The sudden appearance of a massive waterfall made many call it the Niagara Falls of Bengal.
I’m talking about Tinap Saitar.
This trek is not extremely dangerous, yet depending on circumstances, it often turns into a battle of endurance—sometimes even a battle of life itself. Today, I’m sharing one such story.
The Beginning of an Unforgettable Trek
The excitement of going to Tinap Saitar was overwhelming. Around that time, Mushtaq Bhai—my close friend and elder brother figure—called me. I assumed he would freeze at the thought of such a trek. But then came the twist.
His father, Mofakka Uncle, aged around 63–64, was going too.
When I heard that, I was stunned. Uncle himself called and calmly said he was ready to walk for three straight days, climbing steep hills. Then he added, almost casually,
“I’m a freedom fighter. I was trained as a guerrilla. I still walk and run 7–10 kilometers every day.”
I tried everything to discourage him—but failed. All I could do was advise him on what to carry.
The Team That Felt Like an Army
The group slowly came together—Tutul Bhai, Hafiz Bhai, Sujan Bhai, old TGB members, and new faces alike. A special unit formed on day one—the Fire Force—with Milan Bhai, Kader Bhai, Imtiaz, Sami, and Rukaiya.
There were familiar faces like Fatema Apu and Bilu Apu, newcomers like Rakib Bhai from the police and his friend Nur Alam, and of course Nishat—the rugged host of Tinap, who seemed born in the hills.
Altogether, it felt like an army gathering momentum.
Into the Hills
We started from Bandarban, reached Rowangchhari, completed formalities, and began walking with permits. The first stream greeted us with crystal-clear, cool water—pure peace.
Soon after, the real journey began. Hills after hills. Up and down.
After about an hour, Mofakka Uncle grew weak. I gently suggested turning back, but he refused. Even when I offered to carry his bag, he wouldn’t allow it.
Eventually, he lay down on a towel, exhausted.
The Heaviest Bag on the Mountain
When I finally took his bag, I realized something was wrong—it was unbelievably heavy.
We opened it.
Inside was a mini supermarket:
dates, almonds, raisins, biscuits, saline, mineral water, coffee, wet tissues, extra shoes, multiple clothes—everything one could possibly imagine.
We stared at each other in disbelief.
To survive, I redistributed food to locals and children along the way, keeping only what Uncle would need. The bag became lighter, and so did our spirits.
Nightfall and Endless “Five Minutes”
We pushed forward, watching the sunset from the hills. Darkness came. Headlamps turned on. The famous trekking lie began:
“Just five more minutes.”
Those five minutes stretched into hours.
Finally, near 10 PM, we reached Roninpara—utterly exhausted. I collapsed on the bed without even removing my bag.
That night, we ate heartily and listened to Uncle’s stories of the Liberation War. His words carried weight—like history breathing beside us.
When the Mountain Took Control
The next day, clouds floated below us like a dream. Breakfast came wrapped in banana leaves—simple, perfect.
Then came the steep zone. Slips, falls, laughter, exhaustion.
Finally, we reached Tinap Saitar. The water was low, but crystal clear. The fatigue washed away instantly.
But the real challenge was yet to come.
Life on a Knife’s Edge
On the return climb, Mofakka Uncle collapsed again—this time completely. The slope was brutally steep. Night was approaching.
He looked at me and said words I’ll never forget:
“Make a video. Tell everyone my death is my responsibility.”
That word—death—shook me to the core.
Just then, a truck loaded with wood appeared. Convincing Uncle to get on it was nearly impossible. He believed riding it would be certain death.
But there was no choice.
With desperation, force, persuasion, and sheer will, we got him onto the truck and tied him safely. Tipu and I rode behind, clinging on like passengers on a rocket launch.
Life Wins
Later, Uncle came down, hugged us tightly, and said:
“If it weren’t for you two, I would not be alive today.”
We all stood in silence, saluting not just his survival—but his unbreakable spirit.
At his age, such courage, love for nature, and mental strength are rare. Because of people like him, we truly discover this beautiful country.
A Journey Etched Forever
That night, after reaching Ruma Bazar, we jumped into the water, washing away exhaustion and fear.
Then came the return to Dhaka—ending with memories that will last a lifetime.
Tinap Saitar didn’t just give us a waterfall.
It gave us a story of courage, friendship, and life itself.