My return from the precipice

Illustration: TBS

We were exhausted but, on the other hand, excited to go back to Dhaka. We just unlocked the mysteries of Modok and were able to measure the 2nd and the 4th highest points of Bangladesh. More importantly, we had spent 13 unforgettable days and nights in the deep forest bordering the Arakan reserve, without any support, without any shelter. 

We navigated through the deep forest and spent our nights in some makeshift shelters, catching fish and shrimps from the creeks like some ancient hunters. Those 13 days were the best days of our lives. All the hurdles we have crossed, all the adventures we embarked on, all the risks we have taken, and close encounters with the insurgents- we were full of stories to share with our loved ones. 

After a long time, we could finally taste the triumph, so we were pumped. But nature started to play with us. We were coming back from Remakri to Thanchi by boat and after Tindu our engine stopped working. Consequently, we missed the last bus for Bandarban and were forced to spend the night at the bus station. Our revised plan was to board the very first bus in the morning. 

It was 7 am when we boarded the bus. It was fully packed. To my estimate, there were more than 40 passengers. In a couple of minutes, we started for Bandarban and soon fell asleep. I don't recall how much time had passed, but I can only remember the chaos; I was rolling in the air, still believing I was just dreaming. 

I was conscious for a brief moment, half buried in the mud and could not feel my legs. I only remember the taste of blood and dirt in my mouth. Unresponsive bodies surrounded me and there was blood everywhere. Then I saw some angels coming down. They unearthed me and pulled- for the very first time, I could feel the immense pain. I thought they ripped me apart. Then I lost consciousness again. 

After I regained consciousness, I found myself on the floor of a bus, similar to what we got on earlier in the morning. There were other bodies beside me. One of the legs of a man was on my shoulders and I struggled a lot to remove that weight from my body. The bus floor was covered in blood; it was like a river of thick blood. I was thirsty, I asked for some water, but no one could hear me. 

They took me to the Sadar hospital and then transferred me to Chittagong Medical College as my condition worsened. I was bleeding internally and needed a lot of blood. Thanks to the good people from the Chittagong adventure community, especially Zafar Baig bhai, the required blood was managed. I am grateful to all of them. 

My sacrum was shattered, and both pelvic bones were broken into pieces. I was in immense pain; I couldn't move my body. I was scared of losing my legs and not being able to walk again. I was anxious about my teammates as well. At this point, I still didn't know where they were or what their condition was. 

I tried to get some news from the nurses. I asked whether they knew the condition of anyone named Mugdho, Sujon or Mainul. Then I tried to describe their appearance; they had long hair and a beard like rockstars. For the very first time in my life, I felt lonely and helpless. 

I got the terrible news after three or four days. And it shook my world; I didn't know how to process this. I still don't know. We shared so many beautiful moments. We dreamt together, we planned together, we suffered together, we walked, we trekked, and we tasted triumph together. We shared the same bus, and now Mugdho and Sujon are gone. And I am still here only with their memories. I tried to mourn their loss, but I couldn't. I was sad and angry. 

I started to behave irrationally in the first couple of weeks; I couldn't stand anyone's presence and their hopeless condolences. I wouldn't talk, and I wouldn't share my feelings. I tended to isolate myself from the whole world. I could sense the survivor's guilt brewing inside me. 

Why did they have to die, and I got to live? Why were our destinies different?

Why is our creator cruel, unfair and unjust? Why did he let me live to get punished? 

It is the worst possible feeling one could have in those circumstances. I am grateful to my close ones; they were somehow able to bear with me. And little by little, I started recovering and began to enjoy life again until another accident happened. This time I lost my closest childhood friend Munir to cerebral malaria. I was devastated. Someone close to me was just gone forever under my watch. 

This time I was pretty sure that I was a jinx. Anyone who gets close to me, surely something terrible would happen to them. This thought was driving me crazy. So I isolated myself, entrapped in a self-made cocoon. 

I was diagnosed with PTSD (Post-traumatic stress disorder). I always feel stressed in the crowd. I feel restless in the urban environment. Part of me couldn't stand people, but there was another part of me that felt detached and estranged. I was in a complex situation. 

Then I sought solace in what I could do best: exploring the mountains alone. At one point, my mind was flooded with thoughts. I figured if I wanted peace, I needed to express these thoughts. So I started writing. When anything popped into my mind, I jotted it down in a notebook and it worked wonders. All the chaos brewing inside the mind eventually settled down and came to a rest. 

Then one fine morning in the Himalayas, I had an epiphany- what happened to us was not in my control; none of this was my fault. But what I am doing now is wrong. It's not the right way to deal with it. We had a dream; we had started a project together. We have sacrificed a lot for this project. If I don't save myself from drowning in my own thoughts, then all of our work will be in vain. If I get to live for another day, then it definitely has some purpose. 

I have to finish what we started together.