The Legend of Chandra Deepti and the River That Disappeared

Long ago, before the Ganges carved her mighty arms through Bengal, when the Sundarbans were still only whispers in the mangrove winds, there existed a village called Shonarbil — the land of golden wetlands. In this peaceful village, surrounded by lush paddy fields and lotus-covered ponds, lived a young woman named Chandra Deepti. Her name meant "Moonlight Radiance", and the villagers believed she was blessed by Chand Bibi, the mythical guardian of purity and rivers.

Chandra Deepti wasn’t like other girls. She could talk to birds, and fish would leap into her hands when she called them by name. On full moon nights, her feet glowed faintly as she walked along the riverbank, and old women whispered that she had been born on the night of the lunar eclipse — a rare moment when the earth, moon, and sun argued and then reconciled. It was said that during her birth, the waters of the Bhulomukhi River had turned silver, and all the frogs had stopped croaking for one full minute.

The Bhulomukhi River was the soul of Shonarbil. It fed the rice fields, sang lullabies at night, and carried the villagers’ prayers downstream. But it also had secrets. Legends spoke of a spirit named Kalo Buri, an ancient demoness who had once ruled the waters, demanding offerings of shadows and whispers. She had been defeated by Chand Bibi centuries ago and sealed beneath the riverbed with a curse: “If ever the moon’s daughter weeps for love, the seal will break, and darkness will flood the land.”

Years passed, and Chandra Deepti grew into a graceful woman, known for her kindness and mysterious beauty. One day, a stranger came to the village. He was tall, with skin like burnt clay and eyes that shimmered like the river under stormlight. He called himself Rajin, a traveler from the north. He said he was looking for a lost map that could lead him to the Nagmani, the gem of serpents said to grant wisdom and immortality. But from the moment he saw Chandra Deepti, he forgot the map and spoke only in poetry and riddles.

Love bloomed between them like lilies after rain. But the village elders grew uneasy. Strange things began to happen. The frogs returned to their eerie silence. The river water, once sweet, turned brackish near the southern edge. And one night, a child claimed to have seen a woman with hair like smoke dancing above the river, laughing without a mouth.

Chandra Deepti began to dream of drowning cities, of snakes whispering her name, and of the moon turning its back on the world. She knew something was wrong. She asked Rajin where he had come from, really. Under the banyan tree, with fireflies circling them like stars, he confessed.

“I was not born from woman,” he said. “I am the son of the river Kalo Nodi, and Kalo Buri is my mother. She sent me to find the moon’s daughter and awaken the old power.”

Chandra Deepti’s heart broke. Her tears fell silently onto the ground, and the earth trembled.

That night, the seal beneath the Bhulomukhi River cracked. A whirlpool formed, and black water erupted like a wound. The fish died. Trees along the banks twisted into grotesque shapes. The sky, once clear, turned crimson, and the villagers cried out as their fields flooded with shadowy water.

Kalo Buri rose from the depths — her eyes like empty wells, her mouth filled with the screams of the drowned. “My son,” she said, “You have returned me to the world.”

Rajin, caught between love and duty, fell to his knees. But Chandra Deepti stepped forward, her feet glowing like they did as a child. “No,” she whispered, “This ends tonight.”

She raised her arms, and the moon emerged from the blood-stained sky. It pulsed with ancient power. From her chest, a silver light burst forth — a gift from Chand Bibi, passed to her through the moment of her birth. The light struck the river, turning the cursed waters to mist. Kalo Buri screamed and tried to escape, but her body began to unravel like a spool of black thread.

As dawn approached, Rajin looked into Chandra Deepti’s eyes. “I am sorry,” he said, before dissolving into a thousand droplets, joining the river’s memory.

The Bhulomukhi River, now free of the curse, began to dry. The villagers mourned its loss but rejoiced in the return of peace. In its place, a trail of moonflowers grew — glowing faintly at night, humming with the echoes of Chandra Deepti’s song.

She, too, vanished soon after. Some say she turned into a bird of silver feathers that sings only on the night of eclipses. Others claim she lives deep in the mangroves, guarding the boundary between light and shadow.

But the people of Shonarbil remember.

They remember the girl who loved too purely, wept too honestly, and saved their world with the light of the moon. And every year, during the full moon of Kartik, the villagers float lanterns on the dry riverbed and whisper her name — Chandra Deepti — hoping she can hear them and know they still remember her legend.

Moral & Cultural Note:

This myth, while fictional, is inspired by real elements of Bengali folklore — such as river spirits, moon deities, and protective female figures like Chand Bibi. It reflects deep themes of love, sacrifice, and the constant tug between darkness and light in Bangladeshi storytelling traditions.