Exploring Chattogram’s rural charm and history on Nazirhat Commuter

Jhal muri, jhal muri (spicy puffed rice) - the man in an off-white shirt and checked lungi chanted. Holding a finger of her father, a toddler walked around, her pink squeaky shoes making the adorable sound. Several bare-chested and lungi-clad men slept on kanthas on the floor.

The scenes unfolded on the Nazirhat railway station platform in Chattogram, where I was waiting on a July morning to board the Nazirhat Commuter train. The distant bird tweets enhanced the charm of the small station’s lush rural surroundings. A brick road with random puddles connected it to the nearest locality.   

For breakfast, I bought bottled lassi and jam-filled cookies from the only nearby shop. Oppressive humidity lingered despite rainy weather and a grey sky, leaving me sweaty. A mongoose peered from the bushes but swiftly retreated upon seeing human presence. 

 Boarding the bluish-yellow train evoked childhood nostalgia. The carriage’s wood-coloured interior, white ceiling, and dark greenish-blue benches with a face-to-face seating layout spoke of a time when train travel was more about necessity than luxury. The doors were worn, many of the ceiling fans had been removed, and tears in some seat covers exposed the inner materials.       

The train crawled out of the station, and rich vegetation and rain-washed paddy fields turned the world outside vibrant green. I spotted betel nut and coconut trees, with towering bamboo groves outside the modest rural houses standing like protective walls. Cradling a baby in her arms, a woman stood at the entrance to a house decorated with white marquees, and the little one gazed in awe as the train rattled on.   

Split between Hathazari and Fatikchhari upazilas, Nazirhat spreads across both banks of the Halda River, which originates from the Badnatali Hill Ranges in the Chittagong Hill Tracts. It was a bustling commercial hub in northern Chattogram in the distant past, when trade relied solely on waterways. Nazirhat Bazar, located by the river, drew customers from many areas.  

According to Md Jasim Uddin Chowdhury, a native of Nazirhat and general secretary of the Chattogram-Nazirhat Train Jatri Kalyan Samity, the town was well-known for timber and furniture trade, supplying logs sourced from the nearby hill tracts to Dhaka and other districts. Business flourished more after Assam Bengal Railway opened the Sholashahar-Nazirhat metre-gauge line in 1930. To further facilitate the movement of goods, the Nazirhat Ghat station was later built near the river. 

Two days before my trip, I visited the ghat station, a short walk from the main one with dense greenery on both sides. It used to buzz with passengers but fell into disuse during former president HM Ershad’s rule. Near the one-storey derelict building, I met Md Yusuf, an old man who had travelled by train from the ghat station during the Pakistan era.      

“The train was a lifeline for locals when there was no smooth road connectivity with the city. Fares were as low as Tk 0.25. Traders transported fertiliser, wheat, oil, and maize by rail,” he recalled.   

Compared to that period, fares had not risen much. I paid only Tk 10 for a ticket to Chattogram. Though there were comfortable buses on the Hathazari-Chattogram route, the train was evidently the most convenient and cheapest way to reach the city.     

“The fare is very low. Yet, some passengers are reluctant to buy tickets,” the young man sitting beside me said when I told him how cheap the 37km trip was.

He and his cousin had boarded from the Sarkarhat station. He introduced himself as Khoka, and his cousin as Rumon. They were migrants - Khoka in Saudi Arabia and Rumon in the UAE - and had come home for a visit. 

They told me how hard they had worked initially for several years to gain a foothold in their respective countries. They faced numerous challenges, including language barriers, but did not give up and were later rewarded with a “good” life. Rumon, who runs a small curtain shop with a partner in Dubai, praised the UAE government’s success in attracting global investments.  

I was almost hit by foliage while leaning out of the door to enjoy the views. On a brick road running parallel to the tracks, students walked, men cycled, and a farmer carried a bundle of paddy. Cows grazed nearby, oblivious to the passing train and its loud whistle. 

With rusty and broken tin roofing, the Charia Madrasah station was in a sorry state. Next came Hathazari, a major station from where many passengers got on. The picturesque campus of the University of Chittagong is nestled in the hilly terrain of Hathazari’s Fatehpur union. 

As the university is around 22 kilometres from the city, shuttle trains were introduced back in 1980. It is an iconic feature of the university, serving as the primary mode of daily transport for thousands of students. On our way to the Fatehabad Junction, the curved university tracks emerged from the green expanse.

Nazirhat Commuter has been running without Bangladesh Railway (BR)-assigned travelling ticket examiners since 2014. The Chattogram-Nazirhat Train Jatri Kalyan Samity, a voluntary association of 22 members, does this crucial job under a deal with BR. The deal was made as part of the association’s decisive role in reviving train services on the route after BR had imposed a suspension on the grounds of losses.   

Wearing an ID of the association, a man checked tickets in our carriage and delightedly moved on to the next passenger when I showed him mine. Though intercity train tickets have become digital, Edmondson tickets are still issued for many local trains, including Nazirhat Commuter. Introduced in the 1840s, the small, pre-printed cardboard ticket is named after its inventor Thomas Edmondson, a cabinet maker who became a station master on the Newcastle and Carlisle Railway in England.    

During my visit two days ago, Nazirhat station’s booking assistant Jamil Kabir showed me the cupboard used to store Edmondson tickets. The wooden furniture had dozens of slots, each holding a stack of tickets of one specific type marked by route, fare, and distance. I noticed a slot labelled Jaria Jhanjail/Tk 140/424km, and Jamil explained that trains from Nazirhat used to take passengers as far away as the northeastern district of Netrokona in the past.  

He also showed me a British-era leather pouch that is still used to carry ticket sales revenue. In the past, cash used to be carried in it. At present, cash is deposited in the bank online, while the corresponding receipts, known as CR notes, are put in the bag, which is sealed and handed over to the train guard, who then delivers it to the relevant department. 

“The coffer in the guard coach was the target of train robbers in the past as they knew money and the bag was there. It was really interesting for me to use it for the first time. You see how durable it is, still carrying the British legacy,” said Jamil.  

With the expansive Chattogram Cantonment on one side and the tree-covered compound of Bangladesh Council of Scientific and Industrial Research (BCSIR) on the other, our train now advanced to the city from the outskirts. A tall, yellow Amin Jute Mills building stretched along the tracks, its uneven roofline looking like a zigzag. Some residential buildings were so close that their occupants could step outside and immediately board the train if it stopped there. 

The Sholashahar Junction station walls were covered with graffiti of the 2024 July uprising. Wisps of smoke rose from one of the tin-roofed houses lining the trackside area after the station. Such houses contrasted strikingly with the modern face of the city marked by multistorey buildings, flyovers, and shopping malls.  

At 12:50pm, the Chattogram station was not as busy as I thought it would be. A few black goats sat and slept on a platform slab built for passengers. The 2923 series locomotive decoupled and pulled away, and I headed for the exit.     

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