Dr. Nusrat Jahan had grown up believing the rivers of
Bangladesh could hold any secret and keep it forever. She had not expected one
to answer back.
The launch from Bhola town took five hours through brown
water the colour of strong tea. October monsoon rain hammered the tin roof of
the cabin. By the time Char Kukri rose out of the mist, a flat island of mud
and kash grass, with the drilling rig standing on it like a steel needle
through a sleeping animal’s skin, her ears were already ach...
