Pirates of the Sundarbans: Fragile peace holds, but for how long?
Between 2016 and 2018, more than 300 pirates in the Sundarbans surrendered and reintegrated into society. Yet political upheaval, poverty and state failures have pushed a handful back into banditry, while others endure an uncertain future
The Sundarbans are not only physically remote; they are emotionally and administratively distant from the state. Their people speak in a voice textured by hardship and the tidal world they know too well.
The trip from Dhaka to Satkhira took about seven hours by highway, with humidity as a constant companion. From Satkhira, Shyamnagar was only 44 kilometres on paper, but the broken road stretched the journey to almost three hours.
From there, a motorcycle took me another 40 minutes into Munshiganj village, the last human settlement before the Sundarbans, through a deceptively flat landscape that hinted at how close the sea was, the mangroves already visible on the horizon.
And then finally, to meet the former pirates who had surrendered almost 10 years ago — some who had chosen new lives, others who had returned to the forest — I had to take another boat ride, an hour or more through narrow creeks where the jungle seems to listen.
Keep updated, follow The Business Standard's Google news channel
Life after surrender
The biggest, most public act in this fragile reconciliation came between 2016 and 2018. With the mediation of senior journalist Mohsin Ul Hakim, 328 men from 32 pirate and dacoit groups laid down arms and returned to villages and river ports.
"We were able to help so many people surrender and return to a normal life," recalled Jahangir, a local resident who worked as an intermediary. "This was one of the greatest achievements of my life."
The state marked it as a statement of authority and mercy. In November 2018, the Sundarbans were declared "pirate-free".
For many, the surrender meant a genuine second chance.
Take Alam Sardar for instance, once an intimidating figure and the commander of a pirate gang, who now drives an auto-rickshaw.
"I surrendered in 2016 through Mohsin bhai, to RAB and the government," he said. "I live from hand to mouth, but I am satisfied, Alhamdulillah. I am happy. I could have gone back after 5 August [2024] if I wanted to. But did I do it? I did not. This is all about willpower."
Alam had cases pardoned, two for robbery and one for a murder [which he insists was a false case], and rebuilt a modest life.
His determination was also praised by locals like Abdul Razzak, a grocer, who testified to the transformation.
"By the grace of God, in these nine years, not one of the pirates who surrendered has harmed anyone in our village. They now live among us normally, and we are no longer afraid. To be honest, we now trust them more than the police because they protect us in times of trouble," he said.
Razzak described seeing former pirates driving rickshaws, sailing boats, catching fish, farming, raising livestock, and even guiding tourists. "We used to fear them at first, but they truly changed. They are living normal lives."
It was this trust, the cautious grocer no longer afraid, and the repentant pirate living quietly, that showed reintegration could work.
And for most of the 328 men, it has.
Cracks in the safety net
But peace was not universal. A web of administrative, judicial and security failings left many men exposed to harassment, suspicion and economic precarity. Some drifted back to the forest.
Habib (pseudonym), a lifelong resident, explained how systemic failure creates new outlaws.
"Let's say pirates kidnap one fisherman and demand Tk50,000 from his brother. The brother pays to save him. Later, the police arrested that man and filed a false case, saying, 'You are a dacoit's accomplice.' Then he comes out of jail saying, 'Since my name is already ruined, I'll be a dacoit.' This is how many dacoits have been created. The police and the RAB are fully responsible," he said.
Ali (pseudonym), a boatman, experienced this firsthand, when on a routine trip, he was accused of aiding pirates. "The police took me and said, 'You are a dacoit's accomplice.' I pleaded with them. Only when my employer intervened with a bribe was I freed. Otherwise, they would have filed a false case."
Former pirates, too, saw how this eroded trust.
Jummun (pseudonym), a surrendered pirate gang leader, explained how syndicates exploit vulnerable fishermen, "Trusted fishermen who are paid modestly become the logistical lifeline for gangs in the forest. The line between victim and accomplice is thin. If the police would just talk to us before arresting someone, if they would ask us who they are and if we can help identify them, we would help them. We have no problem with that. But the police will not talk to us; they will act on their own and, in doing so, increase the number of dacoits in the Sundarbans."
"I found a job in Chattogram, but RAB-6 summoned me and said I must stay in their area and report on my men. I had to quit my job. They gave me a motorbike, then took it away. I was beaten at RAB's office, kept in secret detention for three days, then jailed in a fabricated case. My wife, pregnant, gave birth while roaming the court premises. Employers shunned me when they found out I was an ex-bandit. That humiliation drove me back to piracy."
The result is a cycle: locals harassed, innocents branded, and pirates quietly replenished.
When I visited the Shyamnagar Police Station, the officer-in-charge was not present and the duty officer was unwilling to talk about the matter.
Mohsin Ul Hakim, the journalist who brokered the 2016 surrenders, said, "Dacoits must be suppressed. If not, their numbers will keep increasing. The current efforts of the Coast Guard and the police are not going to work. They need to change their approach.
"Their practice of arresting accomplices and filing false cases against them while failing to do anything about the actual dacoits is not effective. Suddenly conducting a raid in one area will not lead to success. They need to work in a new way. I am not satisfied with what is happening now," he added.
5 August
A sharper break came after 5 August 2024, when the Awami League government was ousted in a mass uprising. In the Sundarbans, it marked a turning point.
