By evening, Meghai Ghat in Sirajganj had begun to resemble a festival ground.

People gathered along the Jamuna to watch an unusual craft approach the bank: a bhur, a broad floating platform made from hundreds of bamboo poles lashed together. Some had come simply to see it. Others came for tabarruk, food offered as a religious blessing, and to pray.

On the raft, men cooked for people onshore. A microphone carried the rhythmic sound of traditional Atroshi zikr across the river.

Among the men was Munirul Islam, a devotee from Cox’s Bazar who had travelled to northern Bangladesh to take part in what followers of Atroshi call khedmat, or service.

He had already been on the river for five days.

Progress had been slow. The Jamuna had little current, Munirul said, which meant the men could not simply allow the river to carry them south. They had to row.

“If there were no spirituality here, we could not endure this hardship,” he said.

The hardship was physical. That day alone, the raft had become stranded three times. Each time, 20 or 25 men climbed into the river and pushed it towards deeper water.

“There is no tiredness,” Munirul said. “After Fajr, we start. Twenty or 25 people get into the river and push.”

It was his first journey. For many of the men around him, the trip is an annual ritual.

The vessel beneath them is not quite a boat. It has no engine, propeller or conventional hull. Hundreds of bamboo poles are tied lengthwise and crosswise to create a large floating platform.

Munirul’s bhur consisted of about 600 poles and carried roughly 30 men, all of whom took turns rowing, steering, cooking and doing the other work required to keep it moving.

The bamboo comes from northern Bangladesh. Groups set out from different waterways, but their routes eventually converge on some of the country’s largest rivers: down the Teesta into the Brahmaputra, then through the Jamuna and Padma before turning into the Arial Kha and, finally, the Piyajkhali canal leading to Bishwa Zaker Manzil at Atroshi in Faridpur.

A journey can take six or seven days. Some last 15 or even 20, depending on the current, the route and how often the raft runs aground.

Travelling this way requires an intimate knowledge of the rivers.

Eight oars — four on either side — are typically used to steer. Experienced boatmen read the current and guide the platform downstream. When the river is running strongly, the bhur needs relatively little help. When the water becomes shallow or the current weakens, the passengers provide the propulsion themselves.

They get into the water, pull ropes and push.

Sometimes the most difficult part is not crossing the Padma but getting out of it in the right place.

Khorshed Alam, a longtime devotee from Rangpur, remembered one journey when his group struggled to enter the Arial Kha. The current was carrying their raft away from the channel and towards Munshiganj and Mawa.

“Fifteen or 20 people pulled the rope, again and again, towards the bank,” he said. “We had to pull it upstream and then release it back into the current.”

Khorshed has been travelling by bhur since 2001. His first journey taught him how quickly control could be lost.

After crossing the Padma, the raft was caught in a powerful current and swept towards a char, one of the shifting river islands common across Bangladesh’s delta. Fifteen men were stranded there for two days and two nights, surrounded by water.

They had some dry food. They drank from the river.

There were no mobile phones with which to call for help. The other rafts continued towards Atroshi. When Khorshed’s group failed to arrive, boats were eventually sent to search for them. The men were found on the char and brought back to continue the journey.

For the devotees, such episodes have become part of the tradition rather than an argument against it.

The bamboo they carry has a practical destination. Bishwa Zaker Manzil hosts large religious gatherings, including its annual Urs, requiring extensive temporary infrastructure. The poles are used to build samiana and pandals, shelters, toilets and other facilities. Older bamboo is later reused, including as fuel for cooking.

The scale is considerable. One organiser estimated that tens of thousands of bamboo poles are transported this way each year. A single bhur may contain 500 to more than 1,000 poles, depending on the river and water level.

But to the men travelling with it, the bamboo is not simply construction material.

The journey itself is considered khedmat. Devotees contribute money and then spend days rowing, pushing, cooking and sleeping on the river. In the process, the bhur becomes a temporary religious space.

The men pray there. They perform zikr and wazifa. They cook and eat there and sleep under the open sky. Khorshed said he used to give the azan for the five daily prayers from the raft. Religious observances, he said, are expected throughout the journey.

Some devotees also attach spiritual meaning to the bamboo itself.

Rajob Ali, a senior organiser in Rangpur, said followers are taught to speak about their troubles while preparing the poles. In their belief, the bamboo carries those concerns to Khaja Baba, who conveys them to Allah.

“We tell the bamboo all our complaints,” Rajob said. “The bamboo tells Khaja Baba. Khaja Baba tells Allah.”

Khaja Baba Faridpuri, whose name was Maulana Muhammad Hashmatullah, was the Sufi spiritual leader who founded Bishwa Zaker Manzil at Atroshi. He died in 2001.

Rajob remembers a journey in the mid-1990s that, for him, remains evidence of this spiritual connection.

His bhur had been swept towards Munshiganj. After struggling against the Padma for much of the day, the men found themselves inside what appeared to be a pond. A section of riverbank had apparently broken away and moved into the Padma, creating an enclosed pocket of water.

Their food was soaked. The men had gone without eating. Then a trawler arrived from Atroshi carrying tabarruk.

There were no mobile phones or social media, Rajob said, and he could not understand how anyone at the Darbar could have known where they were or that they needed food.

He said Khaja Baba later told the group that he had learned of their predicament through a spiritual chain and had helped guide the raft towards safety. Rajob regards what happened as a miracle.

“If you have faith in spirituality, you will understand it,” he said. “If you don’t, you may think it is just a story.”

For Munirul, the harder river was still ahead.

His bhur would soon leave the relatively sluggish Jamuna and enter the Padma. The river was running high after a recent rise in water levels, with communities along parts of its banks already dealing with the effects.

Munirul comes from Cox’s Bazar, beside the Bay of Bengal, and is accustomed to water. But he knows that familiarity with the sea offers little protection on a river as unpredictable as the Padma.

He did not appear concerned.

“Padma will give us a safe passage,” he said.

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