was in the middle of the river,
and I had rarely been more
worried. Because I couldn’t
swim. Then or now. “It’ll be
fi ne, Sanjoy,” said Gautam
Bora, the remarkable director
and cinematographer. “Eku
nohoi. (Nothing will happen.)”.
Nothing did, except the boat
lurched a couple of times, as
did my heart, but a sturdy
crew member provided a
steadying hand.
There are many such
riverine stories and journeys,
but their telling will have to
wait. I’m concerned today with
a seamless, non-impeded, and
relaxed trip on New Year’s
Eve of 2018 that took me from
Dibrugarh to an unnamed
islet just off Majuli, the biggest
river island in the world.
Majuli is known for its satras,
or Vaishanava monasteries;
members of the colourful
Mishing tribe live across the
island in their traditional
raised houses, fi xed on thickfrom Mithila land in Bihar
decades ago, mused that it had
been at least a decade since
his last sojourn on this route.
His family’s journey, much
like the one we were making
that day, provided a lens into
the rich, vulnerable, and
complex culture of Assam’s
life and contemporary history,
especially resonant in light of
the ongoing controversy of the
National Register of Citizens.
That day was picture perfect:
clear, with blue skies and a
pleasant sun. I didn’t budge
from my spot near the pilot’s
cabin on top as we chugged
along. There was ample tea and
a delicious lunch of rice, curried
fish, and vegetables cooked
onboard. As dusk darkened
the sky, we made it past the
sandy ghat of Neamati. Ferry
passengers alight at Neamati to
take connecting buses that haul
them to Jorhat, another tea city.
Or they hop onto a ferry that
goes the other way, to Majuli, in
the heart of the river and home
to its sacred faith.
We did neither, for we were
on a private vessel that I had
designed 14 years ago. It was
the longest journey for ‘Akha’
(literally meaning hope), and
she came through with flying
colours. We steamed past the
ghat, dotted with noisy New
Year revellers. Groups of young
men drank; children yelled
and frolicked and waved at us;bamboo stilts to protect them
from fl oods (and in earlier
times, wild animals).
During the seven-hour
journey, our expert navigator,
Kapilash—who knows the
river better than his own
backyard—and I chatted with
crew members and staff over
the nearly 100-kilometre route.
At times, it felt that we were
going round in loops because
the river is so braided and
meandering; we would travel
west for half a kilometre in
one stretch before making a
loop at the next bend. It did not
help that there were virtually
no navigation aids on the
riverside. Ours was a wooden
boat without sophisticated
equipment, so we relied
entirely on Kapilash’s skills and
vast experience.
As we sipped tea and
snacked on biscuits, Kapilash,
whose father had migratedClockwise, from left:
Majuli island is lined with
small villages; the River
Yarlung Tsangpo fl ows in
the Yarlung Tsangpo Grand
Canyon, the deepest in the
world; an Assamese man
plays a dhol as part of a
Bihu dhol dance group.and loud music blared on the
riverside. But we sailed on, till
we came to an unnamed spit of
land. The boat eased gently to
a halt, and we walked down a
plank to terra fi rma.
Preparations began
immediately for a camp fi re and
barbeque. Soon, slices of pork,
chicken, and fi sh were sizzling
on skewers, helped down with
generous helpings of the tangy
local rice beer. There was music
and dancing in the light of the
fi re, to Bihu music and the
beats of a local drummer. We
danced until we could dance no
more and fell onto our beds in
the vessel, the water lapping at
the sides as we fell asleep. The
next morning, I woke up early,
to a vast fog smothering light,
land, and river. The weak rays
of the new year’s sun barely cut
through the misty blanket.
If you want to be truly
relaxed and at one with yourself
on the Brahmaputra, take a
boat, travel with friends, camp
on any of the unknown and
unnamed islands that dot the
riverscape. It doesn’t take much.
The river is a constant calming
presence, strong in its silence
and enduring in its majesty.Hazarika was a speaker at the
ninth edition of the Mountain
Echoes Literary Festival, held
in Thimphu, Bhutan. His
latest book on the Northeast is
Strangers No More.Boats are the only way to
reach Majuli, the largest
river island in the world.CLOCKWISE, FROM LEFT: DINODIA PHOTOS/ALAMY; FENG WEI PHOTOGRAPHY/
GETTYIMAGES;
SABENA JANE BLACKBIRD/ALAMYNATURE’S MIGHTThe boats I’ve travelled on have been lashed
by the wind, caught in rainstorms, and
stuck in sand during the dry season.travelandleisureindia.in