Pictures tell a thousand stories-Wk21

tanvirahammad10 (65)in Steem Kids & Parents • 4 days ago

Hello..!!
My Dear Friends,
I am @tanvirahammad10 from #Bangladesh 🇧🇩

Hello my dear steemit friends . I hope you are all well by the grace of Allah, I am also well Alhamdulillah. Wishing all the members of this community are having a great day. Today I’m here to participate in the contest Pictures tell a thousand stories... Contest by @fortwis09 competition run by Steem Kids & Parents community I am very happy to be able to participate in this competition.

🏵️Our trip to Sadarghat 🏵️

There were light clouds in the sky over Dhaka that day. We three friends, me, Naeem and Fahim, thought we would go for a walk. We had to go somewhere to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city, boredom, classes and work pressure. After much thought, we decided to go to Sadarghat. That famous river ghat in old Dhaka, where thousands of people gather every day, the whistle of launches and countless boats plying on the river. All in all, a different world.

As soon as we got off the bus, the crowd of Sadarghat surrounded us. The noise was so loud, it seemed like all the sounds of the city had gathered here. Some were getting on the launches, some were getting off, some were packing their belongings and running. The eyes of the three of us got big, so much crowd, so much noise!

But in the midst of that crowd, we suddenly noticed small boats on one side of the terminal. People were getting on those boats and going across the river. No launch, ferry or any modern vehicle, just a wooden boat and a piece of baitha in the hand of the boatman. Seeing the scene, it was as if we had suddenly broken through the portal of time and gone to Bengal hundreds of years ago.

Fahim was surprised at first and said, "Look! People still cross the river in this way by boat!"
Naeem added, it seemed like grandfather's stories were unfolding before our eyes.I was standing and watching. There were 8-10 passengers sitting in each boat. Some had market bags in their hands, some had children on their laps, and some were sitting with school books. The boatman was slowly steering the baitha. As the baitha fell into the river, a splashing sound came from it, mixing with the sounds of the city.

One of the boatmen caught our eye. He had a towel tied around his head, an old dhoti and Punjabi on his body, and his face was sunburnt. But there was a strange determination in his eyes. It seemed as if the waves of the river and his struggle for life were tied together in one thread.

Fahim suddenly said mischievously, "Come on, let's get on the boat!"
Naeem said with a laugh, "You'll be scared to get into the water again."
I said, "Why would I be scared? It feels like I'm touching a piece of history."

Finally, the three of us got on a boat owned by a fisherman. As soon as we left the boat, we felt a thrill in our hearts. The river was all around us, the sky above, big launches in the distance, and in the middle we were floating in a small wooden boat. It felt like we were separated from the whole world.

The fisherman suddenly started singing a song. On the riverbank, the melody seemed to blend into the air. The three of us listened silently. The melody contained the call of the river, the story of human life, and a lot of pain. I felt that this song was not just a song, it was actually the soul of the river, which the fisherman was expressing in his voice.

Fahim said slowly, Look, beyond the hustle and bustle of the modern city, the river and the boat are still carrying on the lives of people.Naeem nodded silently. His eyes also seemed to have some deep thoughts.

In a short time, we reached the other side. When we got off the boat, the boatman seemed like a living symbol of a hundred years of tradition. His life's struggle, his bond with the river, all together a priceless scene.

Standing on the other side, we looked at the river. The crowd of launches, the row of boats, the boatman's song, all together made it seem like we had not just taken a trip. We had touched a piece of memory from the chest of history.

On the way back from Sadarghat that day, I felt that no matter how modern, busy and noisy the city of Dhaka is, the story of the river and the boat runs like blood in the veins of this city. And we are lucky, because we have seen it with our own eyes, felt it in our own hearts.