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Seo Master present to you: 
2013, By: Seo Master
Proud to Kill
Rashida (not her real name) was worried! Wife of a factory worker and mother of a 3-year-old son, Rashida was a beautiful woman in her late twenties. Her current source of anxiety was her husband's suspicious nature and baseless allegations on her character. She was tired of being accused of having affairs with other men. After numerous arguments and violent fights, she has come to the conclusion that maybe with time, her husband would start trusting her. Or maybe when he gets a better job. Or maybe when her son grows up. Or maybe, never! Her trail of thought was interrupted when her husband entered the room. Rashida was lately feeling uneasy in his presence, especially today when she was all alone with him. A day before, sent their only child to his sister's house in another city. The conversation started with accusations of infidelity and the argument soon turned ugly as it always did. But Rashida refused to admit an act she never committed, even when her husband started to punch and kick her. Rashida threatened to leave him if he did not stop with the madness, which agitated him further and he started to strangle her. Within a few minutes, a loving mother, an unhappy wife and a vibrant woman was no more. When arrested by the police, her husband stated that he had strong suspicions that Rashida was involved in an illicit relationship, hence he had to kill her to safeguard his honour.
“A rotten finger should be amputated,” says a proverb in Dera Ghazi Khan, Southern Punjab, Pakistan.
Pakistan has one of the highest incidences of honour killings in the world. In 2011, almost 1,000 Pakistani women were murdered in the name of honour as compared to 791 reported cases in 2010. The majority of victims were married. In 92% of the cases, the reason was alleged extramarital affairs, the perpetrators being husbands in 43%, brother in 24% and other male relatives in 12% of the cases. The methods/tools used for killing were firearms, axe, strangulation, edged tool or stove burning. The age bracket of the female victim was from 15-64 years. But there is significant evidence that the above mentioned figures are quite deceptive. They reveal just the tip of the iceberg. As in almost all cases of honour killings, the perpetrator is a close family member, the murders can be easily disguised and reported as suicides or accidents. The actual number of honour killing cases is believed to be much higher than reported.
Honour killing is the extreme form of domestic violence. In Pakistan, marriage has become a contract that gives a man the right to abuse. According to a recent study, 90% of married women in Pakistan are physically, emotionally or verbally abused by their husbands. Women are considered commodities and the right to decide the fate of a commodity lies with the owner -- the male member -- of the family. Decision regarding a woman's education, marriage, property, career or even stepping out of her home and choice of dress are taken by her father, brother or husband.
In a society where the “honour” of a man is defined through the chastity and “proper” behaviour of his women, incidents of honour killings are increasing at an alarming rate. Interestingly, women are considered “honourless”. Attack on a woman's self respect, dignity and self-worth is never given importance as she is just there to protect the honour of the male members of her family.
Hina Jillani, lawyer and human rights activist has explained this phenomenon accurately. She says, “The rights to life of women in Pakistan is conditional on their obeying social norms and traditions.” The famous case of Samia Sarwar, who was killed in Hina Jillani's office at Lahore in 1999, captured the attention of the local and international media and highlighted the issue of honour killings in Pakistan. Samia, mother of two, was at her lawyer's office to seek divorce from her abusive husband, against the wishes of her father, an eminent businessman of KPK. But Samia's family would rather see her dead than living a life of her choice. This case also revealed that honour killing exists in both upper and lower income groups of the Pakistani society.
Murder in the name of honour is justified as an act to avenge the humiliation brought on the man and his family, by the victim. The reasons usually given for committing this heinous crime are alleged illicit relations, exercising the right to choose a life partner or demanding divorce, refusing an arranged marriage, marrying without family's permission, being raped over property disputes and career choices. All the reasons mentioned are believed to tarnish the honour of a man and he is obliged to punish the one who brought him shame by killing her. The general perception in society is that if a man does not teach the alleged woman a lesson, he is not “man enough” and usually becomes the laughingstock of his family and clan. Moreover, the morbid fascination of having the power to kill someone weaker than one's own self and being raised to the status of “honourable again” in the society, is a major contributing factor in the escalating cases of honour killings in Pakistan.
