Winter Journey to the Hills and Sea -Eashin Ibn Firoz

​While Bengal lay numb under the bone-chilling shivers of Poush, a tide of warmth surged through my wanderlust-stricken heart. Winter is the ideal time for the wandering spirit. There is no season more perfect to traverse mountain paths or step into fog-piercing dawns. I was born and raised in Pekua, Cox’s Bazar, where sea and hills meet. Despite being a child of salty winds, the mountains pull me like a magnet, their verdant arms impossible to resist.

Instead of idling away the winter vacation, I resolved to witness the hills. Accompanying me, on the plan of my friend Asif, were Ershad and Arif — seniors by a year, yet bound by close friendship. Our destination was Mirinja Valley. Deep in my heart, I also wished to see Marayatong, Lama, and Alikadam. Located in Bandarban, Mirinja rises nearly 4,000 feet above sea level and is home to the Marma and Mro communities. My heart longed to behold this hidden heaven.

On December 28, 2025, after the echoes of the Fajr prayer faded, our preparations were complete. Through misty dawn, we left Pekua carrying essential clothing, documents, snacks, and an old camera. On the road, we met Helal Bhai from our locality driving his CNG. Traveling with someone familiar felt comforting.

We reached Chakaria Bus Terminal around 7:30 AM and broke our fast with parathas, eggs, and hot tea — a winter morning delight. From there, we boarded a Chander Gari toward Mirinja. At the checkpoint, army personnel recorded our information and offered safety advice. Soon the vehicle climbed winding mountain roads, revealing green hills, bamboo groves, banana fields, rubber gardens, and mountain streams.

Halfway through, the jeep broke down. Though inconvenient, the pause allowed us to stand quietly, watching clouds drift across distant peaks while birds called from unseen branches. The cool mountain breeze felt refreshing.

By 10:30 AM, we arrived and began trekking uphill. A Marma youth advised us to walk slowly. The trail ran beside ravines and springs shimmering in sunlight, scented by wild blossoms. After about forty minutes, we reached a viewpoint that unfolded Mirinja Valley like a living painting — waves of green hills, drifting clouds, and endless blue sky. We sat silently, absorbing the peace. Ershad remarked how city life makes us forget nature’s beauty. In that stillness, life felt simple.

Soon, the roar of the sea echoed in my thoughts. I suggested we head to Cox’s Bazar. Returning to Chakaria, we ate shrimp curry with lentils and greens — simple food made extraordinary by hunger. We boarded a bus and reached Cox’s Bazar by Asr. We visited the newly built railway station, enjoyed evening snacks including shutki chops, and after Esha prayer reached the beach.

The night sea carried a different sensation. As salty waves touched my feet, sand slipping beneath reminded me of time’s flow. We walked along the shore discussing friendship, dreams, and life. Yet amid the beauty, I felt sorrow seeing some youths lost in harmful distractions — a painful contrast to the serenity around us.

We rented chairs and stayed the night to witness sunrise. After performing Fajr prayer at a nearby mosque, we waited. Slowly crimson light spread across the horizon, and the sea shimmered beneath the newborn sun. Its warmth touched both sky and heart. I prayed for clarity of mind and guidance for the youth. The sunrise felt symbolic: darkness never lasts forever. Humans may stumble, but renewal is always possible. Like the sun rising each day, we too can begin anew.

As I returned home, I felt like a traveler in a familiar yet transformed world. Life moves forward in rhythm, illuminated by the promise of each morning sun.