Trekking past tragedy: In the bleeding embrace for eternity, he whispered her name
After the tragic death of her husband Rafi during a trek, Borsha decided to carry on with his legacy, looking for catharsis by following in his footsteps
Ataher Ishraq Rafi lay amidst the unforgiving boulders of Saingpra stream in Bandarban, gasping for breath.
The stones surrounding him were painted crimson with his blood, flowing profusely from the wounds on his forehead. The fall he just had from the steps of the treachery trail, notorious for its slipperiness during rain, proved fatal.
Just a moment ago, his wife Borsha Islam had called out from behind, asking him to slow down on the descent. "What will happen to me if you fall? Please slow down," she begged.
Keep updated, follow The Business Standard's Google news channel
Rafi glanced back, his signature smile adorning his face, and reassured her, "Nothing will happen, Allah Bhorosha."
The next minute, his life was hanging by a thread.
Two hours later, as the small cohorts of fellow trekkers who had attempted to rescue Rafi from the stream reluctantly withdrew due to fatigue from the rain and the strain of carrying him, Borsha cradled his wounded head in her lap.
"Borsha," he muttered, his voice barely audible in the rushing stream.
While Borsha struggled to stop his bleeding, Rafi's eyes widened, as though they might spring out of their sockets. Soon his body slackened, his hands and legs loosening in process.
"I was not in a state to realise that he had called my name for the last time. Soaked in his blood as I tried to stem his bleeding, I pleaded with people to save my husband, and tried to call for a rescue helicopter. But at that very moment, Rafi departed forever." Borsha was reminiscing about the fateful day in late February, around seven months later, while sitting on the slope of Maiko Para, a hilly village in Alikadam upazila of Bandarban, not very far from the spot where she had lost her husband.
Tourist deaths in Bandarban hills are not uncommon. In October 2018, a tourist slipped to his death into the Nafakhum waterfall. Three tourists died in a crash on 26 March 2022. Two female tourists died and 11 others were injured in a road crash in Ruma on 20 January this year; one more fellow tourist succumbed to her injuries on 31 January. A teenage tourist girl died on 4 March.
But Rafi's death was different; he was no ordinary tourist, but a renowned and popular tour guide. On 12 August 2023, when he fell to his death in Saingpra, he was leading a large team of trekkers, with Borsha serving as co-organiser. His death came as a shock for the entire trekking community in Bangladesh.
Borsha, his widow, was now leading a team of 15 people into the remote hills of Alikadam, where we also joined to see her reclaim the hills of Bandarban and reclaim her life in the process.
August 2023 marked the three-year anniversary of Borsha and Rafi's relationship. Back in August 2021, Borsha had embarked on a trek to Kirs Taung, a frontier of primaeval forests of the Hill Tracts known for its spectacular riches of wildlife and fauna. At that time, she had just begun dating Rafi — a tour operator who was leading the expedition to Kirs Taung.
Trekking demands lightweight clothing, essential food supplies, and survival gear — particularly in the rugged hills of Bangladesh where the trails are often steep, slippery, and unmarked. But the uninitiated Borsha arrived with six different shirts, pairs of jeans, and a plethora of cosmetics, assuming it was a casual outing with her boyfriend.
However, ever since their first trip to Kirs Taung, the hill adjacent to Saingpra waterfall, the couple had teamed up to lead dozens more expeditions into Bandarban.
"No matter where we were, Rafi would not hesitate to massage my feet or forehead when I was fatigued. His backpack was always over 15 kilograms, and yet he would carry fruits or something extra for me," Borsha said. "He would wipe the sweat from my forehead and call me 'bou' even before our marriage."
Rafi and Borsha soon married, resisting their families' objections.
Borsha, originally from Jashore, experienced a childhood marked by a "broken family" after her parents separated early on. She spent a significant portion of her life living with her uncles. In contrast, Rafi, hailing from Chattogram, was raised in an entirely different culture. It did not take Rafi long to become Borsha's rock.
"In our tours, we also engaged in petty fights. It was not like he was my husband so I felt obligated to show reverence. It was a partnership, a friendship."
The fable of this beloved couple continues to resonate among the local guides of Alikadam.
For Rafi's stoic and down to earth demeanour, the local guides held him in special affection. "He wouldn't even smoke a cigarette. He was very close to my heart," said Mintu, a local trekking guide who was leading Borsha's team along the uncharted hilly slopes in Alikadam.
As we hiked towards Mangrum Para, several other tour guides brought up Rafi's tragedy unprompted, expressing their admiration for him.
Tragedy at Saingpra
The tour on 10 August almost did not happen.
The weather had turned sour and the trip was initially cancelled as flood was reported in Alikadam. But it did not sit well with some of Rafi's clients who said they will not be able to manage a leave for a later trip.
"Rafi saw that so much money had been spent on reservations, he was worried we would incur losses," Borsha said during our conversation in Maiko Para, situated atop a hill accessible only by a steep uphill trek, followed by a trail strewn with boulders of Chaimpra Stream descending down the Bolai Para.
By 9 August, they had received clearance that the water had receded from Alikadam. And hence they confirmed to their guests that the tour was happening.
When their team reached Khemchong Para, the Mro village used as a basecamp for Kirs Taung and Saingpra exploration, the weather was splendid for trekking — neither sunny, nor rainy.
"I wasn't feeling well, so the night before, I told Rafi that we shouldn't go and suggested sending the clients to trek with the local guides we had hired," she said.
But Rafi insisted on going because they could capture good photos of the waterfall that season. Photos are important in this line of business, as they help promote the trip packages on social media.
