The Story of the Patam
Steel-bodied trawlers are faster, stronger and free from nature’s whims. But must we lose the charm and heritage of their predecessors?
Bangladesh sits on a giant delta, criss-crossed by over 300 rivers and tributaries connecting its farthest reaches. For 3000 years, these waterbodies served as the region’s highways, and had an indelible effect on their lifestyles and culture.
The boats were part of the everyday lives of fishermen, merchants, commuters, gypsies and nobility. There were at least 120 different types of river-going boats that we know of, each customized to its purpose, and particular to its region. The designs and methods of construction of the river boats were ancient and unique to Bengal.
Most of the boats are now entirely extinct. Never again might anyone see the luxurious Bajra, used for pleasure cruises by landed aristocrats; one having been famously owned by Rabindranath Tagore. Gone is the Mayurpankhi — the zamindari cruise vessel of Mymensigh, descended from the mythic chariot of the gods. Nigh-forgotten along with their tradecraft are the stories that came with these boats.
Take, for instance, the story of the patam of Sylhet. Instead of rivets, Bengal’s river boats were held together by staples. Patam also refers to these metal staples. The boards were heated over a coal fire and curved into shape, then stitched together. The result is a seamless body that sets these traditional crafts apart from their successors. Perhaps the patam boat was so called because of the particularly high number of staples that were used in it.
The other, more interesting name for this type of boat, is the “bou chora” or “stolen wife,” after a legend that is associated with it.
“Once upon a time, a boatman was perched at the bow, guiding his boat along the rivers, with his new bride berthed within,” says master carpenter Bhojon Sutradhar. “Back then, the stern was elevated to give the boatman a clean view of the river in front. But his passenger was hidden from his view. Arriving at the destination, he found that his new bride had disembarked at some point. She was supposedly never seen again. It is said that after that day, the patam goes in ‘reverse’, so that the boatman sits on the lower end.”
In 2005, Bhojon built a Patam. “Even though the patam is native to Kishoreganj, a Pabna local like myself could mentally deconstruct the boat and its design aspects” says Bhojon, “once you’ve worked for a while in the trade, you have an eye for it.”
To be sure to get it just right, Bhojon and his team brought on board a local carpenter who could advise them on the finer details on the 60 to 65-foot long vessel.
Bhojon and a team of master carpenters working for Friendship have also built a full-size panshi from Pabna and a sea-going shampan from the south, and a malar restored from an old hull. The patam would be a magnificent addition to the fleet, but alas, salvaging the vessel and restoring it comes at an enormous cost. Every year or two years, a boat is required to be docked and repaired.
“The patam is now rotting away, near our workshop in Savar. We’re struggling with the resources to maintain it. At this point, only about 20 per cent of it is in decent condition; the rest may not even be salvageable. It’s tragic because we spent so much effort making it.”
But there’s more at stake than wasted effort. The art of making these smooth-skinned wooden boats is thousands of years old, with no written record of the designs. Like Bhojon, all the master carpenters learned the craft from their forefathers, and the techniques remained in the family. These few vessels are the only remaining documentation of the art that existed. Once the carpenters stop making the boats, there might be no way to recover the lost art.
Now the carpenters at Friendship are working on building model boats using the same techniques that were used to build the original vessels. This is Friendship’s cost-effective way of preserving the designs and technologies for future generations to be able to access and appreciate.
“If we can preserve all the different designs like this, and have a museum where we can display the models, I think we will not have lost our craft,” says Bhojon.
Meanwhile, the patam, the last of its kind, needs help to go on living. You can contribute to save this piece of history by clicking on the donate button below.
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