The Hidden Island of Meghna -Md Kajol Irfan

The sea was calm when the group set out. Four friends—Rafi, Nila, Ayaan, and Tanvir—had borrowed a small fishing boat from Nila’s uncle. It was meant to be a short trip, just an afternoon adventure across the Meghna River before it merged into the vast Bay of Bengal.

“Nothing but blue water and the breeze!” Ayaan shouted, standing at the bow with his arms wide. He was always the boldest of them, never afraid of storms or shadows.

“You’ll fall in if you keep acting like that,” Nila warned, brushing strands of hair from her face. She was the cautious one, always carrying extra water bottles, bandages, and even a compass in her backpack.

Tanvir, the tallest, sat quietly near the boat’s motor, sketching something in his notebook. He loved drawing maps and had already filled pages with their route. Rafi, the youngest, leaned over the edge, splashing his hand in the green waves.

The sky turned darker without warning. The breeze stiffened, and the water grew choppy.

“Is that… thunder?” Tanvir asked, snapping his notebook shut.

A flash of lightning answered. The boat rocked violently, and before they could turn back, the storm hit with roaring winds and sheets of rain. The motor sputtered, waves slammed against the sides, and all four clung to the edges as the boat spun in circles.

“Hold on!” Nila screamed, but her voice was drowned by the storm.

The world became a blur of water and sky, until—suddenly—the boat crashed into something solid. With one last wave, they were thrown onto a sandy shore.

The Island
When Rafi opened his eyes, the rain had stopped. The air smelled fresh, and the sand beneath him was warm. He coughed up seawater and looked around.

“Everyone… are you okay?” he croaked.

One by one, the others stirred. Their boat was wrecked nearby, wedged between two rocks. Behind them rose a thick jungle, filled with strange bird calls and the hum of insects.

“Where are we?” Ayaan muttered, shading his eyes.

Tanvir pulled out his compass, but the needle spun wildly, refusing to settle. “I don’t think this place is on any map I know.”

Nila pointed to a stone half-buried in the sand. It glowed faintly, like a firefly trapped inside. “What is that?” she whispered.

The stone pulsed with soft light, enough to make their skin tingle when they touched it. Nearby, half-hidden under driftwood, Tanvir discovered a leather-bound notebook. Its pages were filled with old sketches—maps of the Bay of Bengal, marked with a symbol shaped like a spiral. On the final page, someone had written in faded ink: The Hidden Island of Meghna.

“An unmarked island,” Tanvir said, his eyes wide. “We must have been washed here.”

“But why does the compass go crazy?” Rafi asked.

“Maybe because of these stones,” Nila replied. She picked one up carefully, feeling its warmth.

Into the Jungle
With the wrecked boat useless, the friends decided to explore. The jungle path was narrow and twisting, with roots like ropes across the ground. Bright flowers bloomed in impossible colors. Strange monkeys leapt from branch to branch, watching the children with curious eyes.

Rafi, though nervous, felt his excitement grow. “It’s like we’ve stepped into a secret world!”

They followed the glowing stones deeper inland, noticing how they appeared almost like a trail. After an hour, they reached a clearing where the ground dipped into a shallow cave. The walls were lined with hundreds of glowing stones, casting the whole place in shimmering blue light.

“This is incredible,” Ayaan whispered. He reached out, but the stones hummed loudly, as if warning him away.

At the cave’s center stood a tall stone pillar. On it was carved the same spiral symbol from the old map. Below the symbol were words written in Bengali, weathered but still readable:

“He who finds the Island of Meghna must choose—take its light and vanish, or guard its secret forever.”

The First Test
Before they could argue about what it meant, the ground trembled. From the shadows of the cave, a figure emerged—not human, but not entirely animal either. It looked like a tall man shaped from rock and seaweed, with glowing stones for eyes.

Rafi froze. “It’s alive…”

The stone guardian raised one hand, and the humming grew louder. A voice echoed in their minds:

“The island tests all who enter. Prove your heart, or leave.”

The floor split into three paths, each marked with a glowing stone.

“One of these paths must lead out,” Nila said, steadying her breath. “But which one?”

Ayaan grinned. “Easy. Let’s pick the middle.”

“No,” Tanvir objected. “Look—each path has different drawings. The left has waves, the middle has fire, and the right has a tree. It must be some kind of riddle.”
They debated, until Rafi noticed something small: the spiral symbol from the map was carved faintly above the path with the tree.

“This one,” he said firmly. “Nature. The island is alive—it wants us to protect it, not burn it or drown it.”

The others exchanged nervous glances but followed Rafi. The guardian watched silently.

The Heart of the Island
The path led them into a hidden valley where a waterfall spilled into a crystal pool. Dozens of glowing stones floated above the water like lanterns. In the pool’s center stood a giant tree with silver leaves that whispered like windchimes.

“This must be the heart of the island,” Tanvir said. He quickly sketched it in his notebook, unable to resist.

As they approached, the stones circled them, and the guardian’s voice returned:

“The island’s light is power. If taken, it can guide ships, heal wounds, or command storms. But power always comes with a price. What do you choose?”

For a moment, no one spoke. Ayaan’s eyes glittered with temptation. “Imagine what we could do with this! We could be famous!”

Nila shook her head. “Or cursed. Whoever came here before left the warning. We can’t take it.”

Rafi stepped forward, his heart pounding. “We don’t need power. We just want to go home.”

The glowing stones pulsed, as if agreeing. The silver tree swayed, and from its roots, a narrow stream of water spilled outward, forming a path that led back toward the sea.

Farewell to Meghna
By following the stream, they reached the shoreline again. The wrecked boat was gone, replaced by a smaller wooden canoe with oars, as though the island itself had left them a gift.

“Unbelievable,” Tanvir murmured, clutching his notebook. “No one will believe us.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Nila said softly. She looked back once, watching the jungle fade behind them. The glowing stones along the shore sank into the sand, vanishing as if they had never existed.

The four friends paddled until the outline of the mainland appeared on the horizon. Behind them, the storm clouds lifted, and the sea was calm again.

When they finally reached home, the adults scolded them for risking their lives. But at night, when the friends gathered in secret, they passed around Tanvir’s sketches and Nila’s compass—still spinning whenever it faced south.

They knew they had discovered something no map could capture. The Hidden Island of Meghna was real, alive, and waiting. And deep inside, each of them carried a secret promise: to return one day, not for power, but for the mystery and wonder of adventure itself.