Where hunger defeats even the fear of tigers!

Mahfuza Begum, 52, is a testament to strength and resilience. Every day, she skillfully rows her boat across the river, navigating through the treacherous waters of the Sundarbans, the world’s largest mangrove forest. Here, she casts her net, catch lobsters to support her family by selling them in the local market.

For years, Mahfuza has ventured alone through the winding channels of this dense, dangerous forest, where the risk of crocodile and tiger attacks looms constantly. The Sundarbans is crisscrossed with numerous small and large canals, and many areas are so thick with trees that sunlight barely reaches the forest floor. As a fisherman, Mahfuza is always alert, aware of the dangers she faces. She has learned to sense the presence of crocodiles and tigers by the slightest movements of water or rustling of trees. "The water may seem calm," she says, "but even the slightest disturbance can tell me that a crocodile is nearby."

Mahfuza reflects on the growing conflict between humans and wildlife. "In the past, we didn’t see so many animals. They stayed deep within the forest, but as the forest shrinks, they’re moving closer to us. Since we’ve encroached on their land, they’re now trying to reclaim theirs."

Crocodiles are common, especially when the water level is low. As they paddle through the water, they often come near Mahfuza’s boat, making it impossible to sit near the edge. The creatures seem to follow her, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Tigers have also been frequent visitors in her life, their glowing eyes often the only glimpse she gets before they retreat into the depths of the forest.

In 2019, while pulling in her net one morning, Mahfuza sensed something unusual. The usual calls of the birds had stopped, a sign that a tiger was nearby. Turning around, she found herself staring into the eyes of a tiger just a few feet away on the riverbank. She struck the boat with a metal container, hoping to scare it off, but the tiger did not move. After a tense stare-off, the tiger slowly retreated into the forest. "When a tiger is hungry, nothing will scare it," Mahfuza says. "Once it attacks, there’s no escaping."

But the danger of the forest isn't just a recent threat—it has claimed the life of her brother Shahadat 17 years ago. One late afternoon, Mahfuza, her eldest son Alamgir, and her brother went fishing. After their net tore, they headed home, but a tiger attacked her brother as they neared the shore. The tiger dragged him into the forest, leaving Mahfuza to find bloodstains on the boat. "Before I could understand anything, the tiger took my brother," she recalls, still haunted by the memory.

That night, around 150 villagers ventured into the forest with torches to find Shahadat. Tigers typically avoid hunting at night, so the villagers hoped the fire would drive the tiger away. They found what remained of Shahadat—bones and pieces of meat—and brought them back to Mahfuza.

The next morning, Mahfuza stood on the riverbank, trembling with fear and grief. But even in the face of loss, she knew she couldn’t let fear control her life. "My hunger isn’t afraid of tigers," she says. "I must go back to the river and face my fear. If fate allows, I may one day come face to face with a tiger."

Mahfuza's village, located in Ward No. 9 of Gabura Char, is home to eight other fisherwomen between the ages of 40 and 60. They fish alongside their families, but Mahfuza’s journey has been particularly remarkable. Growing up in extreme poverty, Mahfuza learned to fish at the age of 8, despite her father’s objections. "My father was poorer than the poorest," she recalls. "When I was a child, I had to beg and work from house to house, but it was never enough."

By the age of 12, Mahfuza had become an expert fisherman. She could navigate a boat, cast a net, catch fish, and sell them at the market, all without depending on anyone else. "I raised my family on my own," she proudly says. "I’ve carried the burden on my shoulders without asking for help."

Unlike most girls in her village, Mahfuza married at 16. But her husband, a day laborer, abandoned her 22 years ago, leaving her with three children. Since then, Mahfuza has raised them alone, never once looking back. "I raised them on my own. I saw them married. Nothing can stop me."

Today, Mahfuza’s two sons work as day laborers, while her daughter, who remarried, lives elsewhere. None of her children offer her any support. Now, Mahfuza spends her days with her grandson Lavlu, whom she raised after educating him through the fifth grade. To make ends meet, she put Lavlu to work at the age of 10. Her 15-year-old granddaughter works as a soil puller in a brick kiln. "Lavlu is my everything now," she says. "He’s my whole world."

Mahfuza reflects on her life with a strength that has defined her for decades: "I don’t need a man. For 44 years, I’ve survived by battling tigers, crocodiles, cyclones, and robbers. When my children cried from hunger, not even the fear of tigers, crocodiles, or thieves could keep me at home."

In the face of unimaginable challenges, Mahfuza continues to fight, not just for survival, but for the dignity and future of her family. Her unwavering resolve is a symbol of resilience in a world where the fight for survival is often as dangerous as the elements she contends with.