River of Blood

There is high drama in the skies. Intense peals of thunder and lighting flash down on the hills,the rivers are turbulent. The temperature might be comparatively cool,but the humidity is horrendous,making 32 degrees feel higher. True,the weather boosts greenery and vegetation. But everything is clammy and wet. Fungus creeps up everywhere. Clothes smell of damp,one perspires even when indoors,under a fan. Creepy crawlies abound,there is an all pervasive smell of rot.

Assam,with its unique topography,catches the monsoon burst in all its fury and grandeur. The rainfall here ranks among the highest in the world,ranging from an average 70 inches (1,800 mm) in the western part of the state,to 120 inches (3,000 mm) in the east. Much of it falls during the monsoon season.

Every year,the monsoons cause havoc. Standing crops are destroyed. Cities and towns are awash in water,which cannot drain out into the swollen rivers. The drainage channels themselves overflow. Tragically,people fall into them and die,unable to make out where the road under a sheet of water ends,and the drains begin. Deaths occur everywhere,in the villages,in the cities. People switch to survival mode.

Communication lines are snapped and rail,road links falter as water submerges these lines. Boats and ferries stop plying on the rivers,whose currents are now too dangerous for man to negotiate. In Guwahati,rainwater floods the city,and enters homes. The water level of the Brahmaputra during much of the monsoon is higher than the city. Sluice gates need to be closed,and rainwater from the city pumped out,to prevent it

from drowning.

The joy of the Rongali Bihu of April,when the whole valley seems to sing and dance,is a distant memory in these grim times. And autumn,with its Durga Puja celebrations and numerous social functions,its reed-fringed rivers and misty moonlit nights,is still a long way away. The only major festival at this time is Ambubaasi,when it is believed that the Goddess Kamakhya menstruates. After the ritual closure of the temple,the pelting rains “wash” her “clean” again. For,it is a given that it will rain heavily during June and July.

Life in these valleys of the Barak and the Brahmaputra is defined by vast river systems. During the monsoons,the rivers,especially the Brahmaputra,wear a furious aspect. He is the Son of Brahma,one of India’s few male rivers. His is a terrible beauty,a splendour that is often destructive,a Tandava that induces awe and relies on power and strength. The topography of most of the region,with a narrow valley falling between mountains and hills,ensures that a huge volume of rainwater drains into the Brahmaputra itself.

The river,known as “Luit” in Assamese,takes this name,it is said,from the colour of its waters during the monsoons. It is the Red River; red with soil that it washes down from the higher mountain reaches,blood-coloured with the devastation that it wreaks as it rushes down,spreading itself out in a fury of destruction across the plains. Spinning down on these inflamed waters are signs that speak of the helplessness of everything in its path. A thatched roof rushes past on the foamy waters,whirling round and round,as though it was just a bit of straw instead of something that sheltered an entire family. It is witness to the height to which the flood water has risen in the villages across the valleys. Huge trees,their once-sturdy trunks now feeble as matchsticks,swirl past,in a rush of helpless speed. Carcasses of animals,both domestic and wild,are borne down by the impersonal waters. Sometimes,the bodies of men and women who fell into the water many miles upstream,are washed up on the shore of a village downstream,their faces and bodies battered beyond recognition.

Historically,the indigenous people have survived by building wooden and bamboo houses on bamboo stilts that keep them comparatively dry. But today,newer solutions need to be found to these problems.

The deleterious effects of the monsoon floods are there for all to see. Villages are marooned,cattle are washed away. People move about on makeshift rafts and boats. Devastating flash floods also occur in the northern bank. Though water covers the landscape,it is not a safe source for drinking. Water-borne diseases are rampant. Many lives are lost to cholera and jaundice since medical facilities are practically non-existent in the remote hamlets that cluster around the sandbanks that dot the river.

Often,entire islands are submerged,leaving their inhabitants,who have only a fragile foothold on them,to abandon them during the monsoon months. Wildlife tries to move to safer areas on high platforms put up by the Forest Department officials of the sanctuaries. Even so,lives are lost.

The receding flood waters leave behind misery that is,if possible,even more horrific. There is a stench of decay and disease. Worse,the waters deposit a gritty layer on the fields. This is not the silt that makes the land fertile,but sand that renders it sterile.

The floods have yet another face,an even more terrible one. It is that of erosion. All through the monsoons,when the turgid river bursts its banks and sweeps across the valley,villagers take turns at keeping vigil. The fragile embankments that have been put up in a futile gesture against it,simply give way. With a crashing sound,large chunks of precious land drop off into the greedy jaws of the river. The telltale cracks signal that a particular mass will fall. If one’s home is on that chunk,the only option is to abandon it,and run.

Erosion today is a severe problem in Assam,and is a largely unaddressed issue. One has only to go to Majuli,that bastion of Assamese culture,and one of the world’s largest river islands,to see its ravages. Its area was once 1,250 sq km .Today it is a mere 421 sq km. Many sattras,centres of Vaishanavite worship and culture,have had to shift from this island to the mainland,because the land on which they stood was gobbled up by the river. Across the valley,this has been the story as the river relentlessly gores into the land. The towns of Palasbari near Guwahati,Sadiya and a large part of Dibrugarh up in the north,have been gobbled up. Half-hearted measures by the authorities have failed to contain erosion in any appreciable measure.

While the monsoons play a definitive role in India’s social and economic realm,it is only when the clouds,emptied of their water,leave Assam,that the sun finally shines down on the state again. * Mitra Phukan is a Guwahati-based author,columnist and musician