too hot (temperature was around 1 million Kelvin after the first few years) for atoms to be stable. Gas in the universe, mostly free electrons, was very opaque. Light and radiation never got far away from the place where they were emitted before being destroyed or rescattered again.

For the next 300,000 years, the universe was a “primordial fireball,” completely filled with a shimmering expanse of high-energy photons colliding vigorously with protons and electrons. Things gradually started to change in a fundamental way; both temperature and density started to drop and collision between particles became less violent.

The radiation that flooded the universe gradually shifted from gamma- and X-rays to relatively less energetic ultra-violet and infra-red rays. The temperature dropped to a few thousand Kelvin and the photons no longer had enough energy to keep the protons and electrons apart. They began combining to form hydrogen atoms. The universe changed from opaque to a transparent state and the atoms absorbed and scattered radiation far less efficiently. This meant that light and other forms of radiation could now stream unimpeded across space. The moment light broke free from matter is called the Decoupling Epoch or Era of Recombination.

The universe was filled with hydrogen and helium gas in the first million years after its birth. The high density regions expanded along with the rest of the universe. However, the slightly greater pull of gravity in these regions gradually slowed their expansion. Within about a billion years, the expansion of these denser regions halted and reversed, and the material within them began to contract into clouds of matter that eventually formed the galaxies.

The blinding radiation and careening particles eventually filled up the large and empty universe of today. By looking far enough into space, we can still detect the radiation that originated at the early stage in the development of the universe. They are known as Cosmic Background Radiation (CBR). Over the long period of 14 billion years, they “cooled to a faint whisper” in the microwave region. Consequently, their wavelength got red-shifted by almost 1000 times because of Doppler Effect shift in the wavelength toward larger values if the source is moving away from the observer. That is why CBR appears today as radio waves characteristic with a temperature of 2.7 Kelvin. The accidental discovery of CBR in 1977 by Penzias and Wilson of Bell Lab and the cosmological red-shift of galaxies are considered the most conclusive evidences of the Big Bang model of the universe.

We are bits of stellar matter that got cold by accident, bits of a star gone wrong. -- Arthur Eddington.

The writer is Professor and Chairman Department of Physics & Engineering Physics Fordham University, New York

Naturally Narail

Naturally Narail

WE were supposed to visit Narail months ago. But then many moons moaned by and all our plans collapsed one after another for one reason or another. Finally when we found time, it began with a disaster.

On a perfectly nice winter morning, we parked our car at the Mawa police station for two nights and went over to the speedboat terminal. On the other side of the Padma would wait a microbus. This arrangement would have been the quickest to Narail. With a heavy backpack and the jacket wrapped round my hand, I first stepped on the front deck of the speedboat. As I was about to step inside the canopy, two more halfwit fellow travellers with no knowledge of a speedboat's behaviour jumped in.

It took a second for the boat to rock vigorously, like a bucking horse; and the next second I found myself floating on the Padma. My backpack felt like a tonne of brick and impossible to dislodge. My jackets were fitted tightly. Somehow I swam against a current that was trying to carry me out to the middle. Then I found the white hull of the speedboat above my head. I grabbed its edge and calmed myself.

Then I was laughing manically. All those birdbrains responsible for the mayhem and my watery state were also in water. All with their backpacks and one of them swimming like a rat thrown into the pond.

There were people stretching out their hands to me and I caught a few of them, or they rather caught me and pulled. Try to climb onto a speedboat from the river and find out how difficult it is. Almost when I was thinking the rest of my life would be spent on the Padma bobbing like the float of a fishing rod, they landed me on the deck. The rest were rescued as well.

Drenched, we sat like some catfish and chattered teeth as the speedboat roared through the Padma for half an hour. I tried to see the best of the river view -- the seagulls dancing on the waves, the long sandy beaches and wonderful squirt of silts thrown up by dredgers looking like whales spraying water.

Thankfully, the chilly ride was over, but not our indignation. All the fools on the other side of the bank -- from village morons to newly-wed girls going to in-law's house -- asked if we fell over the speedboat. Our answers varied -- No, we were scuba-diving, only we forgot to change clothes; No, we were up in the sky too high and got drenched by the clouds; No, we are Argentinean pearl fishers.

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Once on the other side, the journey transformed into one of bliss and wonderment. The road was wide and empty eerily empty for Bangladesh . For minutes we traveled before meeting another vehicle. The roadside view also changed dramatically. The fields spread away to the horizon and uncountable palm trees gave that special feature to the landscape. Then I realized all those tals we have in Dhaka must have come from here. Jute sticks were piled up along the road in the most interesting fashion. The stacks looked like witches' hats.

In exactly four and a half hours from our journey in Dhaka we found a narrow side road and followed it to a beautiful river. The narrow river meandered very gracefully through bright yellow mustard fields. Not a ripple in it. Its marbled water looked almost blue. Only occasionally a jute-laden boat would appear lazily and sail away.

A few blackened figures stood knee-deep in the river and used buckets to throw water onto their saplings on the slanted paddy fields. We looked at the cotton-balling clouds above and inhaled the utterly village smell -- of water, mud, mustard and paddy -- and knew heaven is here.

