Mahasthangarh

Underfoot, the ground is red. It is not soil alone. Look closely and you will see fragments of old brick worn smooth by rain and sandals and centuries of grazing goats. A breeze moves across the raised earth, and the paddy fields below shift from green to silver. Somewhere a rickshaw bell rings on the road. You are standing on top of one of the oldest cities in Bengal.

This is Mahasthangarh, a short ride north of Bogura town. The name roughly means "the fort of the great place." To a first-time visitor, it can look like a long grassy ridge with some brick foundations. But that ridge is a city wall. Inside it, and beneath your feet, are layers of streets, houses, temples and workshops built and rebuilt over more than a thousand years.

Scholars widely identify this site as Pundranagara, the capital of an ancient region called Pundravardhana. Pundra was the name of a people and a territory in northern Bengal, mentioned in early Indian texts. The British archaeologist Alexander Cunningham made this identification in the late nineteenth century. Later excavations, by Bangladeshi teams and then by joint French and Bangladeshi teams, supported his view. They found evidence of settlement stretching back to the centuries before Christ.

Here is the first surprise. In 1931, a local man found a small piece of limestone in this area. It carried an inscription in Brahmi, an early script of the Indian subcontinent. Historians usually date it to around the third century BCE, the era of the Mauryan empire. The text appears to be an administrative order about distributing grain and coins to people in distress. So one of the oldest written records found in Bangladesh is, in effect, a note about famine relief.

Now look at the shape of the place around you. The citadel is a large rectangle, roughly a kilometre and a half from north to south, and a little narrower from east to west. Its walls were built of fired brick and earth. Over time they collapsed into the long mounds you see today. In places, excavated sections show the brickwork clearly, laid in tight courses, with the edges softened by moss and weather.

To the east runs the Karatoya river. Today it is a modest, slow stream, but in early times it was an important waterway. Rivers were the highways of ancient Bengal. Boats carried rice, cloth and pottery between towns. A city on a reliable river, on slightly higher ground above the floodplain, had a strong reason to exist. That is likely why people chose this spot, and why they kept returning to it for so long.

Inside the walls, several excavated areas have local names. Many of them end in the word "bhita," which means a raised mound or foundation. One is linked by tradition to a king called Parashuram. Another, Bairagir Bhita, holds the remains of temple structures. Archaeologists have found terracotta plaques, coins, beads and pottery across the site. Many of these objects are now in the site museum nearby, which is worth a visit after your walk.

At the edge of the citadel, you will notice something different: people arriving with offerings, flowers and quiet prayers. This is the shrine of Shah Sultan Balkhi, a Muslim saint remembered across this region. His full title includes the word "Mahisawar," which means "rider of the fish." According to a popular legend, he travelled here across the water on the back of a giant fish. Locals say he then defeated King Parashuram and brought Islam to the area.

That story is folklore, not documented history. But it tells you something true about this place. Mahasthangarh is not only a ruin. It is still a living landscape of belief. Hindu, Buddhist and Muslim traditions have all left marks here. On a busy day, families picnic near the shrine, children run along the old walls, and pilgrims sit in the shade. The past and the present share the same red earth.

Another legend is attached to a well called Jiyat Kunda, the "well of life." One popular tale says its water could bring dead soldiers back to life, and that this was the secret of the king's strength. In the story, the saint's side made the well useless, and the battle turned. No historian treats this as fact. Still, visitors gather around the old stones, and local guides tell the tale with real enjoyment.

Beyond the walls, the story continues. Just outside the citadel, near the river, is Govinda Bhita, the remains of a temple complex on a raised platform. A few kilometres away stands Gokul Medh, a tall brick mound built in a honeycomb pattern of cells. Local tradition connects it with Behula and Lakhindar, the lovers from a much-loved Bengali folk epic. Archaeologists see it as a structural platform, probably for a temple. Both readings live side by side.

Here is the second surprise. Much of the ancient city has still not been excavated. The mounds around you hide far more than what you can see. Each dig removes a thin slice of time, and each slice raises new questions about trade, religion and daily life. So when you walk here, you are walking over an archive that is mostly unopened. Treat the exposed brickwork gently, and stay on the paths where they exist.

Before you leave, stand on the wall for one more minute. Look east toward the Karatoya, and then west across the fields. Listen to the birds, the distant traffic and the voices near the shrine. Notice the small bricks scattered in the grass, each one made by a human hand long ago. As you walk back down, the red dust will follow you onto the road. It is the same dust this old city has always made.