Bicchu Mama and Little Prince: The Journey to Rangamati -Md Tareq Hasan

(Episode 1)

The sun was just rising over the city skyline when Bicchu Mama and the Little Prince set off on their long-cherished journey to Rangamati. The city, still shrouded in the haze of dawn, seemed to bid them farewell as they navigated through the early morning quiet. For years, they had dreamed of this journey—of visiting the serene hills and emerald green waters of Rangamati. But life had always managed to intervene with its myriad responsibilities and distractions. Now, finally, the road stretched before them like an unspoken promise.

Little Prince, who wasn’t so little anymore, glanced at Bicchu Mama as he drove. The older man’s hands were firm on the steering, his expression a curious mixture of excitement and focus.

“Do you think Rangamati will still feel the same as in the stories you told me?” Little Prince asked, breaking the silence.

Bicchu Mama smiled faintly, his weathered face showing a trace of nostalgia. “Places change, beta. But some things, like the peace you feel when you’re surrounded by nature, never do. We’ll find out soon enough.”

The car hummed along the winding road leading out of the city. It was a road filled with memories for both of them. Bicchu Mama had often spoken of his childhood visits to Rangamati, where his own father would take him to escape the chaos of urban life. Little Prince had grown up listening to those tales, his imagination painting vivid pictures of the floating bridge, the tranquil Kaptai Lake, and the enchanting Chakma villages.

But this time, there was a peculiar sense of urgency to their trip—a feeling that neither could quite put into words. Little Prince had noticed it in the way Bicchu Mama had prepared for the journey, packing not just the essentials but also items that hinted at something more: an old map, a compass, and a journal with yellowed pages that seemed to hold secrets of its own.

The first part of their journey passed uneventfully. They stopped for a quick breakfast at a roadside eatery, where Bicchu Mama made it a point to remind Little Prince of the importance of saying Bismillah before every meal. “Gratitude keeps the heart pure,” he said, as they shared a plate of steaming parathas.

As they got closer to Rangamati, the scenery began to change. The air grew cooler, and the trees seemed to grow taller and denser. By the time they reached the outskirts of the town, the landscape had transformed entirely. Hills rose like green waves on either side of the road, and the shimmering waters of Kaptai Lake peeked through the gaps in the trees.
But something felt… off.

The first sign was the silence. Rangamati had always been known for its tranquility, but this was different. It was an eerie, unnatural stillness that seemed to blanket the area. Even the usual chatter of birds and rustling of leaves were absent. Bicchu Mama slowed the car, his eyes scanning the surroundings with an intensity that made Little Prince uneasy.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Little Prince asked.

Bicchu Mama nodded but said nothing. He pulled the car to the side of the road and got out, motioning for Little Prince to follow. The air was thick with an unspoken tension as they walked a few steps into the forest, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth.

It was then that they saw it—a figure standing at the edge of the trees, cloaked in shadows. The figure seemed to be watching them, though it was too far away to discern any features. Bicchu Mama instinctively placed a hand on Little Prince’s shoulder, pulling him closer.

“Stay here,” he whispered, his voice low but firm.

Before Little Prince could protest, Bicchu Mama stepped forward, his movements cautious but deliberate. The figure didn’t move. It stood as still as a statue, its presence both unnerving and inexplicably magnetic. Bicchu Mama stopped a few meters away and called out, “Assalamu alaikum.”

The figure tilted its head slightly, as if surprised by the greeting. For a moment, there was no response. Then, in a voice that seemed to echo unnaturally through the forest, it replied, “Wa alaikum assalam.”

Little Prince shivered. There was something strange about the voice, something that sent chills down his spine. Bicchu Mama, however, remained composed. He took another step forward. “Who are you, and why are you here?”

The figure didn’t answer. Instead, it turned and walked away, disappearing into the trees as if it had never been there. Bicchu Mama stood frozen for a moment before turning back to Little Prince, his expression unreadable.

“We should keep moving,” he said simply, and without another word, they returned to the car.

The rest of the drive into Rangamati was filled with an uneasy silence. Little Prince wanted to ask Bicchu Mama about the encounter, but something in the older man’s demeanor told him it wasn’t the right time.

When they finally reached the town, they checked into a small guesthouse overlooking the lake. The view was breathtaking, but the unsettling feeling from earlier lingered in the back of Little Prince’s mind. As they unpacked, he couldn’t help but notice Bicchu Mama slipping the old journal into his bag, his movements deliberate and secretive.

After a brief rest, they decided to explore the town. Rangamati was as beautiful as Bicchu Mama had described—its vibrant markets, serene waters, and lush greenery creating a picture-perfect scene. But beneath the surface, there was a sense of unease, a feeling that something was not quite right.

As they walked along the edge of the lake, an elderly man approached them. His face was lined with age, and his eyes held a depth that seemed to pierce through them.

“You’ve come for the map, haven’t you?” the man said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bicchu Mama stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, though his tone lacked conviction.

The man chuckled, a sound that was both amused and sinister. “You carry the journal, don’t you? The one that speaks of the lost path?”

Little Prince looked at Bicchu Mama in confusion. “What’s he talking about, Mama?”

Bicchu Mama didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to the man, his expression serious. “How do you know about the journal?”

The man’s smile faded. “There are things in this world that are hidden for a reason. Paths that should remain closed. But if you’ve come this far, perhaps it’s already too late.”

Before they could ask more, the man turned and walked away, leaving them standing by the lake, the weight of his words pressing down on them like a storm cloud.

That night, as they sat on the balcony of their guesthouse, Bicchu Mama finally opened up. “There’s something I didn’t tell you, beta,” he began, his voice heavy with regret. “This journey isn’t just about visiting Rangamati. It’s about fulfilling a promise.”
Little Prince listened intently as Bicchu Mama explained. Years ago, his father had discovered an ancient map hidden within the pages of the journal. The map supposedly led to a place deep within Rangamati’s forests—a place that held secrets long forgotten. His father had been obsessed with finding it but had vanished mysteriously before he could.

“I don’t know if the map is real or if it’s just a story,” Bicchu Mama said. “But I owe it to him to find out.”
Little Prince felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The idea of uncovering a hidden secret was thrilling, but the events of the day had left him uneasy. “Do you think that figure we saw… has something to do with this?” he asked.

Bicchu Mama didn’t answer immediately. He stared out at the lake, his expression contemplative. “Perhaps,” he said finally. “But one thing is certain: we’re not alone on this journey.”

As they prepared for bed, Bicchu Mama recited a verse from the Quran: “And whoever fears Allah – He will make for him a way out.” (65:2). He looked at Little Prince and added, “No matter what we face, always remember to place your trust in Allah.”

Little Prince nodded, the words bringing him a small measure of comfort. But as he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t shake the feeling that their journey was only just beginning—and that the real adventure, with all its dangers and mysteries, awaited them in the days to come.
To be continued…