At around 1pm that day in Saingpra, Rafi called his mother to inform her of his whereabouts. Usually, he would call his father first and inform his mother later on.
Saingpra waterfall has up to four steps, with the first one on the top. The couple trekked back and forth from the second to the first step several times trying to clear them of clients in order to take some good photos.
Borsha brought along her red shari, the "signature shari" that she wanted to wear on Everest.
Rafi took his last photo at 3:40pm, and the plan was to take some photos on the second step below.
Just as he brushed off Borsha's concern about slowing down 10 minutes later, he suddenly slipped, screamed "Allah, Allah!" and attempted to grab onto a tree. However, the tree he reached for was dead and could not bear his weight.
"I saw him rolling down. As he tumbled down the stream among boulders, his head struck a sharp rock. I witnessed all this very clearly as I was just above him," Borsha recounted.
"I was screaming my lungs out. Oh Allah! Oh Abir [a fellow tour operator in the vicinity]! Save your brother. Oh Rafi! Oh Allah!" Borsha said, her voice trembling as she held back her tears.
"Right at that moment, I lost my sanity and jumped into the gorge myself. I did not have the sense that I would die if I fell from there. I hung by the root of a tree. I managed to reach him while hanging between the roots of the trees. I kept screaming at Abir to save Rafi."
Bruised and injured herself down the stream, Borsha was shattered to her core.
"The man who gave me the love of family, the man who never cried, who always had a big smile – I never saw Rafi catching a fever or being admitted to a hospital — the man who had been in this line of work for several years without ever injuring his hands or feet… seeing him lying there was unimaginable."
A body wrapped in a red shari
The next 24 hours in Borsha's life were hazy. She found herself running on that treacherous trail in the dark, pleading with people, trying to get a network on her phone, and begging for helicopter rescues.
After a team of Mro rescuers reached the spot, she ran back to the village to call for outside help. But the village had no network coverage. She ran towards Kirs Taung peak in search of a phone network and called some people to send help. She begged again for a rescue helicopter, but in vain.
By the time she returned to Khemchong Para with over a 103-degree fever in blood-soaked clothes at around 12:30am, she thought Rafi would have been brought back to the para by then.
"I ran back to the village thinking that Rafi would be there by now. That I would have to change his clothes and band-aid. That I would apply warmth to his cold body."
But when she returned, she found out that Rafi was left in the stream for the entire night as Mro people would not touch a dead body at night. And nobody could accompany her to the stream that night to be by Rafi's side.
More than 20 hours later, Rafi's body was recovered the next evening. His body was wrapped in Borsha's red shari.
Life after Rafi
Travelling through the Matamuhuri range is a complicated business. As we walked past the Matamuhuri river behind Alikadam Bazar, we were barred on the outskirts of the upazila bazar.
Conflict between the local guides caused us to wait more than two hours to get to Kurukpata. It was a showdown between two groups of local guides. One group deterred us from going forward because we had employed a guide from the other group. They were practically guarding the roads on motorcycles so our 'Chander Gari' could not sneak out.
Borsha then led us through alternative routes, hiking to a point where we could get in the car and escape the other group. Scenarios like this are one of the many hurdles Borsha often faces during Alikadam expeditions.
Later that morning, she had to engage in an elaborate verbal fight with the obstructing local guides in the bazar while we were waiting somewhere on the river bank.
Borsha rejoined our group after we sneaked out to Kurukpata Bazar on a Chander Gari.
After Rafi's death, she did not get refuge with her in-laws. Some people within the travel industry helped her survive for a few months until she launched 'Trek with Rafi', a new group to try to make her own career in this sector. The old group that Rafi led has been taken over by another one of its admins.
Borsha had to start from scratch, but her new group quickly gained traction with over 18,000 members within a few months. She has led a few dozen expeditions since.
"Maybe you are helping me for a month or two. But you would soon maintain your distance. And how much can I ask from you? Besides, Rafi had some loans. I have to pay them back."
Her Facebook group bustles with activities as Borsha and some of her moderators keep the audience engaged with trip updates and exciting hiking or travel photos.
It may look like a simple trip of joy to the trekkers; her work may look like a dream job to many travel enthusiasts, but it actually takes a lot of time and effort maintaining groups, pages or personal profiles.
On trails, on the other hand, managing a group of diverse hikers means going back and forth on the sloppy tracks, dealing with both the slow and fast hikers.
Back in the day when Rafi was by her side, she would not need much undertaking in client service as Rafi conducted most tasks by himself, including cooking for clients and other tasks in the remote areas.
"He would grab me, hold me, wipe my sweat. He would wash my clothing when I was ill, cook for me. I cannot get those out of my system," Borsha said.
When we reached Mangrum para that night, we were too tired even to look at the most fascinating moonlit night the hill could offer. However, that was until we took a bath in the cold Chaimpra Stream under the moon.
Borsha was already busy arranging dinner for the team. And soon after the meal was served, she was lost in her sleeping bag. The moon, however, grew brighter with a clear, star-spangled sky.
The first hill Borsha had climbed after Rafi was Bhusitong.
"When I reached the Bhusitong's summit again after Rafi passed away, I broke down in tears. I never went to new places without him. These experiences are agonising."
When asked why she keeps doing what killed Rafi, Borsha said, "I cannot sleep at night. I cannot breathe. But this keeps me occupied. As I am busy, I cannot cry."
After several days of excruciating walks on the slippery slopes of the Andharmanik trail, when we walked past the Matamuhuri on our return home, we jumped into the river, happy that the exciting yet exhausting trip was coming to its end.
Borsha, on the other hand, would have to go back to spending her days in solitude in her Dhaka apartment.
How is life without Rafi? "Painful, very painful inside."
