Do you remember the story “Mritypradip” by Sharadindu Bandyopadhyay? Emperor Chandragupta I, Queen Kumaradevi, their infant son Samudragupta, King Chandraverma, his courtesan’s daughter the beautiful Somdatta, and the royal companion Chakrayudha Ishaanvarma—an earthen lamp once set the royal residence of Pataliputra ablaze and changed the course of history!

Did something similar once happen in a forgotten urban settlement on Kumli Island—today a tiger-inhabited island in the Sundarbans?

Earlier, we wrote about Kalibera Island in the Dulivashani block of the Sundarbans. Kalibera lies west of the Vidya–Matla river system, near the edge of the Bay of Bengal. To its west lies Kumli, also known as Porakumli. Many people even refer to Kalibera as Porakumli. In reality, these twin islands share the same geographical character and are often mentioned together.

 On the western side of Porakumli flows the Dulivashani River. Kalibera has a wide sandbar, but during our visit Kumli or Porakumli did not have such an easy landing point.

The dense mangrove forest began almost right from the edge of the island, making it extremely dangerous to disembark.

The forest in the middle of the island was comparatively less dense. The soil there was bright red and filled with broken bricks—as if an ancient city had once been set on fire and reduced to ruins. Later floods must have covered it with sand, and eventually mangrove forests took over the abandoned land. All around the island lie scattered archaeological traces of a once-prosperous civilization. Local fishermen often tell many mysterious stories about this place.

There is a strange smell in the forests of Porakumli. It instantly mesmerizes people. It feels as if a spiritual energy surrounds the entire island. While wandering around in a trance-like state, I suddenly found myself alone. Then I heard the laughter of a woman’s voice.

Looking ahead, I saw a middle-aged woman leaning against the trunk of a mangrove tree. She was wearing a dirty white sari.

Started, I asked, “Who are you?”She replied, “Babu, we have come here to catch crabs. My sons are nearby. Our boat is tied over there.” 

I tried to look for the boat. Just then someone called from behind, “Please come back now! We cannot delay any longer.”

After returning, I told the guide, “There was a woman standing there.”

“Where?”

Everyone looked in that direction. But where was the woman in the dirty white sari? They said, “People rarely come to this sandbar to catch crabs!” Everyone stared at me in astonishment.

In a strange daze, I returned to the boat. While having tea, we began cleaning and examining the few terracotta artifacts we had collected. Among them was a large, exquisitely beautiful red tortoise-shaped terracotta lamp. Its mouth still bore burn marks. We had never found such a large lamp on any other island of the protected Sundarbans. A lamp worthy of the name Porakumli—the “burnt island.” At that moment, Sharadindu Bandyopadhyay’s story Mritypradip came to mind.

The most remarkable find was a hollow-toothed terracotta female head. From the broken piece it was clear that the full statue must have been about one and a half feet tall. Could she be Dantura? For some reason, the face of that 

A woman leaning against the tree kept appearing in my subconscious. It felt as though there was a mysterious connection between that terracotta face and the woman I had seen.

That night I woke up from a dream and could not sleep again.

What a strange dream it was!

Dantura was standing against the mangrove tree, wearing a white cloth. She was walking toward me, smiling with her hollow teeth. What a terrifying, uncanny smile! The whole world seemed to be rushing somewhere with a roaring sound, and in that turmoil I too was being swept away—towards some unknown destination.

Author: Debishankar Middya
Photographs: Sundarban Archaeological Research Center