Huntham

Come, let us return from a wonderful place.

"Hantham"

The angry afternoon melts into a sweet evening. Fearlessly leaning into the mountain twilight, the carefree afternoon slips away, gradually deepening into an intimate dusk.

I had gone to visit Panihata Mission while touring the Baromari Mission in Sherpur. Its formal name is different, of course: Saint Andrew's Mission, run by the Church of Bangladesh. A small, neat mission perched on a hilltop. The atmosphere is deeply tranquil. Walking along the slopes of these hills beside the mission brings profound peace. We were warmly welcomed by Father David Mridha, who oversees the mission. His manner and smile are utterly sincere. Yehiskel, the church's caretaker, showed us around the entire place. A wonderfully simple, innocent sort of gentleman. Just speaking with him, you feel there's no sin in his heart.

The gentle Bugai River flows at the foot of the hill where this mission stands. The river is international—belonging to both Bangladesh and India. My experience tells me that border rivers always spread infinite enchantment. Hills upon hills surround the river, like an endless festival of green! Today, walking along the riverbank and through the embrace of the riverside hills, I counted eleven different shades of green. When sunlight shifts from one place to another, both the color and character of the green change. This light can be touched, this color can be touched. The mind instantly lifts in the golden yellow glow of the sun.

Just as the movement of rain is clearly visible before your eyes, the movement of sunlight is equally distinct—especially in border hill regions. The river is shallow, so cattle and people cross easily from one bank to the other. What a marvelous sight this is! You can see the other side of the border; the hills, fields, vehicles, and plains over there seem to merge seamlessly with everything here! Countries have boundaries, but the heart knows no borders!

In the river's waters, on the hills' slopes, among the herds of cattle, in the meadow grass, in the crops of the fields, in the dust of country paths, in the rhythm of waves, in the murmur of wind, in the play of light and shadow, in people's eyes—how gently the quiet afternoon descends into evening, rolls into twilight, drowns in dusk... and finally stops... Today, wandering along the banks of the Bugai River and the hillsides, I had this wonderful experience. What a divine flirtation between the river's light and the mountain's shadow!

I feel like giving a name to this hilly riverbank at the foot of Saint Andrew's Mission. The area is inhabited by Garo indigenous people. In the Garo language, evening is called "Hantham."

I name this riverbank: Hantham.

Come, visit Hantham and return. I can swear to you, you'll find one of the finest evenings of your life here. You can thank me then!

Hantham. If you like the name, spread it everywhere.