MAJULI- river island
Majuli, in Assam, is touted in the media and tourist brochures alike as the largest river island in the world. It is not. The Bananal Island in Brazil is much larger at 19,000 square kilometres. With each passing day, Majuli is in fact shrinking. It has shrunk from its original 1,250 square kilometres to an area of only 421 square kilometres today. Year after year the waters of the Brahmaputra close in on the island swallowing acres of land, inch by steady inch.
A local rowing a boat across the fields in Majuli
The tribals, who form the majority of the island's inhabitants, like to shack up near the shore. But they have had to withdraw their bamboo stilt houses further and further inland every year. Majuli, in fact, does not need trumped up statistics to enhance its status. It is so spectacularly otherworldly that you feel you are in a different country altogether. Which is saying a lot, because the Northeast itself is so out of the world in every sense of the word.
A local rowing a boat across the fields in Majuli
The tribals, who form the majority of the island's inhabitants, like to shack up near the shore. But they have had to withdraw their bamboo stilt houses further and further inland every year. Majuli, in fact, does not need trumped up statistics to enhance its status. It is so spectacularly otherworldly that you feel you are in a different country altogether. Which is saying a lot, because the Northeast itself is so out of the world in every sense of the word.
The Majuli romance begins right at the outset - with the ferry ride at Jorhat. In fact, for a long time afterwards, it remains the most memorable part of the Majuli visit, despite its cultural and scenic wonders. This was true for me, especially because I chose to hop on a local ferry, instead of hiring a private motorised boat.
Women working in the paddy fields in Assam
For Rs 20, at Jorhat, I was herded with the fishermen, traders and tribals - people who sail everyday between the island and the mainland - carrying with them their goods along with bikes, cycles and also cars.
Women working in the paddy fields in Assam
For Rs 20, at Jorhat, I was herded with the fishermen, traders and tribals - people who sail everyday between the island and the mainland - carrying with them their goods along with bikes, cycles and also cars.
As soon as we started sailing, the men arranged themselves in groups between the cars and bikes on the ferry's roof, to play cards. And the women occupied the lower deck, as they began singing and dancing to popular Assamese songs. The song-anddance routine is evidently a regular feature on the Majuli ferry. The might of the Brahmaputra became evident in this one hour upstream journey to Majuli, as I marvelled at the river's expanse. "During the monsoon you don't see the coast at all," informed a local. The river was swollen. The setting sun dazzled the waters, merging land and water in its reds and orange. You could just as well be on a vast ocean.
Sunset is magical on the Brahmaputra
With my camera shutter busy, I stuck out as the lone tourist. I thought Majuli would be brimming with sightseers. But I was mistaken. It seemed I was the only stranger on the island. At the government-run Circuit House, where I had made reservations, I was treated like a VIP. The cook, the manager, the waiter - the three regular employees - came to receive me at the gate. Perhaps they mistook me for a government official! Perhaps they were grateful to have a tourist, at last! The Satras, Vaishnava religious centres first established in the 15th century, where I headed to early next morning, wore a deserted look. These Satras are quite unlike conventional hermitages; their identity is more cultural than religious. Students have been coming here for centuries to learn a variety of arts, including dance, music, theatre and mask-making. All these artforms survive to this day, along with the age-old monastic rituals - the discipline, the prayers and the celibacy.
Sunset is magical on the Brahmaputra
With my camera shutter busy, I stuck out as the lone tourist. I thought Majuli would be brimming with sightseers. But I was mistaken. It seemed I was the only stranger on the island. At the government-run Circuit House, where I had made reservations, I was treated like a VIP. The cook, the manager, the waiter - the three regular employees - came to receive me at the gate. Perhaps they mistook me for a government official! Perhaps they were grateful to have a tourist, at last! The Satras, Vaishnava religious centres first established in the 15th century, where I headed to early next morning, wore a deserted look. These Satras are quite unlike conventional hermitages; their identity is more cultural than religious. Students have been coming here for centuries to learn a variety of arts, including dance, music, theatre and mask-making. All these artforms survive to this day, along with the age-old monastic rituals - the discipline, the prayers and the celibacy.
There were said to be 65 Satras of which 22 survive today. Among them Daksinpath, Garamur and Auniati are the famous ones, with more monks and more cultural activities around. The senior monks were only too happy to take me around into their private quarters, besides organising impromptu dance recitals.
Shuttling from one Satra to another, we drive on the road built along a levee separating from us large tracks of wetlands populated with smorgasbord of birds, both migratory and indigenous. The wetlands, covered with a thin layer of algae, are negotiated by farmers on a canoe. Buffaloes with their long sweeping horns lie neck deep in the waters chewing cud. Elsewhere women with their saris tied around their ankles, harvest paddy. Under the wooden bridges the fishermen stand on boats throwing their nets. It is an idyllic world where you feel like an intruder. Whether Majuli will go underwater due to geological reasons or because of man's meddling, is not clear. But what is sure is that with this river island will vanish a unique culture.