Honour killings, locally called Karo Kari, are seen as an effective way of safeguarding the moral and cultural values of Pakistani society. “Karo” means “black male” and “Kari”, “black female”. Family members consider themselves authorised to kill Karo and Kari once they are identified and labelled. Kari's punishment does not end even after her death. Her dead body is usually thrown away in a river or she is buried in special Kari graveyards, known as “karan jo qabarastan”. There are never any flowers on these graves and no one mourns or comes to offer prayers for the departed soul for a peaceful afterlife.
The most horrifying aspect of honour killings in Pakistan is not the act itself, but the attitude and support of the society for it. It is perceived as a battle of good and the bad. The hero being the man who kills his wife in the name of honour. Not only society blames a woman in such cases, there is a general belief that she “deserved” it as she was attempting to challenge the norms. It is perceived as justice and a lesson for other women in the family and society nurturing such “objectionable” thoughts. Even the language used in media reports and Police FIR for honour killings is not gender-sensitive and even implies that the murder was justified. There is a soft corner for the man, the killer . On the reports of honour killings in media, people merely shake their heads and blame the “westernisation” of our women that leads to such horror. No one blames the killer. “He did what he had to do” is the unanimous sentiment. When a woman in Pakistan asserts her right to choose a marriage partner, resist domestic abuse or walk out of a violent relationship, she is resisting to conform to the moral values of the society. Hence the society reacts by labelling her Kari (Sindhi) or Siakari (Baluch). This is especially true for the rural areas of Pakistan where honour killings have total support of the people. This explains why no concrete measures have been developed and taken up by the people and the State to counter this horrifying trend.
According to a women's rights activist Tahira Abdullah, almost 77% of honour killing cases end in acquittal of criminals. Laws like Hudood, Qisas and Diyat have widely contributed to the rising number of honour killings in Pakistan. Even if guilt is established and the killer is proven guilty, the laws of Qisas and Diyat facilitate and protect the murderer from punishment. Under the Qisas and Diyat laws of Sharia, offences like honour crimes are compoundable (open to compromise as a private matter between two parties) by providing Qisas (retribution) or Diyat (blood money). The family of the victim (which in most cases is also the family of the killer) can forgive the murderer in the name of God without receiving any compensation or Diyat, or compromise after receiving Diyat.
But no one mentions the criminality and the horror of killing a woman in the name of honour.
Near a small village of Sindh, there is an unmarked grave in the far corner of a large graveyard. No one comes here to offer prayers. A tiny pink rose has sprouted out of this ground. Pink was Sakina's favourite colour. Sakina (not her real name), the 16-year-old, killed on suspicion of having an affair with the local school master, buried in this spot. She is resting, but not in peace. She wants her brother to be punished for taking away a life so young and full of dreams. She is waiting for justice. It will be a long wait . . .
Seo Master present to you: 
We were now off to St Martin's Island on our third and last leg of the coastal treat. The ship sailed on time but we had a bit of a problem with the cabin. The ship's crew had sold the same cabin twice to us and to another group. And now the crewmembers were nowhere in the scene as chaos erupted. Finally, with the shouting and hollering, they appeared tentatively and opened the cabin for us.
A little later the sea started changing colour and St Martin's came into view. The water was now turquoise green. And we could spot the red tiles of the environment department bungalows where we would stay. The coastguard building looked the tallest structure. 
Away in the sea floats a huge navy ship, its gun turrets looking like some matchsticks against the blue sky. There were some huge iron poles lying mangled on the resort premise. Later, we came to know that these were windmills that broke down during the Sidr. 2013, By: Seo Master
However, we had little use of the room other than dumping our bags there. Then we were on the deck. The ship passed by the Myanmarese trawlers moored at the fish landing port. These trawlers were specially shaped with front leaning cabins. The fishing crews were cooking rice, we could see from this far. Some were just hanging out and gazing us down.
You get a beautiful sight of Teknaf as the ship coasts along the Naf river channel. The broken hills frill all the way to the sea and the bitumen road looks beautiful. Cars like toys roll up and down it. We passed the forest rest house where we had stayed the night before. We could see the Arakan hills from a short distance. The Myanmar coast is mostly derelict except some dispersed structures. We saw a beautiful pink pagoda. A few two-storey structures, may be some office buildings. The paddy patches shone in the morning sun like gold plated shields.
