On a crisp, moonlit night in February 1993, I found myself walking toward a musical gathering in the tranquil countryside of Bangladesh. The air was still, charged with a quiet anticipation, and the path we tread was clear under the full moon’s silvery light. It was around 10 PM, and we made our way through Gupat or Gobat (Cattle tracks served as pathways for livestock heading to pasturelands for grazing, accommodated bullock carts during the dry season, and transformed into waterways for boats during the flood months), from Narainpur to Buraiya. There was no need for torches as the moonlight illuminated the road ahead.
Our journey led us past Abu Khali, the cobbler’s house and along the canal banks, where unpaved roads stretched between the humble dwellings of farmers. Though rough and untamed, the path was deeply familiar, drawing me back to the roots of my family. This very land once belonged to my ancestors, who laboured upon its fertile soil—first with plough cows and buffaloes and later with the power of a tractor. Yet, our legacy in this village was not merely one of ownership but of enduring kinship and unwavering ties to the community.
As we neared the cobbler’s house, I was accompanied by my maternal nephew, Mukit from Paschim Bari in Narainpur, who belongs to the respected Sheikh Bari clan, alongside the late Choto Miah of the esteemed Shahjir family; Amir Uddin of Syedpur, who had married into the distinguished Chowdhury Bari of Narainpur; and the late Salim of Narainpur, who served as Mukit's bodyguard. It was Mukit who had meticulously arranged this musical gathering in my honour, ensuring that it would be a joyous occasion—one filled with melody, celebration, and cherished camaraderie.
When we reached Abu Khali, the cobbler, noticing our presence, asked Mukit where we were heading. "Buraiya," came the reply. It was then that I realised that they had kept the destination a surprise. I asked Mukit, "What’s my connection there?" After all, Buraiya was a place well-known to my family, and the people there were familiar with our history.
The Shaharpara School Bari—the "schoolhouse"—had once owned a substantial portion of land in Buraiya, the very land upon which we now walked. I was reminded of the land's history, how it had been passed down through generations, from my ancestors who had cultivated it with plough cows and later tractors. Some of the land had been purchased from Nondho Babu of Patkura, the zamindar of the area. My family had also been involved in a difficult period of local unrest in 1978, after the death of my younger uncle, Mohammad Abdur Rouf Kamali.
My elder cousin, Ashraf Hussain Kamali, fired two successive rounds of pellet ammunition, injuring four policemen of Jagannathpur and one bandit from Chunarughat of Habiganj. Wounded and overpowered, they had no choice but to surrender. The cartridges used were designed for bird hunting, meant to injure rather than kill. Alongside my paternal cousin Ashraf, Alta Hussain Kamali was also present at the scene. He was both my maternal cousin through my aunt and my paternal relative, as we shared the same great-grandfather—Shah Hajir Mohammad, the only son of Shah Mohammad Fazil.
As the sound of gunfire echoed through the night, villagers and people from the nearby Shaharpara Bazar rushed to the scene. The injured men were taken hostage by the enraged crowd, who administered basic first aid while deciding their fate.
At that time, under the martial law of President Ziaur Rahman, banditry was rampant, often orchestrated in collusion with corrupt policemen. This was the first instance where such criminals were caught red-handed just past midnight. The villagers, long tormented by the police-bandit alliance, were so consumed with fury that some even proposed forcing them to drink their own urine as a lesson in humiliation. When reinforcements arrived, the police attempted to reclaim their wounded men, but the villagers refused to hand them over.
The situation grew more complicated when it was revealed that the gun used belonged to my uncle, Abdur Rouf Kamali, though it had been fired by his elder son, Ashraf Hussain Kamali. My uncle passed away on the 2nd of February 1978, and a Shinni (a traditional feast) was planned to commemorate the 40th day of his passing. However, unforeseen events completely overshadowed the occasion. Mohammad Abdur Rouf Kamali (10 August 1913- 2 February 1978) was a former chairman of Syedpur Shaharpara Union Parishad during the end of East Pakistan rule.
Eventually, with the intervention of mediators and influential bureaucrats, the police managed to retrieve their men. However, as an immediate repercussion, they confiscated the gun from my uncle’s residence. In an attempt to shield Ashraf Hussain Kamali—who was a British citizen and the family’s primary financial supporter—the family strategically shifted responsibility onto Rafique Hussain Kamali (Manik), the second son of the chairman. Although he had not fired the weapon, a case was filed against him instead. The fear was that if Ashraf were prosecuted, the border authorities would revoke his travel rights, and the government might seize his passport pending trial.
This is how the story surrounding Rafiqul Hussain Kamali became widely known. In reality, the police records listed him as the third accused. His nickname, Manik, was used only by his respected father during his lifetime.
