It is blue and there’s no flu
It is truly pretty, next to the city
Whether there
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Or friendship on the shore,
It will still be blue and not have flu
It will still be pretty and next to the city...
...scribbled my nine-year-old son in his diary, as we sat on the deck of a huge steamer, gliding down the placid waters of the Brahmaputra. The April sun beat down on us fiercely, but somehow it didn’t matter. Somewhere, the strains of the tokari wafted through the warm air. The river stretched for miles ahead as I squinted across its rippling waters. Was it really just a river?
We were headed for Majuli, the world’s largest riverine deltaic island, situated on the river Brahmaputra. It was to be a day-long visit, but we could manage just a couple of hours there. As we stepped onto the 700sq ft island, I was a bit nervous. It was here, after all, that social activist Sanjoy Ghose was killed by ULFA extremists over a decade ago.
Right now, standing on the lush green terrain of this picturesque island, however, that brutal reality seemed as distant as the time when the island was the cultural capital of the Ahom dynasty in the 16th century. Actually, Majuli goes back even further, to the time when Lord Krishna apparently played with his friends there, making it a fount of the Vaishnavite sect of Hinduism. Even today, 65 of the 655 satras of the Neo-Vaishnavite culture founded by Sankardeva still exist, paradoxically also serving as a refuge for militants.
Walking along the narrow road which cut through the emerald-green paddy fields, we were told by our guide, Dulal Saikia, a Brahmachari from the Auniati monastery, that Majuli has 77% literacy, with 243 schools and seven colleges. First inhabited in the 12th century, this island is home to 155 species of migratory birds, originally spread over 1,256 sq km. Soil erosion has claimed much of the land, especially after the earthquake of 1950, so Majuli is smaller now.
We were taken on a tour of Majuli including a museum that has relics of the Ahom dynasty, monasteries as well as tribal culture. During the three-day Raas festival, the entire island has a festive air as devotees are magically transported to the gardens of Vrindavan. Boarding the steamer at Kamalabari Ghat for the return to Jorhat, the nearest town, I turned back to catch a last glimpse of the Majuli’s evergreen shoreline. I couldn’t help but wonder why man chooses to defy nature, and do things that destroy all that God has created?
Although we were tired, the three-hour ride across the Brahmaputra was a breeze. The steamer was packed with people and their motorbikes, returning to the mainland after their day’s work. We sat on the deck, rocking gently as we watched the the azure sky turn bright orange and then pale lilac as the sun dipped. The Brahmaputra presented the celestial kaleidoscope and the silence all around was overwhelming.
The Brahmaputra, considered India’s only "male" river touches Jorhat in its upper reaches as it cruises down Assam to join the Ganga in
From Jorhat, the Brahmaputra flows down the plains of Assam, slicing through the rocks of the Shillong Plateau, touching Guwahati near the ancient pilgrimage centre of Hajo. While pretty wide at Jorhat, it is quite narrow and deep in Guwahati. We enjoyed the river most there, especially the boat rides, as the river is very narrow there. It’s just about a km wide at Saraighat, the scene of the famous battle between Lachit Barphukan, the valiant general of the Ahom dynasty who defeated the Mughal army despite having a weaker force...
We crossed the Saraighat bridge, the first one to have been built over the mighty river (in 1962), on our way to the 450-year old Kamakhya temple atop Neelanchal hill, considered one of the 51 shakti peeths. We climbed down to the sanctum sanctorum, where the object of worship is a huge rock, symbolic of the reproductive organ of Sati. It is believed that this is where Sati’s womb fell when Vishnu destroyed her corpse as Shiva danced the Tandava. We offered our prayers and toured the temple, as it was not crowded in the afternoon.
At our son’s insistence we took a boat to a small island in the river, a few km upstream from Guwahati. From the ghats of Guwahati, it looked no more than a clump of trees but we were in for a pleasant surprise. Dedicated to Lord Shiva, this peaceful little island, was brimming with activity, with its own temple. Huge earthen ovens dug in the ground sizzled as the afternoon ‘bhog’ was being prepared. We were told that the island really came alive during Shivaratri.
As we walked around the island, I was overwhelmed by the panoramic view of the water and distant Khasi hills. Golden langurs, which the island is famous for, frolicked in the forest that looked like a mysterious dark shroud when we passed the evening before. I had looked away nervously then, preferring to admire the twinkling lights of the city, reflected in the ripples of the river. But, as the sun’s rays dappled the greenery and water this morning, life in all its myriad splendour burst forth, including freshwater Gangetic dolphins!
It is believed that if you cross the Brahmaputra once, you have to cross it seven times. We did. Twice at Guwahati and then at Tezpur, where the river is really wide — a 4 km long bridge spans the river there, with its gleaming white sandy beaches. Leaving Tezpur, we followed the Brahmaputra as it lazily meandered. After about an hour, as the sun set the Karbi Anglong hills loomed to our right, rife with legends, including the origin of the name of the Kaziranga, the vast forest reserve whose fringes we touched.
