The Fall Near Titas Para
I used to walk that stretch of riverbank almost every night. Nothing special about it. My life was a mess around that time — February 2024 — restless, a little reckless, honestly. I'd be on the phone, pacing back and forth along the Titas riverbank behind Medar Titas Para, talking about whatever, not really thinking about where my feet were taking me.
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| True Scary Story From Bangladesh: Titas Riverbank. |
I should probably explain the place first, because it matters later.
Behind our para, there are two cremation grounds. One belongs to the Nath community. The other is where, I think, most Hindus in the area are cremated. Between the two, there's a room — a body-cutting room, an autopsy room, whatever you want to call it. And near that, there's an open patch of land where the unclaimed bodies from around the town get placed. The ones nobody comes for. Behind all of it, the Titas river just keeps moving.
It's not a place you'd want to think too hard about. But I walked through there constantly. Talking on the phone, half-distracted, never felt a thing.
So one night I'm walking, talking, same as always. And then I just — slip. Not a normal slip. Both legs, both hands, all at once, like something just pulled the ground out from under me. I go down hard.
And here's the thing. After I hit the ground, I don't remember anything working right for a bit. I couldn't tell you how long. A few seconds, maybe longer. My senses just weren't there. It wasn't like a normal fall where you're dazed for a second and then you're back. This felt different, and I still can't fully explain what "different" means, except that it was.
It was flat ground. No slope, no step, nothing that should've tripped me. I had my shoes on — the kind that are supposed to keep you steady. There was no real reason for me to fall like that.
I got up slowly. Scared, honestly, more scared than the fall should've made me. I walked a few steps forward and that's when I felt the pain in my hand. Looked down — it was cut up badly, scraped raw. I started shaking. I didn't know what to do with myself, so I did something that probably doesn't make sense: I decided to go back to the exact spot. I thought maybe seeing it again, calmly, would settle me down.
I went back within ten minutes.
I looked around. I wanted to find something — a rock, a root, a dip in the ground, anything that would explain a fall like that. There wasn't anything. Nothing that looked like it could've tripped a person. And the spot itself was right between the cremation ground and that body-cutting room.
I went to the hospital after. The doctor asked what happened and I told him it was a bike accident. Nothing more than that. It wasn't serious enough to need much — a bit of cleaning, some dressing — and that was it, medically speaking.
But while my hand was healing, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Was this just a normal fall, a stupid accident, or was it something else. I started going back — late, like 12:30, 1 am — just to stand there and see if anything felt off. I never could actually tell. You can't really judge a place like that just by standing in it and looking around.
Then, out of nowhere, I remembered something I'd read once — that water can hold memory. I don't know why that thought came back to me right then, standing near the river, but it did. And I started thinking about what could actually be going on in a place like that.
There was a body-cutting room right there, mostly abandoned by that point. And the bodies that end up in a place like that — usually it's accidental deaths, suicides, sometimes murders. Autopsies done for a reason. I started wondering if, somehow, whatever remains of those people — their memory, I mean, not literally them — stays attached to a place like that. And maybe when something living comes through, a person, the environment reacts. Changes. I'm not saying that's true. I'm saying it's one explanation, and it's the one that's stayed with me the most, even though I can't prove any of it.
I don't think it's jinn or ghosts, if I'm honest. Whatever we call the departed — I don't think they have the time, or the will, or the reason to go around disturbing people like that. And if it's meant to be something like Satan attacking a person — I don't really buy that either. What's the benefit in it for something like that. I keep coming back to thinking it's more about dimension. Some kind of layer sitting on top of ours that we brush against sometimes without meaning to.
I didn't believe any of this until pretty recently, actually.
What changed it for me was a journal I came across — about frequency. Not ghosts, not curses. Frequency. It talked about the evil eye, which you hear about constantly in villages here — someone looks at a baby, says how beautiful the baby is, and two days later the baby's running a fever. The idea in the journal was that when you look at something with real fascination, real intensity, your body — your eyes, maybe — puts out a kind of frequency. And that frequency is a form of energy.
I used to fully dismiss all of that. Completely. But after reading that journal, something shifted for me. I thought — maybe. Maybe there's something there after all.
There wasn't any reason for what happened to me that night to be some kind of sleep issue. I know what that feels like, and this wasn't it.
The spot where I fell is maybe ten meters from the boundary wall of that old, abandoned morgue. Underneath that ground, that's where the unclaimed bodies get buried.
When I tell people this story, it comes out small. A guy slipped and cut his hand, that's it. But for those few seconds when nothing in me was working right, lying there on flat ground with no reason to have fallen at all — it didn't feel small. It still doesn't, if I really sit with it.
Has anything like this ever happened to you — somewhere you'd walked a hundred times before, until suddenly you couldn't explain what just happened there? I'd like to hear it if it has.
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