There was a strange ferry here -- a private one inscribed “Arunima Modhumoti Ferry” on it. Its triangle shape made us to research out that it was in fact the sawed-off front of a steel boat, probably a cargo ship. A Chinese diesel engine has been fitted to its side in a watchtower like room.

It took us a few minutes to cross the ferry. Here we had to board a rickshaw-van. A ten-minute trip through a village took us to the resort Arunima Countriside. The tree-frilled wide road welcomed us inside the sprawling resort to a cosy bungalow.

It's a beautiful place full of tall trees and big ponds. There was a beel as well -- a water body so huge that the end part of it had been turned into a bird sanctuary. Amid thousands of red lotus were nesting the winter birds, mostly whistling teals, cormorants, egrets and herons.

On the bank of the beel is the dining place. We watched the birds cackling and whistling and rising above the water and dropping again as we had our lunch.

I took a stroll around the resort. It has many promises. The whole place has been turned into a golf course as well. We were told that a team from Dhaka Club had recently come here to play. The landscaping has been outstanding at places. So close to the Dhaka city, it could be anybody's dream retreat. With conference rooms and all, a corporate attraction.

The bamboo rooms with ACs and all by the beel are interesting. Only their balconies are too narrow for any meaningful lazing.

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There was this big field behind our bungalow and a high ground for the golf tee. We sat there in the after noon and watched two horses grazing nearby. There was this lonely farmland beyond the field -- the paddy stalks looked dry and golden in the dying sun. A long stretch of tall trees lined round the field like a looming forest.

Suddenly the sun died down and a fine layer of mist settled in. A little girl in a red frock limped along the field. The sun was now hanging very low, looking like a pink fireball. The horses neighed. The cackling of the birds peaked as their nesting time neared.

We watched the whole Dalisque transformation of nature and felt content.

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Before evening we took a walk through the village. It was the most beautiful village I had ever come across. Bamboo huts with clean yards fenced off with hedges. The traditional bamboo pigeon pens hanging under the ceiling ledges. The calf with their mothers chewing the cud. The jute straws burning in the mud oven. That old acrid smell.

You could hear the children's laughter and the silhouettes of the women cooking in the outhouse. The kerosene lamps and the burning firewood throwing a kind of wavering glow on the faces. The men were sitting in the yards, puffing on their hukkas. Their faces content with the smell of the hays stacked in the corner. The harvesting was just completed and it was a good year. The rain had lifted the crops in time and the pests were few.

Then I heard the unmistakable hoots. Our searching eyes found two owlets sitting in the gathering dusk on the electric line passing over the barren field. They were waiting for the field mice to come out.

We left them to their own affairs and walked to the Modhumati river. A half moon had cast a magic spell and flooded the river silver. We could see as far as the farthest bend. The river lay there prattling some mysterious songs to the universe.

We listened as a perfect night closed in.

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It was time to come back. This time at Mawa we were extra cautious while getting on the speedboat. One after another we filed ourselves. No rush. Ah. All safe.

After about fifteen minutes we were in the middle of the Padma and something queer caught our eyes. Lots of speedboats were moored in the mid-river. What are they doing, we wondered. First I thought they were tourists enjoying the Padma cruise. But what interests should tourists find here? Then they must be some kind of geological surveyors looking for minerals. But then why so many women and children?

Just then our speedboat passed by one stationary boat. To our surprise we found that the outboard engine had been taken apart and the boatman was fiddling with it. Then we passed another boat and its engine was also dismounted. We passed another and another. And then we realized what had happened. The river was so shallow here that the boats were all stuck.

Hardly a second went by before our boat suddenly stopped with a sudden jerk and three of us just simply tumbled over into the river. The same three. I stood up sheepishly, all wet once again. But then I again started laughing maniacally.

Cambodia by Bicycle

Cambodia by Bicycle

"Whenever you see three Cambodians, remember the fourth one who was killed by the Khmer Rouge.” A friend shared this sobering thought on the eve of a special adventure I was about to embark on: a bicycling trip from Bangkok to Angkor Wat in Cambodia. While this undercurrent of sadness was a part of the trip, my adventure was also filled with unexpected challenges, friendly people, and awe at seeing the magnificent ruins at Angkor.

After spending our first day (March 14) cycling in Thailand, we reached the Cambodian border at Prum at noon of the second day. We bicycled onward 17 km to Pailin and stopped there for the night. Pailin is famous for two things: sapphire mines nearby and several retired Khmer Rouge officials. Luckily I did not run into the latter while exploring the town in the afternoon. The streets of Pailin were torn up for installing sewage pipes and it was dusty and hot. Many more children than I had seen in Thailand played in the streets. The market reminded me of the bazaars of the smaller towns of Bangladesh, with the vendors waiting with their offerings while their children entertained.

The next day was our most difficult: 92km from Pailin to Battambang, the second largest town of Cambodia. Expecting another hot day (mid-30s) we started bicycling at 7am. Having braved Dhaka's traffic and shattered roads for many years, riding through Pailin's potholes was easy for me. But just outside the town I ran into trouble. That's because we started climbing the foothills of the Cardamom Mountains.