Into the tiger’s den: A daring journey through the Sundarbans
In the mangrove labyrinth of the Sundarbans, beauty and danger coexist in uneasy harmony. A routine expedition turns perilous as a team of journalists ventures into the tiger’s dining ground — where silence itself seems to breathe
What began as an ordinary trip to the Sundarbans — the world's largest mangrove forest — soon turned into an unforgettable adventure. This vast expanse of water, mud and greenery is a land of mystery, beauty and danger, where every whisper of the wind hides a secret.
At first, our plan was simple — to explore the serene beauty of the forest, breathe its salt-tinted air, and enjoy its wildlife from a safe distance. But our excitement and curiosity pushed us to go deeper, to explore the tiger's den, locally known as Bagher Dera, within the Sharankhola Range.
Where the tigers dine
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This area — a deep bushland behind Tiger Point — is one of the most dangerous zones in the Sundarbans. Locals call it "Tiger Dining" or Bagher Dera — the tiger's dining ground, where the great beast brings its prey to feast. Even the name alone is enough to send a shiver down the spine.
The first leg of our journey, from the ship to the Tiger Point watchtower, went quite smoothly. But the next stretch — a trek of nearly one and a half kilometres through dense mangroves and muddy canals — proved far more perilous.
We were about forty journalists in total, setting out together from the ship. Some, after hearing the warnings about danger, decided to turn back. But the daring few pressed on — driven by courage, curiosity and the irresistible pull of adventure.
The march through mud and fear
It was a journey of fear and faith — trusting none but the Almighty above. With us was our forest guard, Faruk Sardar, armed with a Chinese rifle, his calmness reassuring amid the growing tension.
We moved forward relentlessly. Some among us, realising the risk, quietly recorded short voice messages for their families — just in case. That silent act spoke more than words ever could.
The first half-kilometre led us through tall reeds — the kind of place where tigers are known to crouch, watching their prey unseen. But the real challenge lay deeper in the forest. The path was treacherous: knee-deep mud in places, thorny plants and hanging vines tearing at our clothes, pools of murky water, and narrow trails tangled with creepers. Every step felt uncertain.
Our feet sank into the thick, clinging mud that refused to let go. Beneath us, the breathing roots of keora trees twisted through the ground like hidden veins of the forest. Each step demanded strength; every foot had to be pulled free from nature's grip. The air was dense and silent, broken only by the occasional splash or rustle. Eyes sharp, ears strained — we moved cautiously, not knowing what might emerge from the shadows.
Among us were ERF President Doulot Akter Mala and three other female members, their composure as steady as the men's. Step by step, we advanced, our hearts pounding in rhythm with the forest's pulse.
The scent of the tiger
Suddenly, Faruk Sardar stopped. His instincts, honed by years in the forest, had sensed something. In one swift motion, he loaded his rifle and said in a low but steady voice:
"I'm with you. Please don't panic. And don't run. I can smell something — the scent of a tiger's body. There are fresh pugmarks. The tiger is nearby."
Time seemed to freeze. The silence grew heavier; the air felt different. We looked at one another, caught between awe and fear. Every rustle in the reeds, every drop of water felt amplified. Somewhere nearby, the unseen king of the forest was on the move.
Faruk, who had visited this area many times before, later told us that parts of this trail had likely never been touched by visitors. That revelation filled us with both terror and pride — fear of the unknown, yet pride in having reached a place so untouched, so truly wild.
Reflections from the wild
When we finally made our way back to the boat, covered in mud but overwhelmed with awe, the forest seemed to whisper its ancient secrets. The Sundarbans had shown us its raw, untamed soul — breathtakingly beautiful yet perilously wild.
It was more than just an adventure; it was a lesson in humility. In the tiger's realm, man is not an explorer but a respectful visitor — one who walks carefully, listens closely and leaves quietly, his heart filled with awe and joy.
Ziaur Rahman is a senior journalist and media specialist.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.