For a long time, we could see the Bangladesh coast, and we started wondering if there was indeed a land bridge to the island and we were on this ship just for the heck of it. Later, we came to know that the gap between Bangladesh coast and the island is not really that big, only about 9km, and some young men had even swum across to St Martin's.
But then the coast ceased to exist and we were onto the open sea. We passed by a beautiful island belonging to Myanmar. The leaning coconut trees, the beach and the forest made it look like paradise. Only there were no human beings on it, as we could see through binoculars.
A little later the sea started changing colour and St Martin's came into view. The water was now turquoise green. And we could spot the red tiles of the environment department bungalows where we would stay. The coastguard building looked the tallest structure. The ship's engine slowed down to a throbbing speed as the master pulled the strings to ring the signal bell in the engine room. The island was appearing bigger and bigger by the minute. And then there was the pier. It took quite some maneuverings for the ship to moor.
We crossed the pier and were immediately on the beach, trotting down towards the bungalows. It was an amazing walk -- the green gently lapping on our left, revealing thousands of corals, and the high wall of Kewra plantation on our right. A few brilliantly painted trawlers danced on the waves.
The resort itself was a breathtaking spot. It is on the narrow chicken neck part of the island. On both sides of it are the sea -- we could see the sandy beach in front of our bungalow and a coral beach in the back. The waves broke on the corals in huge splashes and the waves gently murmured on the sandy beach, creating a symphony of sounds. We got on to the roof of the observation centre to get a better view of the island. In the afternoon light, we could see both ends of the about 7-km long island. A truly tranquil sight, something out of this world.
Away in the sea floats a huge navy ship, its gun turrets looking like some matchsticks against the blue sky. There were some huge iron poles lying mangled on the resort premise. Later, we came to know that these were windmills that broke down during the Sidr. In the afternoon, we walked to the northern tip of the island to the 'regular' beach where tourists flock. The fishing trawlers were mooring one by one and consignments of fish were being unloaded on to the beach. Huge sharks and stingrays were being hacked into pieces. A villager told us that dried shark is in huge demand among the indigenous people in Teknaf.
We spent the afternoon on the beach and watched the sun set into the emerald sea in a sudden plunge. Green and pink made an evanescent moment of glory. Slowly we trotted headed back to the coast guard office where the officials had a treat for us -- fish and chicken barbecue on the beach. We sat on deck chairs and watched a huge moon break over the sea and flood the entire island with a fairy glow. The navy ship was still there, its lights shining brightly. The green water had now turned gold. Sitting under the coconut trees, we watched the marvel of the island.
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Later, much later, I pulled the door behind as I quietly left the bungalow and walked on the beach, by the kewra plantation further south towards Chhera Dwip. The trawlers were all there, shiny under the full moon. But after about two kilometers, I had to stop. A channel has entered into the island from the sea. During low tide it is okay, but now it is full with water.
I had to turn back to the bungalow. It was already too late and tomorrow we would have an exciting thing waiting for us.
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Later, much later, I pulled the door behind as I quietly left the bungalow and walked on the beach, by the kewra plantation further south towards Chhera Dwip. The trawlers were all there, shiny under the full moon. But after about two kilometers, I had to stop. A channel has entered into the island from the sea. During low tide it is okay, but now it is full with water.
I had to turn back to the bungalow. It was already too late and tomorrow we would have an exciting thing waiting for us.
Seo Master present to you: The most charming adventure tour in Bangladesh is to explore Keokradang, the highest peak of the country. Our team consisted of only two persons -- Rahul and I. So the tour was more of an adventure for us. Many suggested us not to go on this venture, but defied them one by one.
We started our journey to Ruma ghat (terminal) from Bandarban on a 'Chander Gari,' a jalopy made of an age-old jeep. We were on the roof of the Chander Gari. What an exciting scene around us! The clouds were flying beneath us. It seemed that we are flying over the clouds like a free bird. Sometimes the clouds were so close that we felt that we could reach out and touch them.
