একটি বিরল সৌন্দর্যের খোঁজে
In Search of a Rare Beauty
It was back in March 2015 when I first laid eyes on an astonishingly beautiful and rare butterfly. I had taken my very first butterfly photograph in October 2013 at Satchari National Park. That was also when I met the person who would become my mentor on my journey into the world of wildlife—the late Munir Ahmed Khan, whom I lovingly called Dada—and my younger brother Prosenjit. Because of Dada’s sincerity, encouragement, and affection, I took my first steps into wildlife exploration. And of course, Prosenzit was always there by my side. Whatever I know today about wildlife, I owe it to these two men. I am also deeply grateful to Dada’s wife, the late Tania Khan Apa.
It was Dada who first told me about this butterfly in 2014—a species that, at that time, had only been seen in Adompur Forest. He often said, “Adampur is a treasure mine of butterflies.” Naturally, the desire to visit Adampur grew stronger in me.
My first trip to Adampur was in December 2014, but I couldn’t find the butterfly I was searching for. I spent several hours there and finally returned disappointed. Although I encountered many butterflies I had never seen or photographed before—those were treasures in their own right. I’ll write about those another day.
Still, I waited eagerly for the day I would return to Adampur—the place Dada called the butterfly mine, the habitat he had discovered. Sadly, I never got the chance to go there with him while he was alive and healthy. On March 3, 2015, I set out again for Adampur. By the time I arrived, evening had already set in. I stayed the night at a Forest Department bungalow. The next morning, after breakfast, I headed out. The bungalow sat on top of a small hill .
The moment I stepped outside, my eyes wondered all around—this felt like a paradise filled with butterflies. Dada had been absolutely right. There were butterflies everywhere. I began photographing them. But despite seeing so many species, I still couldn’t find the one butterfly I was desperately searching for. A thick fog hung in the forest that day, and sunlight struggled to break through its blanket. I pushed through the shrubs, looking for it again and again. Suddenly, my eyes froze on a leaf. There it was—sitting quietly in a cool, shaded corner of the forest—the long-sought treasure, the seven-king’s-gold I had been dreaming of ! I stared at it in disbelief and wonder. The butterfly we had been searching for was right within reach, sitting silently. Even when it flew, it didn’t vanish like many other butterflies—it simply landed gently on another nearby leaf. The sunlight was so faint that taking a perfect photo was nearly impossible. Yet it didn’t matter. Even if I couldn’t capture it well with my camera, I captured it with my heart. That moment—those feelings—cannot be fully expressed in words. No pen can truly describe them.
The butterfly I am talking about is none other than the craze of that time—the Harlequin.
Its scientific name: Taxila haquinus (Fabricius, 1793) Family: Riodinidae.
Since that first encounter, I’ve seen it in Adampur several more times. My fascination with the Harlequin remains exactly the same—even today. Every time I saw it, it behaved the same way—moving slowly and calmly in the shaded parts of the forest. Even when it fluttered from one leaf to another, it stayed within 1 to 1.5 meters, and usually perched 1 to 2 meters above the ground. I always found the Harlequin alone. That first sighting still feels like a dream. I remember every step of that day vividly.
Much love to you, Munir Dada, for introducing me to such a magnificent butterfly. May you and Tania Apa rest in peace in the hereafter. You are always remembered.
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