Echoes of the Sundarbans: A Tale of Friendship and Gratitude (An Epilogue)

1. Fifteen Years On
Fifteen years have passed since their harrowing return from the Sundarbans, an ordeal that nearly claimed Dipu. Time flows like the river itself, washing away old stains from the ghats and forming new sandbanks, or chars. Amber, Courak, Robin, and Dipu—the four friends now have streaks of silver in their hair. Their lives have changed profoundly. They are no longer youths seeking thrills, but are now experienced, calm, and settled men.
Amber’s famous photograph, “The Serenity of Nadhopani,” now hangs permanently in a prestigious Kolkata art gallery. The caption beneath it still captivates viewers, leaving them in deep thought. Amber himself has largely retired from photography. He has built a small library in his ancestral village home, where he preserves the old manuscripts and diaries collected by his grandfather. He occasionally guides young researchers, sharing his knowledge of the Sundarbans’ history and folklore. When they inevitably ask, “No more research on the Nadhopani entity?” he just smiles softly. Some mysteries are best left unsolved.
Courak Das is now the CEO of a successful tech company that specializes in environmentally friendly technology. He has established a large fund dedicated to the conservation of the Sundarbans’ mangroves. Once a year, he takes his entire team to the Sundarbans—not for an adventure, but for a tree-planting festival. He teaches his children to respect nature, telling them stories of the forest’s power. However, he carefully omits the chapter on the primordial horror that lurks within those tales.
Robin Khatua is no longer just a guide; he is a guardian of the Sundarbans. He established a cooperative that ensures fair wages for the local honey collectors (mouals) and fishermen, and provides for their children’s education. The old fear is gone from his face. But on full moon nights, he still gazes at the river, as if silently searching for an old acquaintance. He knows that just as the forest can take, it can also give back. It has given him his life anew, and he dedicates each day to its service.
2. The Storm of Friendship
And Dipu?
His art school, “Rong Tuli” (Color Bud), has blossomed into a renowned institution, producing many talented artists. Dipu never again painted the images of his past sorrow. His canvas now sings only of the triumphs of life. Yet, his students sometimes notice a peculiar habit. When teaching a new student how to hold a brush for the first time, he always says the same thing: “Paint with your mind, not with your soul. The soul is something you must keep for yourself.”
One day, a young journalist came to interview Dipu. She was enthusiastic about her new series, “The Story Behind the Art.”
“Sir,” she asked, “what was the turning point in your life? What event made you the artist you are today?”
Dipu looked out the window at the afternoon sky, where clouds and sunshine were locked in a playful dance. He laughed softly. “A storm. The biggest storm of my life.”
“A storm? Are you referring to that terrible cyclone in the Sundarbans?”
Dipu shook his head. “No, a storm far greater than that. The storm of friendship. It washed away all the darkness within me, leaving behind only a few colours. And with those colours, I still paint today.”
The journalist, perplexed, wanted to ask more, but Dipu gently signaled for her to stop. Some stories are meant to be felt, not explained.
3. Echo
That winter, while sorting through an old trunk of his grandfather’s, Amber found something: a small, leather-bound notebook. It wasn’t part of the main diary, but a personal journal (kheror khata). On one of the pages, a few lines were written:
“The entity of Nadhopani is not a demonic force, but a primal aspect of nature. It punishes the greedy and consumes the weak, but it protects those who respect it selflessly. In truth, it is a mirror. It reflects back what you are.”
Amber closed the journal. Had they misunderstood it all this time? Was that entity merely a reflection of their own greed, fear, and weakness?
He called his three friends. That evening, after many years, the four of them sat together again. Amber shared his new discovery. They looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. There was no fear or shock in their eyes, only a profound realization.
Each of them had faced the entity reflecting their own inner demons: Courak’s ambition, Dipu’s trauma, Amber’s thirst for vengeance (to complete his ancestor’s work), and Robin’s fear. But every single time, they had saved each other. Their friendship was the courage they needed to stand before that mirror.
The story could have ended there. But one final signature remained.
The next morning, a parcel arrived for Dipu. There was no sender’s name. Inside was a small canvas, a watercolour painting.
The painting depicted a tranquil river, bordered by a dense mangrove forest. Four paper boats floated on the water, side by side, together. Beneath the image, a single word was written in elegant, flowing script:
“Gratitude.”
Dipu did not recognize the handwriting, but in his soul, he knew exactly who sent it.
The primal entity of Nadhopani, the one that had tested them, that had nearly destroyed them, had left its own silent signature. Because they had finally proven that humanity is not merely a vessel for greed and fear. Humans also know how to love, how to risk their lives for friendship.
The four friends understood. They had not just survived a curse; they had earned the respect of that ancient power. And that was the greatest reward of their lives. Their story was no longer one of horror, but of healing. And bearing witness to this healing, forever, is the quiet, secluded ghat of Nadhopani, hidden deep in a corner of the Sundarbans.