The river islands of the river Brahmaputra, locally known as the ‘char-chaporis’, cover about 3.60 lakh hectares of land and a population of approximately 24.90 lakhs, which is almost 10 percent of the population of Assam (Economic Survey, 2002-03).
The char inhabitants, largely Bengali-Speaking Muslims, however, are naturally subject to constant threat and erosion during the monsoon season.
The Brahmaputra basin undergoes heavy erosion combined with shifting river-channels, making the valley extremely flood prone, which further affects the life and livelihood. In addition to this, the char-chaporis are densely populated which adds to the flood.
The Brahmaputra, a ‘geological wonder’ as Assamese historian Arupjyoti Saikia (2019) calls it, has a tradition of supporting seasonal agriculture and other farm activities, despite frequent floods.
Due to the fertile nature of the river islands and the flood plains, the area was initially domesticated by the Ahom kings by constructing embankments and promoted agriculture.
The Brahmaputra also supported fishing, boat-making, and gold washing during the Middle Ages and particularly during the Ahom rule and early colonial era. Even during the colonial period, the river islands served as a major source of revenue for the Empire. Even in postcolonial Assam, the river islands function as a lifeline for many. I have narrated a few stories from my fieldwork, which will be evident in the next section of the essay.The stories show how the people express their love for their chars as well as live in a constant fear of eviction, displacement and statelessness.
Through the Lens of Monirul, Hafza and Junaid
One afternoon, when I asked Monirul (37), a char dweller, what char means to him, he replied, ‘amar jibonei sor sapori, nohole ami kot jam, kot thakim, ki kori kham’ (our life is in this the river island, otherwise where will we go, where will we sleep, what will we eat). His face turned downhearted and at the same time he smiled looking at the river. Monirul dwells on fishing and has a wooden fishing boat, with no safety equipment in it. He also practices seasonal agriculture where he cultivates watermelon during the summer season in a small piece of the char area. ‘Toka poisar birat digdar hoi, kintu olpo kosto kori holeo solibo sesta koru’ (there is a financial constraint, but we try to manage to meet the ends), says Monirul Hafiza (45). A widow survived by five children has a different story. She says, ‘ami nodir manuh, nodiye amar sob’ (we are river people, river means everything for us). This shows that the river and the river islands have literally shaped their life and identities over the period of time. Junaid (60) says ‘ami eyat e dangor hoisu, eyat e morim. Amar baba maa ei soror e basinda aasile. Char bhange aru bone, kintu ami thakim’ (We grew up here, will die here. My parents lived in this river island. River-islands erodes and disappears, but we will stay).
Even though I grew up in Assam, I have spent most of my time in a Roman catholic school and have mostly remained away from the flooding and fluctuations of the Brahmaputra. But, during my fieldwork, I have first come across Monirul, Hafiza and Junaid. For them, to be a ‘river people’, one has to be constructed and deconstructed by the Brahmaputra itself.
Identity and displacement
Despite their love for the river, the char inhabitants are in a constant fear of eviction,displacement, and fearing loss of livelihood. The ‘river people’ also suffer a conflict of identity and ethnicity. The Bengali Speaking Muslims, who are also the largest category of the ‘river people’ among all in Assam, manyhave tried to assimilate with the larger Assamese culture, where there has been both acceptance and rejections from the Assamese society. This deepens the conflict in the identities of the char dwellers.Historically, during the British rule, the char inhabitants were denied land ownership, and the Line System of the colonial state further marginalised them. This is visible even today asthe ‘river people’ continues to be a floating population in the eyes of the state. Another concern among the ‘river people’ is that they are not covered under any social security schemes. Further, the National Register of Citizens (2019) have excluded 1.9 million people from the final list and the ‘river people’ constitutes a major part of the list. This also created a state of mental and emotional distress among them, as the inhabitants are made vulnerable and are on the risk of being stateless.
Concluding remarks
The essay thus shows a postcolonial condition, or a situation of postcoloniality where the ‘river people’ have been surviving legacies of a colonial economy based upon resource extraction and a continually relevant identity-based politics intersect to make for precarious living. The argument is not only how these marginalised population continue to reside in the equally fragile and volatile environments, but also how these risks are co-produced and often manifested through state-led interventions on the river islands.
Note: The names have been changed to ensure anonymity.
(The author is a doctoral researcher in Sociology at Brunel University London. All views and opinions expressed are the author’s own.)