Latif (pseudonym), who returned to piracy, put it bluntly, "On 5 August, when the government fell, RAB went silent. Earlier, we could reach them in times of trouble. After 5 August, they were invisible. We could not find our guardians. That's why, with no other choice, we've returned to this old path."
On this, Mohsin said, "Honestly, those who were meant to go back to the old profession have gone back. The people who lacked the will and good intentions took advantage of the turmoil and the absence of law enforcement after 5 August to return to their old ways. But those who did not want to go have endured all the hardships and are still living a normal life in society."
According to Abdul Razzak, only five to seven men out of 328 returned to banditry. Local resident Jahangir said most stayed, only a handful relapsed. Latif suggested that some who had joined Awami League politics after surrender found life intolerable post-August and drifted back.
The return of Jahangir Bahini
Since the July Uprising, 10–15 pirate gangs have resurfaced, abducting fishermen, honey collectors, and woodcutters. Among them, Jahangir Bahini is one of the most feared.
At their hideout, men in identical clothing guard stockpiles of firearms, ammunition and sharp weapons. Some remain in boats deep inside the Sundarbans, some hide in forest shelters, while others disguise themselves as fishermen to gather intelligence. The group has engineers, doctors, cooks, teachers, and even barbers.
The ringleader's phone rings with requests from fisherfolk seeking permission to enter the forest. Entry is granted for a price, paid via bKash and logged in registers.
The gang is led by Jahangir Sheikh of Rampal's Durgapur, alongside Md Zainal Abedin aka Rajon aka Dada Bhai of Pirojpur, and Manjur Sardar of Rampal's Ranjayipur. Once rival leaders, they surrendered in 2018 with dozens of men, arms and promises of rehabilitation.
Their accounts are bitter.
Jahangir recalled, "Each of us got Tk1.2 lakh, plus a house, shop, or cow — barely enough to survive. Whenever an incident occurred, the police falsely implicated me. Once, I was in Dakop but was named in a theft case at the Rampal Power Plant. Even RAB refused to help. Finally, I was forced back into the forest."
Rajon added, "I found a job in Chattogram, but RAB-6 summoned me and said I must stay in their area and report on my men. I had to quit my job. They gave me a motorbike, then took it away. I was beaten at RAB's office, kept in secret detention for three days, then jailed in a fabricated case. My wife, pregnant, gave birth while roaming the court premises. Employers shunned me when they found out I was an ex-bandit. That humiliation drove me back."
Manjur's grievance was similar, "RAB lured us with promises, then treated us like dogs. When those who took us to light turned their backs, what choice did we have but to return?"
For all their resentment, these men still hold on to conditional hope. "If the current chief adviser gives us opportunities and proper benefits, we will return to the path of light," said Jahangir. "We want a normal life."
Rajon added, "Without our surrender, no force can ever clear the Sundarbans of pirates. We know the forest better than any force. The government must create conditions for us to return."
Manjur admitted, "My grandson thinks I might be dead because he doesn't see me. At moments like that, piracy feels meaningless. If the government treats us fairly, we will return. But no betrayal like last time."
Institutions on trial
The relapse of gangs reflects cracks in state capacity.
Kamal (pseudonym), a surrendered pirate, mocked state security forces, "They mostly come here for a picnic. In this day and age, catching dacoits isn't difficult. Use drones or scanners. Instead, they cross the river, then turn back."
Liakat Khan, a retired forest officer, recalled the helplessness of his post, "We were only three to four people. No position to fight back. We had no other option but to comply."
Turjo (pseudonym), an NGO officer, confirmed that pirates live deep in the forest and sometimes surround forest offices. "Officers know but cannot act. They are practically helpless."
Law enforcement, though, disagreed.
Wing Commander MZM Intekhab Chowdhury, RAB's media director, said, "We maintain an 'Operation Rebirth' database and monitor surrendered men annually.
"Their problems are listened to, identified, and resolved. This is a regular, ongoing process that continues throughout the year," he added. He pushed back against the narrative that the RAB has been unreachable since 5 August.
"If someone says they could not contact the RAB, does that sound logical to you? No, of course not. It's a lie," he added.
The Bangladesh Coast Guard claimed progress.
Lt Commander Abrar Hasan, Staff Officer (Operations) of Coast Guard West Zone, said they launched 26 operations since August 2024, recovering 37 firearms, 43 local weapons, ammunition, explosives, and arresting 44 pirates and aides while rescuing 44 fishermen.
"These operations have cornered the gangs," he said. "We conduct regular patrols and surveillance. If any group wishes to surrender, we will create space for it in discussion with the government. For now, our operations continue until the Sundarbans is free of pirates."
Fragile futures
Banditry has plagued the Sundarbans for centuries. But between May 2016 and November 2018, the region saw an unprecedented disarmament. The overwhelming majority remain rehabilitated, driving vans, farming, guiding tourists, and raising families.
And yet, as my boat slid back through the green wall of mangroves, it was clear how fragile that peace remains. False cases, poverty, political turmoil, and absent institutions have pulled some back into the forest. Others, like Alam, resist temptation and cling to ordinary life.
"I do not want to go back to that dark world," he told me. "I urge our brothers and friends to never leave this good life and go back to the dark path."
His plea, from someone who has walked both sides of the river, is what the surrendered men want most: not mercy or punishment, but predictability, a state that listens, supports, and stays present.
If that promise holds, the Sundarbans' surrendered may yet find that life outside the forest is not only safer but fairer.
