ASSAM : FLOODS

Police Reserve Dibrugarh

"Floods are the acts of God, but flood losses are largely acts of man."

Having spent seventeen years in the midst of verdant hills I knew little about the temperamental fury of water. Yes, I had read headlines and heard breaking news on the disasters wrought by floods, but this was an unknown quantity and I could little fathom the pain and anxiety that Nature could bring to the lives of men.

My battle with the element began way back in 1985 when we were in the district of Cachar, Assam. That year, the river Barak went berserk like the Norse warriors of old…total naked fury. 

The river was unruly, ran amok and the town of Silchar saw floods that were unprecedented. The entire town was submerged; it was almost Biblical. The roads turned into rivers and the water ran as swiftly as our thoughts. 

Gushing, it swept everything that obstructed its way, including heavy motor –cycles. My husband discarded his car and rowed to office on a wooden boat creating waves as the oars splashed. How my six year old son envied him!! And I looked helplessly as the murky liquid engulfed our compound. It was a new, inexplicable situation. Where did I land myself, I thought!!I had to beat my brains out to get the hang of things.

The hungry and tousled refugees from nearby villages flocked into the urban spaces or made homes on the elevated railway tracks. The town was plunged into different shades of darkness for five days, since the supply of electricity had to be severed what with the wires touching the waters at certain points. So nights were as black as a coal-hole. During the day it was raining not cats and dogs, but mischievious monkeys snatching homes and property. The waters around were a turd-pool to say the least.

The floods receded leaving in its wake pestilence, epidemics and stench that could turn your stomach inside out. Relief efforts were always inadequate but human resilience saw everybody through.

The floods of 1987 were as bad as failing an exam and having to repeat it. It was not a skirmish or brush with this chancy aspect of the environment but a Battle Royale. We were in Dibrugarh, a town in Upper Assam where the water of the river Brahmaputra was almost always at a higher level than the town. 

Our residence was spacious with a large compound, well located in downtown Dibrugarh and just 150 meters from the Son of Brahma, the mighty river.  In idyllic conditions nothing could have been better than taking a walk along the river, reading a book under a tree or casting a fishing net. But that was never to be.

That night it was not raining but pouring. Time:11 pm. Hubby, like an expert at his field, measured the level of water in our compound and assured me a good night’s sleep. Thinking him to be infallible we turned in. Whether it was my sixth sense or an unknown Force at work I don't know but I woke up two hours later to find that the water had rolled in not only into the veranda but had covered every inch of the house. Within minutes we dumped whatever was necessary into a suitcase and raised other precious belongings onto higher ground.

I was not expecting a hover-craft or a steam-boat but can you imagine my astonishment when an iffy-looking country boat was summoned to the doorstep. With a one-year old daughter in one hand, curling up to the warmth of my arms, and an umbrella in the other, I stepped on to the rocking boat. It was like living in the far past, a family of hunter-gatherers. Thank God our son was not around to add to the confusion. He was spending his summer vacation with his grandma!!

It was pitch dark. The chauffeur, hubby and the security tugged at the boat and away we sailed across the compound and through half of the highway in the torrential rain to a Willis jeep that was waiting to take us to a drier shelter. The sequence of events was so bizarre that it jaded my senses for a while. I lost my faith of Man’s mastery over Nature. The sun seemed to have sighed its last breadth. Dark clouds edged the ball of fire out of the solar system for days.

I was adamant not to return to our quarters and bravely offered the idea of renting a house.  

My steely resolve dissipated when I saw my other half plunge into rescue operations with a fervour of a mystic. He reminded me that there were two hundred families living in the same campus that faced the situation every year. It was no use tut-tutting. Yes, I thought, it would be like Moses deserting his flock.

So back we went to our humble home. Filth and dirt was all I could discern in my once well-manicured lawn. My flower pots were scattered all over the place. The least said about the interior the better. The stench that emitted spoke for the rest.

But God showed Mercy. My hubby was transferred within three months.

Then again in 1992…..but that is another story for another time.

"The single raindrop never feels responsible for the flood"