According to the police records, the accused were:
- Altaf Hussain Kamali
- Ashraf Hussain Kamali
- Rafiqul Hussain Kamali (Manik)
Enraged by their humiliation, the police harboured a deep-seated grudge against School Bari (the family homestead) and the people of Shaharpara. A campaign of harassment ensued, forcing villagers into hiding at the homes of relatives. Meanwhile, amid the turmoil, peasant families seized the opportunity to move into Buraiya, claiming land for settlement. My father, my uncle, and my paternal aunt—the mother of Altaf Hussain Kamali and Al-Haq Hussain Kamaly—had constructed three raised housing foundation areas near their paddy fields in the west to accommodate cattle, buffaloes, and farmworkers. These raised grounds were soon occupied by landless peasants who settled there permanently.
Recognising their hardship, my family later decided not to claim ownership of the land, including the adjacent paddy fields. Today, their descendants continue to live there peacefully. The esteemed School Bari family of Rasulpur Mouza, Greater Shaharpara, and West Tilak Master Bari never sought to reclaim the land, understanding that these peasant families had nowhere else to go. It was an unspoken act of generosity—one that ensured their survival and granted them the dignity of a home.
But as I walked that night, I couldn’t help but reflect on the past, on the pride my family once had in their land, now far removed from the present moment. Mukit, perhaps sensing my thoughts, responded to my question about my identity in Buraiya with a simple reply, "You must be from Nayabandar, working in Chittagong, here for vacation." It was an odd feeling, hiding the true extent of my connection to the land and people around me.
Suddenly, as we were in the middle of the paddy fields of Pifrabon, something extraordinary happened. A mysterious light appeared on the unpaved road beside the canal, tracing my every movement. It was the size of a standard tube light, glowing faintly yet distinctly while maintaining its unusual shape—resembling an inverted capital “U” lying on the ground. The rounded part of the “U” was positioned at the top, while the open gap faced downward, mirroring an upside-down letter “U.” The light only illuminated the tube itself, casting no glow beyond its confines. This was no trick of moonlight reflecting off my clothing, nor was it a mere illusion. It was real—an otherworldly light, moving with uncanny precision, as if guided by an unseen force.
I wasn’t sure if anyone else could see it, but Mukit’s voice broke the silence: ‘Stop. The light is following us.’ We all paused, and Mukit asked each companion to move accordingly. As everyone did, the light stayed with us. When I resumed walking cautiously, everyone noticed that the light moved with me—perfectly in sync, as if connected by some invisible force. When I jumped, it jumped; when I ran, it ran with me; when I stretched my arms or legs, it mimicked me, keeping me at its core. Whether I moved faster or slower, it did the same, perfectly in sync with every shift. It was as if the light had taken the shape of a U, glowing white on the ground beneath me—an ethereal presence that was both wondrous and unnerving.
I tried to touch it, but no matter how close I came, I couldn’t. The light remained just inches beyond my reach, precise in its movements, staying focused on me as though it had a mind of its own. Mukit and the others attempted to approach, but as they did, the light fell upon their bodies, the size of a normal tube light, otherwise remaining on the ground, keeping me at its centre. The light seemed to originate from a celestial body, for when Mukit and his guard neared me, it cast itself upon them. I thought of my grave and felt trapped in a two-dimensional cage of light, but it didn’t feel threatening—only mysterious.
It held me in the centre—
not with hands, not with force,
but with an invisible tether that bound it to my being.
With each step I took, it mirrored me—flawlessly, eerily—
as though it were reading my breath,
echoing my very pulse.
It made no sound, cast no shadow,
yet its presence was undeniable—
a silent sentinel of light,
gliding beside me as if it had known me long before that night.
Seamless. Sentient. Unbound by anything earthly.
It didn’t simply follow me—
it claimed me,
without words,
without permission,
without leaving a trace.
Time seemed to stretch as I stood in the midst of this strange, otherworldly light. The light continued to follow my every move, its shape a rounded arch, like the top of a double door. I was surrounded by it, yet unable to touch it—an experience both captivating and disorienting. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the light vanished. We were nearing our destination, the party in Buraiya, and in the blink of an eye, the light was gone. No fading, no trace—it simply ceased to exist. The extraterrestrial light stayed with me for more than ten minutes, and I enjoyed its presence without fear, knowing that I was surrounded by my companions.
The rest of the evening passed without incident, but that encounter with the extraterrestrial light lingered in my mind, unanswered and mysterious. Was it a visitation from another world? A natural phenomenon? Or something far more profound, an experience beyond our understanding? Even now, as the years pass, the memory of that night continues to puzzle and fascinate me.
Some mysteries, I have come to realise, are meant to remain unsolved. The ex-terrestrial light that followed me that night serves as a reminder that there are forces in the universe beyond our comprehension—mysteries that exist not only beyond our understanding but also beyond the very limits of our perception.
The villagers often spoke of encounters with such lights near the fields, where they worked long hours before returning home in the moonlight. Some believed these lights were spirits watching over their land, their lineage.
But why me? Why on that night?
Had my ancestors from School Bari of Shaharpara or Master Bari of West Tilak returned in some unknown form? Had the land itself—once cultivated by my family—responded to my presence, revealing a glimpse of something beyond human sight?
Or was it, perhaps, a test?
