ent on the June-September monsoons for growing crops to
feed its teeming millions, even a slight variation in rainfall
leads to drought. Crop failures bring in its wake farmer sui-
cides, the numbers growing over the years.
It’s a nightmarish situation. Successive governments have
sought solutions in grand schemes, which are politically
palatable, but have huge social and economic costs. The
interlinking of rivers can lead to different kinds of problems
in the future, as is the case with big dams. Tap water for all,
apart from its high costs, can lead to higher demand due to
increased wastages. The Clean Ganga project may yield
inadequate results. Hence, what is required is a medium-
and long-term blueprint for water management. There are
simpler and easier solutions to tackle the problems.
Rainwater harvesting, conservation, recharging of
groundwater, and recycling hold the key to the country’s
water security. Or else, like in the other parts of the globe,
India may find itself in the midst of intense water wars—
battles between states, conflicts with our neighbours and
civic unrest. The signs are there; it’s time to wake up, and
smell the bitter coffee.
In the drought-hit Bheed district of western Maharashtra,
people line up their pots two days ahead of the arrival of a
government tanker that brings them potable water every
week. But once the vehicle arrives, all hell breaks loose as
people rush and fight to be the first to get their quota. There
are also reports of violent brawls over sharing water from
community handpumps, sometimes leading to deaths. Last
year, a 60-year-old man and his 18-year-old son died after a
fight with some of his neighbours in northwest Delhi.
Around May this year, as India reeled under a blistering heat
wave, police were deployed to guard tankers and control
crowds after several cases of violence over water.
Facts and figures (see p.40) give a clear picture of the grim
situation. Given the demand projections, the availableKaziranga Loves a Good Flood
Cats are lazy and, given a choice, a Royal Bengal will be snug on
a family’s master bed than wet its feet in floodwaters. It happens.
A tiger resting in the bedroom of a house along the highway that
cleaves through Kaziranga is the most enduring image of this
year’s monsoonal floods, which have affected millions of people
and livestock, and several counts of wildlife, in Assam. Floods in
Assam are perennial; the Brahmaputra and his tributaries are the
baddest boys in the rains. They behave like angry wet cats—wildly
destructive, clawing out clods of soil from their banks, inundating
acres upon acres of farmland, and Kaziranga too.
And every year, like this year, images of rhinos, elephants,
buffaloes and deer swimming in floodwaters, or sheltering
on man-made hummocks, or crossing the busy highway make
awe- inducing photo-ops for those unaware of the park’s ecology.
Kaziranga exists because of the floods; they are the lifeblood of
this 430 square km protected area, a Unesco World Heritage Site.
“Floods are the backbone of a floodplain ecosystem. Without
the floods, Kaziranga won’t be like what it is now. There
won’t be any rhinos. The natural flooding is good. But we
need to ensure safe passage for the animals from the flooded
grasslands to the highlands (the Karbi Anglong hills abutting
the park),” says Rathin Barman, the joint director of Wildlife
Trust of India and head of the Centre for Wildlife Rehabilitation
and Conservation in Kaziranga.
The floodplains of the Brahmaputra, which licks the park,
are washed over every year, leaving behind rich alluvium. Out
of this nutrient-rich silt sprouts the tall elephant grass; fodder
for herbivores and perfect cover for predators—like the tiger
that sneaked into a family’s home. The annual floods bring
nutrients to the water bodies that sustain a variety of aquatic
life. These “food-rich” ponds attract migratory birds, some from
as far as Siberia.
More than 200 wild animals, including rhinos, have died in
the deluge. Still, Kaziranga’s problem is not its floods, but
us— humans. Over the past decade, an explosion of commercial
establishments—private tourist lodges and eateries—have
choked the park’s fringes. Encroachment of buffer zones is rife
too. And then, growing traffic on the highway and insensitive
drivers make it extremely unsafe for animals to cross the road
to reach the highlands. O
Abdul Gani in Guwahati
5 august 2019 OutlOOk 33
Photograph: Pti