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It was dark by the time we reached Jessore and finding a hotel proved a bit challenging. We later learned that the hotel we stayed in was closed for the holiday but the night manager had made an exception because we were foreign visitors in his country. He also informed us there'd be no buses leaving for Dhaka until after noon the next day—again, due to the holiday. But when we inquired at the bus stand in the morning we were sold a ticket for a 9am bus. The bus stand was at a major intersection in the middle of the city. As we settled in to wait the one hour for our scheduled departure, we noticed a throne-like chair on a platform in the middle of the road. The chair was flanked by loudspeakers. In front of the platform, three or four men were laying down lyme (or something similar) in lines diagonally across the large paved area that comprised the intersection. The lines formed rows and as we waited, men and boys started to arrive and take their seats in the rows, facing the platform. They were dressed in their finest, as we'd seen in Calcutta. Some carried thin mats and it was on these that they sat, cross-legged and attentive. Soon the chair on the platform was occupied and chanting filled the air. The men with the lyme were trying to stay ahead of the arriving worshippers. Our bus had arrived but the road was now completely blocked by the large assemblage. We weren't going anywhere.

At about 10:30 the prayer session concluded. After a few quick side-to-side hugs amongst the men, the assemblage dispersed. Our bus driver started up the engine and we were off. Not bad, we thought. We still might reach Dhaka before nightfall. The bus rounded a bend and stopped suddenly. We looked up. Another large congregation was amassed ahead in the middle of the road. The driver turned off the engine. Apparently, however, these prayer sessions were on the same schedule and this one merely lagged behind by a few minutes. Soon we were off again. It was a great day to make the trip from Jessore across the Padma (Ganges) River and on to Dhaka. All along the way we passed through villages alive with the festiveness of Eid. Adults and children alike were dressed in their best clothing—young girls adorned with brightly colored lipstick and shiny earrings, young boys incongrously wearing oversized sunglasses with frames in primary colors. Villages too small to have a proper mosque instead had a simple shrine or gateway at the edge of the rice fields. Before these shrines the men sat solemnly—a counterpoint to the giddiness of the children in the street.