By Motaher Hossain

Development, infrastructure, roads, bridges and culverts, highways, electricity, energy, light and air, water, biodiversity, trees, forests, hills and seas are all undeniably important for people's needs, comfort and ease. Yet while all of these are essential, people often destroy nature's gifts, forests, trees, hills, rivers, seas and biodiversity, for their own interests. If development, infrastructure, transport, light, air and water could be provided while keeping biodiversity, hills, rivers, seas and green nature intact, individuals, communities, society, government and state could all benefit in the long run. In reality these considerations are not kept in mind during development and planning. As a result the world and its people are heading towards natural disasters such as storms, tidal surges, earthquakes, excessive rain, drought, extreme heat, floods, heavy snowfall and melting ice, and lives, livelihoods, health and economies are under threat. Bangladesh has no escape from this possible disaster.

Water and forest are like the earth's primeval memory; they bear a thousand pains, yet can hold the memory of everyone's sorrows. The Padma, the Meghna and hundreds of other rivers, forests, hills and seas are essential to us every day, and we live with them daily. We grow up, survive, bathe and trade on the water. May the rivers and seas be free of the world's wrongs and harms, and may they stay well and remain a light for the world.

Dhaka is an example of how many initiatives we have taken in the name of development, infrastructure, high-rise buildings and easier transport. In this city we run every day, chasing time, duty, an invisible goal and the endless demands of life, and many of us become exhausted. On such tired evenings and afternoons we badly need nature, open sky and air and a quiet, open environment in which to breathe in a moment of peace. But such surroundings are not readily at hand in Dhaka. A day will come when people will feel that nature is still beside them, calling them to a calm, quiet place.

Why are nature, trees, hills, the seashore and solitary places important to people? Because returning to nature rests not only the body but also calms the mind. Those who understand know that for peace in their leisure it helps if the sky is a little bluer, the air cleaner, and there are trees and birdsong nearby. But where in this urban civilisation are the open, environment-friendly parks and blue horizons? With this in mind, people are encouraged to leave the city for nature. Gradually, recognising its importance, "Nature Reminder Day" has been observed around the world and has spread to many countries. There is little publicity, but hashtags storm social media each year on the set date.

In our country the day has a particular meaning. The horizon is not only the line where sky meets earth; it means a search for peace. Standing in the haors of Sunamganj, Kishoreganj and Netrokona, one sees an endless blue expanse of water. When the hills of Sajek or Rangamati are covered in cloud, the world seems beautiful as it is. The constant roar and waves of Cox's Bazar beach captivate travellers. At Kuakata beach, where the sun both rises and sets, all the noise of the city falls silent.

On this day some set out towards nature, perhaps alone, perhaps hand in hand with someone dear. Some stand on a city balcony with a cup of coffee, gazing at the horizon. Some switch off their phones all day to hear the sounds within themselves rather than the outside world. The importance of nature needs to be highlighted among people busy with technology-driven, mechanical lives: reminding them of the peaceful sight of the horizon for mental peace and balance, and returning to nature for the inspiration to find creativity and the real beauty of life beyond the confines of city living.

Today, let us take a little time to look towards the horizon. Perhaps we will hear birdsong; perhaps the twilight will stir something in us. Perhaps we will realise life is not so complicated and we have tangled it ourselves. On the way to the century-old koroch swamp forest, so much catches the eye. A small patch of swamp forest at Antehari, beside Kawadighi haor in Moulvibazar, still draws people. Morning comes differently to Kadipur village in Moulvibazar Sadar upazila, a village on the edge of Kawadighi haor. Following the village road brings you to Antehari, another village, in Rajnagar upazila. Antehari too has for a hundred years been part of the life and nature of Kawadighi haor. People live here withstanding the haor's rough waves in the rainy season. As far as the eye can see, silver water lies like a folded shitalpati mat.

Winter brings another kind of nature: only broad green stretching to the horizon, with flocks of migratory birds flying over. Touching Antehari, century-old koroch trees have quietly formed a small patch of swamp forest. There these trees spend the whole rainy season with their bodies immersed in water. A paved road runs north from Chandnighat on the Moulvibazar-Kulaura road through Ekatuna and Jagatpur towards Antehari. On the way to the swamp forest, a seasonal fish market has sprung up at Kadipur. There are not many people at the market and landing, but it has a kind of life. Some have brought fish caught overnight in Kawadighi haor; some have come to buy wholesale and take the fish to town; some will hawk them from village to village. There are also buyers who have hurried here for fresh haor fish. A short-lived market forms at this spot in Kadipur. Some baskets hold shrimp, some puti, tengra and a dozen other kinds of fish; others hold shing, magur, cheng, koi, bheda and various small fish.

The century-old koroch trees can be seen in the villages on the edge of Kawadighi haor in Moulvibazar. No one alive can say when they first began to rise here. Local people know that just as their fathers and grandfathers saw these trees, they see them now. Locals believe no one planted them; like other wetland trees on the haor's edge, they took root here at some point by nature's own laws, then slowly spread their branches into the wind. They set up home then and remain still. There used to be many trees; many have been lost to various disasters. Even so, not everything is gone.

Still, when the rains come, the koroch trees become a small swamp forest. From Boishakh the water in Kawadighi haor starts to rise, until the haor brims with open water and the trees are submerged; the higher the water, the deeper they sink. Many people come to spend a noon or an afternoon beside the swamp forest in search of a moment's peace. The vast waters of Mithamoin haor in Kishoreganj and Tanguar haor in Sunamganj also draw people in the rainy season.

Local people say, however, that even this Asharh there has not been much water in Kawadighi haor, far less than in other years at this time. The roots of some koroch trees stand on almost dry ground. In other years the trees are fully submerged at this time; this year the water is rising only little by little. But there is no problem drifting through the swamp forest by boat. There the water plays with water, and whether or not anyone hears "the sound of time's passage", the swamp forest stands still, carrying the history of the haor waters. The call is for all of us together to try to meet the needs of life and livelihood while keeping intact and protecting nature, water, water bodies, forests, rivers, seas and hills. Then nature will survive, and so will people.

The writer is general secretary of the Bangladesh Climate Change Journalists Forum.

Source: Jagonews24. First published in Bengali on The Agro News.