Ruma Ghat is only 54km from the town, but the journey took about three and a half hours. Here we had to cross the Shankha river on a one and a half hours' trip to Ruma Bazaar. We found three or four rest houses at Ruma Bazaar and we picked the one near the police station to stay.
The feeling at Ruma Bazaar is that you are being enclosed by four walls on all sides the walls are hills as we were at the bosom of a valley. In the afternoon, I suddenly felt very lonely without any real reason. The silence of the place and the hills around us might have induced the lonely feeling.
After resting that day, we start our journey the next morning for Boga Lake. From here on it is walking all the way. As we plodded along, we heard the hills children calling to us: Mu Mu. Our local guide said it means "where is our tiffin?" We dug into our bags and handed them some chocolates. In return, the children gave us wide grins.
The way to Baga Lake is no pleasure trip, for a normal tourist, it might be even impossible to walk for five hours without rest. You have to walk along the hilly river Rumanaksang and cross it several times.
Just after Ruma Bazaar and before Boga Lake, there are two steep hills and path strewn with stones. We had to cross the shallow river 52 times more. We had to cross a stream to go up a small hill, the stony way of the stream is too narrow to walk side by side. Although we enjoyed the climb, but I was frightened a little to see the stony way.
On the way, we met many indigenous people who walked along the way without
any ease. A Murang boy said, "Practice makes it easy for us."
At last, we were relieved to have reached Boga Lake. We found two rest houses and an army camp. Another team of travellers had already booked the army rest house, so we took over a private rest house.
Ruma Ghat is only 54km from the town, but the journey took about three and a half hours. Here we had to cross the Shankha river on a one and a half hours' trip to Ruma Bazaar. We found three or four rest houses at Ruma Bazaar and we picked the one near the police station to stay.
The feeling at Ruma Bazaar is that you are being enclosed by four walls on all sides the walls are hills as we were at the bosom of a valley. In the afternoon, I suddenly felt very lonely without any real reason. The silence of the place and the hills around us might have induced the lonely feeling.
After resting that day, we start our journey the next morning for Boga Lake. From here on it is walking all the way. As we plodded along, we heard the hills children calling to us: Mu Mu. Our local guide said it means "where is our tiffin?" We dug into our bags and handed them some chocolates. In return, the children gave us wide grins.
The way to Baga Lake is no pleasure trip, for a normal tourist, it might be even impossible to walk for five hours without rest. You have to walk along the hilly river Rumanaksang and cross it several times.
Just after Ruma Bazaar and before Boga Lake, there are two steep hills and path strewn with stones. We had to cross the shallow river 52 times more. We had to cross a stream to go up a small hill, the stony way of the stream is too narrow to walk side by side. Although we enjoyed the climb, but I was frightened a little to see the stony way.
On the way, we met many indigenous people who walked along the way without
any ease. A Murang boy said, "Practice makes it easy for us."At last, we were relieved to have reached Boga Lake. We found two rest houses and an army camp. Another team of travellers had already booked the army rest house, so we took over a private rest house.
The villagers of Boga Lake cordially accept tourists and entertain them in exchange for a little money. The people here are mainly Marma, Murang and Bome. They are very friendly with the Bangalis. At the rest house, we were served with excellent Bangali food with red rice grown in the hills.
These areas are deprived of many facilities, from Ruma Bazaar to Boga Lake, we found only one primary school established with the help of some tourists.
Next morning, we set out for Darjiling Para. It is a two-hour walk from Boga Lake. The path is better than the one we covered the previous day. Darjiling Para is the second most elevated habitation of Bangladesh; Shaikat Para is the first. There are few small shops at Darjiling Para. We relaxed and looked through the shops, as we knew we were close to Keokradang. After that, only half an hour's walk took us to the peak.
How did we feel? It is impossible to describe the ecstasy of watching the beauty around us.
2013, By: Seo MasterNext morning, we set out for Darjiling Para. It is a two-hour walk from Boga Lake. The path is better than the one we covered the previous day. Darjiling Para is the second most elevated habitation of Bangladesh; Shaikat Para is the first. There are few small shops at Darjiling Para. We relaxed and looked through the shops, as we knew we were close to Keokradang. After that, only half an hour's walk took us to the peak.
How did we feel? It is impossible to describe the ecstasy of watching the beauty around us.