Ghost in Bangladesh

The Ghostly Longboat of Shaharpara: A Journey That Haunts the Living

 

Some stories are so chilling, so surreal, that they refuse to be forgotten. They seep into the very fabric of your mind like shadows creeping through the cracks of reality. The story of the ghostly longboat of Shaharpara, Bangladesh, is one such tale—a story that keeps the village awake at night, haunted by a spirit that refuses to rest. If you dare to listen, you might just hear its eerie journey through the floodwaters—and feel the cold shiver of its touch.

 

The Abandoned School of Shaharpara: A Hollow Memory

 

In the historical village of Shaharpara, nestled in the Syedpur Shaharpara Union Parishad of 

Jagannathpur Upazila in the Sunamganj District, there once stood a school. It wasn’t just any school—it was the primary model school. A one-storey building with four classrooms, one of which was partitioned into two, the school was alive with children’s laughter, the clatter of wooden benches, and the rhythmic hum of teachers’ lessons.

 

But like all things in life, the school was eventually left behind, abandoned. The place that once thrived with youthful energy became a hollow shell, devoid of furniture, wooden windows, doors, or any trace of life. By the early ’90s, it had deteriorated into little more than a decaying structure. The old primary school had been transformed into a high school in the early ’80s, but when a new primary school was built to the west and a new high school erected nearby, the once-vibrant building succumbed to neglect and ruin.

 

What happened to the school after that? It was left to rot in silence. The village moved on. But the school… the school never forgot.

 

A Midnight Walk Into Darkness

 

In 1993, during the midst of the flood season when the rains began to retreat and the land soaked in its heavyweight, I found myself walking home along the main dirt road of Shaharpara—a now-paved road that runs through the village, past the desolate remains of the abandoned high school. It was around midnight, the moon hanging full and heavy in the sky, casting its silver glow over the land. The air was still, the kind of stillness that made everything feel too quiet. No sounds of voices, no distant chatter—just the echo of my footsteps in the night.

 

The school was on my left, an empty shell of a building. I had walked past it countless times, but tonight… tonight was different. Tonight, I saw something that would forever change the way I viewed the supernatural.

 

The Longboat of Terror

 

Beneath the sprawling canopy of an ancient jujube tree (Boroi Gach), my gaze settled on something intriguing—a longboat anchored nearby. But this was no ordinary boat. It was a traditional Fatami Nauw, an imposing vessel once relied upon by locals to ferry heavy loads—goods, livestock, and all manner of animal feed, including water hyacinth. Its dark, hulking form lay in eerie stillness, steeped in quiet mystery as if holding the secrets of many journeys past.

As I drew closer, I noticed something that made my heart race. The boat was loaded—loaded with school furniture. Benches, tables, and chairs—all the furniture that had once filled the abandoned school. How could they have gotten there? Where had they come from? Who had brought them?

 

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was what stood on the boat.

 

A figure—a ghostly apparition—stood at the northern fore of the boat, a place unanchored to the ground, while the southern fore remained firmly tethered. A man? No, not quite. The figure transcended humanity, beyond flesh and bone. It was unnatural, a silhouette, holding a long bamboo rowing stick in hand, standing motionless, staring southward at me while I faced north, exactly opposite. The ghostly figure lingered at the edge of the harboured boat, its presence unnerving, as if waiting for something—or someone.

 

My breath caught in my throat. I was alone. No one was around. The boat should have been still—no one was there to push it, and neither was the ghost steering the boat with the bamboo pole. But still, the figure stood. Unmoving. In stillness.

 

The Ghost’s Silent Task

 

The scene was like something out of a nightmare, and yet, I knew I wasn’t dreaming. I was awake. And I couldn’t look away. The boat, despite being laden with heavy school furniture, remained stuck under the jujube tree. The main dirt road of Shaharpara was blocking its path south, and it had nowhere to go but back to the northern direction.

 

The figure stood there, waiting. Silent. Eternal.

 

My heart pounded in my chest, and a cold shiver ran down my spine. I wanted to scream. To turn and run. But I was rooted to the spot, paralysed by the overwhelming sense of terror that gripped me.

 

The ghost didn’t speak, didn’t move. It seemed locked in time, carrying out an unfinished task—something that could never be completed. Why? What was it waiting for? Why had the school furniture been loaded onto the boat? Why was the ghost there, standing at the helm, unable to move forward or back? What was its purpose?

Was the ghost waiting for another ghost to come and unload the furniture that had long been missing from the school, or was it waiting for another spirit to come and turn the boat in the northern direction, toward the west Tilak football pitch or Shahjir Bari Bottiya—the empty ground where children play in the dry season and where livestock gather before going to pastureland? Had the furniture somehow been meant to leave the school but was trapped, forever caught in a limbo of unfinished business?

 

The Local Legend: A Journey of Unfinished Business

 

Over the years, I learned from the villagers that this was not a one-time occurrence. The ghost of Shaharpara had appeared to many others before me and to many after me. Locals spoke of ghostly voices and strange lights flickering inside the abandoned school. Some even reported hearing strange noises—echoes of the past, unwilling to fade.

 

The most chilling part of it all was the belief that the ghost was tethered to the furniture it carried. The school furniture, the benches, the desks, the chairs—these were not just objects. They were symbols of an unfinished journey, a task that had never been completed. The ghost, some said, was that of a teacher, whose life had been tragically cut short, or perhaps it was the spirit of a student, interrupted by an untimely death.

 

Some even whispered that the spirit was bound to the school itself, cursed to carry out an eternal task. The furniture was never meant to be abandoned. The school, though it seemed forgotten by all and still held a presence, still required something—some act to be completed, some closure to be achieved. And until that was done, the ghost would remain, forever trying to finish what it had started.

 

The Spirit of Revenge or Vengeance?

 

Many cultures around the world speak of restless spirits—souls who cannot move on until they have avenged a wrong, completed a task, or fulfilled a mission. Could this ghost be seeking revenge? Was it trying to avenge the abandonment of the school, the death of a teacher or student, or perhaps the destruction of a once-thriving institution?

 

The villagers’ tales suggest that the ghost didn’t just haunt. It roamed. It travelled. During the flood season, it embarked on a journey, crossing the canals and waterways, carrying the school furniture in its boat. And in the dry season, strange voices would drift on the wind—voices that didn’t belong to anyone alive.

 

A Restless Spirit, Forever Bound

 

I have never forgotten that night. The moonlight, the boat, the ghost. The figure on the boat never moved. It was frozen in time, just as the school was. Stuck. Trapped. Bound to the past. I could only guess what it was waiting for, but I knew one thing for sure: the ghost of Shaharpara would never find peace.

 

Maybe, just maybe, when the last piece of school furniture is finally returned to the abandoned building, the spirit will rest. But until then, the ghostly longboat of Shaharpara will continue its eternal journey—a journey of revenge, of unfinished business, and of a spirit that can never let go.

 

And if you ever find yourself walking the road past that old school, with the moon high above and the chill of the night settling in, beware. For you may just see the ghost of Shaharpara, standing silently on its boat, waiting to complete its final voyage.