NORTHEAST INDIA
T
HE MORNING FERRY HAS
just moored on Majuli, and the
dock is a picture of chaos.
Mopeds, pick-ups and trucks
clatter off the boat, rolling
down gangplanks onto the sandy shoreline.
Dockers shout over the gunwales and cargo
is unloaded: sacks of rice, oil drums, crates
of vegetables, an air-con unit, a couple of TVs.
Passengers clamber down the gangplanks
and load themselves into tuk-tuks lined up
on the sand. Then the traffic flow shifts into
reverse: the ferry fills up, cargo is reloaded
and, in 10 minutes, it’s pulling away from the
jetty, put-putting across the Brahmaputra.
Marooned in the middle of the river, this
sprawling island has no airport or bridge, so
the ferries are its only link to the mainland.
The river dictates everything on Majuli.
It provides for the island’s fishermen but,
more importantly, it nourishes the paddy
fields: rice-growing is Majuli’s staple
industry and more than a hundred varieties
are grown here, including an iron-rich red
rice that features in many Assamese dishes.
Living alongside the river has its
advantages, but it doesn’t make for an easy
life. During the monsoon, much of the
island disappears underwater but, rather
than trying to fight it, locals have adapted to
its capricious nature. Mamu Payeng Kaman
is a member of the Mising, the largest of
Majuli’s tribes. Like everyone in her village,- Majuli
Catch a boat to the world’s largest river island, a land
of rice paddies, stilt houses and sacred monasteries
From the Neamati Ghat jetty, it’s an hour’s journey
to the tea gardens of Jorhat.yAccommodation is limited on Majuli, so it’s
best visited as a day trip. If you decide to stay,
Me:Po Okum offers basic thatched huts
modelled on chang ghar. They’re rudimentary –
bare mattresses, cold-water taps, no showers- but the food is tasty (from £18; contact owner
Haren Narah on 00 91 9435203165).
Ferries run several times a day from the jetty at
Neamati Ghat, near Jorhat, to Majuli. Most satras
are open to visitors, but a local guide is helpful for
interpreting (majuli.org).
Essentials
she lives in a chang ghar, or stilt house.
Built from handwoven bamboo panels and
topped with thatch, it’s a time-worn design.
‘The river is part of life here,’ Mamu
explains, as she weaves cloth on a hand-
loom, her words underscored by the clack
and whirr of the shuttle. ‘We cannot control
it, so we have to find ways to adapt.’ She
points to a canoe moored beneath the house:
when the floods come, she explains, it’s the
only means of transport. ‘Canoes are cheap.
They don’t eat hay and don’t use petrol!’
The islanders are used to coping with the
river’s whims, but it’s something that will
become more difficult with the onset of
climate change. Over the past century, the
island has lost three-quarters of its land:
from 480 square miles in 1900 to just 136 in- With each monsoon, the river level
creeps a little higher, and more of the island
vanishes into the Brahmaputra’s waters.
According to some predictions, the island
could be submerged within the next 15 years.
Concerned for the future, many islanders
have relocated to the mainland, but others
have stayed. Among them are the residents
of Majuli’s satras, or sacred monasteries,
which are devoted to the strand of Hinduism
known as Neo-Vaishnavism.
Jayanta Saikia lives at one of the oldest
monasteries, Dakhinpat Satra, established
in 1584. Now 22, he’s been a monk for six
years, and plays the khol, a double-sided
drum, during holy festivities. ‘It takes a long
time to learn the performances,’ he says.
‘Some can last for hours!’
With a flurry of beats that ring around
the temple’s atrium, Jayanta finishes his
practice and pads across the satra’s gardens.
Inside the monastery, the sound of chanting
strikes up. A bell rings, announcing evening
prayer. Outside the gates, the waters of the
Brahmaputra slip by, and a fisherman
casts his nets into the twilight.Chang ghar (stilt houses) on the
banks of the Brahmaputra. LEFT Mamu
Payeng Kaman weaving cloth. RIGHT
Candles light up Dakhinpat Satra