Many folktales speak of travellers encountering supernatural lights that react to their emotions—those who panic may be lost forever, while those who remain calm might receive hidden knowledge or, at the very least, be left unharmed. I had not run. I had not feared it. I had observed it, and it had mirrored me, then disappeared.
Even today, when I think of that moment, I feel a strange connection—not just to that mysterious light, but to the countless generations before me who may have witnessed the same phenomenon in silence, accepting it as part of the great unknown.
Eyewitness Parallels: Historical Accounts of Mysterious Moving Lights
What I experienced that night was not unique. Throughout history and across cultures, others have witnessed similar phenomena—lights that moved in impossible ways, lights that seemed to possess intelligence.
1. The "Companion Light" of Bengal (1905)
In a remote village in East Bengal (now Bangladesh), a farmer named Hafizuddin Ahmed recounted seeing a glowing arch-like light on a dirt path at midnight as he returned from his fields. The light moved with him, staying precisely in the centre of his movements. His fellow villagers called it "Shondhya Dhor"—the Twilight Companion, a spirit that guided or tested travellers.
2. The Moving Light of Rendlesham Forest (1980)
During the famous Rendlesham Forest UFO incident, U.S. Air Force personnel encountered a floating metallic light that reacted to their movements. One soldier, Jim Penniston, reported that the light mimicked his steps and even pulsed in response to his breathing. His account closely mirrors my experience with the U-shaped light that followed me with absolute precision.
3. Extraterrestrial or Paranormal Connection
Many UFO or extraterrestrial light sightings report structured, metallic-looking glowing objects—sometimes forming U-shaped or arch-like patterns on the ground. This closely mirrors my own experience, as I observed similar U-shaped or arch-like patterns on the ground and found myself precisely in the centre of them. Whenever I moved, the pattern seemed to move with me, continuously keeping me in the middle.
4. The Mexican Desert Incident (1954)
A traveller crossing the desert near Chihuahua, Mexico, saw an arch of light materialise around him. When he walked, it moved; when he ran, it ran. He described it as “a tunnel of light that seemed to carry me with it, as if I had become weightless.” He later discovered strange burn marks on the ground where the light had been.
5. The Djinn’s Arch (Middle Eastern Mythology)
In Islamic and Middle Eastern traditions, Djinn are often believed to be beings made of smokeless fire, capable of influencing the world in ways unseen by humans. The glowing U-shaped or arch-like lights are sometimes seen as physical manifestations of their presence, serving as gateways or portals. These lights might be viewed as temporary bridges between different realms or dimensions, allowing the Djinn to travel or communicate. Such lights are often described as fleeting, appearing just long enough to suggest a powerful and mysterious force at work.
6. The Sky Ladder (Native American & Mesoamerican Mythology)
In Native American and Mesoamerican belief systems, celestial bridges made of light are often seen as pathways connecting the spiritual and physical worlds. These glowing archways or ladders are symbolic of access to higher realms or divine beings, often appearing in moments of spiritual significance or preparation for a vision quest. These lights are typically seen before important journeys or contact with ancestors, gods, or celestial beings, marking them as sacred and transformative experiences.
Scientific or Supernatural? Possible Theories
Could the U-shaped light that followed me be explained by science? Or was it something beyond human comprehension?
1. A Natural Electromagnetic Anomaly?
Some researchers speculate that such lights could be the result of geophysical energy fields reacting to human bioelectric activity. Certain locations, particularly near underground metal deposits or tectonic faults, are known to emit plasma-like energy fields. Could this have been an interaction between my body’s electrical signals and a natural energy formation?
2. A Conscious Entity?
The way the light moved with me, adjusting to my actions, suggests it wasn’t a random energy field. It reacted too precisely, almost as though it possessed intelligence—or was at least programmed to behave in a particular manner. Could it have been a presence, an unknown force observing or testing me?
3. An Interdimensional Glitch?
Some theorists propose that such lights are glimpses into alternate dimensions or parallel realities. What if the U-shaped glow was a temporary overlap between two realms, with me unknowingly trapped at its centre?
The Moment It Vanished
And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.
As we neared our destination—Buraiya village, where the musical gathering awaited us—the U-shaped light disappeared in the blink of an eye. No fading. No gradual dissipation. One second, it was there—moving with me, surrounding me—and the next, it ceased to exist.
Had I stepped out of its influence?
Had it been watching me, waiting for a sign?
Had I unknowingly passed some kind of cosmic test?
To this day, I don’t know.
Final Thoughts: A Mystery That Remains Unsolved
This U-shaped light that moved with me defied all logic and explanation. It was not merely a passive phenomenon—it engaged with me, responding to my movements in a manner no ordinary occurrence should.
I have carried this mystery with me for years. I have searched for answers in folklore, science, and the paranormal, yet the truth remains elusive.
Perhaps some things are simply not meant to be explained.
Perhaps this experience was a glimpse into something beyond our understanding—something waiting just beyond the veil of reality.
And perhaps, one day, the U-shaped light will return.
http://dillymeah.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/dillys-family-legacy.html
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