It was a beautiful drive down the undulating road with forests on either side. We stopped at a view point and fixed our binoculars on the I picked up the binoculars and focussed. It was the one-horned rhino! She simply stood there along with her calf, right in the middle of the grassy knoll. Before I could adjust my lens, I spotted two more! As I zoomed in to capture these magnificent animals forever on camera as well as in my mind’s eye, two elephants walked out from behind the tall grass. Did we really need to go into the forest? A treat for all wildlife lovers seemed to be right here! And, beyond it all lay the serpentine Brahmaputra, its blue trail visible even from this far. We ventured into the forest the next morning. Dawn was breaking and the grasslands, wet with the night dew, was spread out all around us. I inhaled deeply the fragrance of the crisp morning air as we made our way through the tall elephant grass. As the sun’s rays tinted the sky a blushing light pink, we were greeted by another huge grey rhino. It seemed to take a fancy to the elephant we were riding, but as we neared, we decided that its stare seemed antagonistic rather than friendly! Later we learnt that rhinos have rather poor eyesight, but just then, it didn’t seem so. It moved towards us fast, head a little bent, that famed single horn threatening. The elephant slowly moved away, ignoring the rhino’s aggressive stance, unimpressed! We saw no tigers, but did see pug marks on the wet trail, and day-old nail marks on tree trunks. What really interested us were the birds. There were adjutant storks, lesser and greater, the Royal Bengal Floricane, an extremely rare bird which alone attracts tourists from all over the world as it is found only in Kaziranga, the Brahmini duck and many more. While the rest of us gaped at turtles basking in the sun, my husband clicked away furiously, focussing on the incredible variety of birds. The spot-billed Pelican, the black Drongo, the bar-headed goose, the crested serpent eagle, the pied-kingfisher, the grey-headed fish eagle, the whistling duck...Kaziranga is an ornithologist’s delight. My husband, though, still regrets having wasted time taking photographs — birds should simply be watched, not photographed! As we settled down to an uneventful evening at the local hotel, we were pleasantly surprised when a troupe enlivened the evening with the Jhumur dance, followed by the Bihu. The sounds of silence, which had until now enveloped us so completely as we sat amid the tall bamboos redolent of the fragrance of the night air, were shattered as the jungle came alive with rythmic beats. | |
Alas we could not trail the mighty river to its origin at the Kailash Mansarovar. Legend has it that Brahma and Amogha had a son who was placed
Tibetans believe that a Bodhisattva wanted the water of this great lake to help the people and cut a passage through the mountains, letting the water flow through the plateau of Tibet and enter India through Arunachal Pradesh. These legends keep alive the mystical and spiritual significance of the Brahmaputra, which, divinity notwithstanding, is considered one of the least polluted rivers in the country. It does have its share of effluents though, especially in upper Assam near Dibrugarh due to oil drilling. But, as we drove along the river that evening, only the aroma of fresh tea wafted through the evening air as the area has some of the largest tea gardens in India. We were heading for the Dibru Saikhowa National Park, the largest forest reserve in the state, famous for its white-winged wood duck and 79 feral horses, the pearl horses. We couldn’t reach before sunset so we halted at the Dinjan military base on the river’s southern bank, cancelling our trip there as we had to press on further the next day. We visited a World War II airstrip built during the Japanese invasion of Burma. Sadly, nothing was visible as natural vegetation has grown back. Pasighat was our next halt, but we were advised against it as the rains had begun. Surrounded by the Himalayas, Pasighat, the oldest town in Arunachal Pradesh is where the Siang (Brahmaputra) turns south to enter the plains to flow into Assam, after a tumultuous journey as the Tsangpo through the Tibetan plateau and the world’s longest, deepest (and as yet unexplored) canyon at Mt Namchi Barwa. There are ferry rides on the Brahmaputra between Pasighat and Dibrugarh but that’s dangerous during the monsoon. The Jamuna, as it is called in Bangladesh, changed its course due to an earthquake more than two centuries ago. Still known by its original name, it joins the Meghna, and the new Jamuna flows into Padma, both sets converging at Chandpur near Dhaka. Much as I wanted to, it was impossible to travel along the entire course of this nearly 3000-km long river. But I at least had the satisfaction of having seen it through its entire stretch through Assam. Different names, different identities have been given to this son of Brahma, as it penetrates through man-made borders, defying terrestrial obstructions, sometimes swelling, sometimes gentle, both destroyer and sustainer, it flows proud and unhindered. It’s been a few months since I saw the Brahmaputra. Why do its images still linger in my mind? | |
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