Autumn is the best time to visit Majuli, because it is the season Lord Krishna had chosen to perform Raas Leela . The festival is so intertwined with the culture of this hallowed spot, that the whole place reverberates with spiritual fervour and the joy of celebration at this time. Unlike the fortunate many, however, the choice of time was not in our hands. So, during our recent trip home in September, when a friend of our daughter, with family ties to the island, offered to be our guide, we jumped at the chance.

Nimatighat, the take-off point of our tour, is the quintessential ferry crossing facility of Assam. White sandy banks slope down into the mighty river, which merges with the horizon. A not-so-firm looking plank acts as the jetty along which humans and two wheelers board the boat. Two narrower ones are placed a few feet apart for four wheelers to drive up to the deck which can accommodate no more than three vehicles at a time. Deepak, our young friend, did a good job of negotiating the car onto the ferry, and our trip began.

A journey across the untamed expanse of the Brahmaputra everywhere has its own thrill. This time around, I had, in addition, hoped to see some river dolphins on the way, but it was 4.30pm when we took off and darkness was falling fast. “We will see them on our way back”, I consoled myself, as well as my daughter.

Majuli seen in the fading light can give one a jolt. A long stretch of visibly eroded shoreline with no protective measure except for a few inadequate looking porcupines at some spots greets the visitor as the ferry approaches the Kamalabari ghat. It could be any biggish chapori, one of the many that rise out of the river, I thought, instead of being the largest river island in the world jostling for a place at the UNESCO World Heritage Site. Disembarkation was also done in the age-old method of using wooden planks, but a touch of modernity was provided by the new models of SUVs waiting to pick up passengers, and the sleek motor bikes being pushed off the ferry. We bumped along the unpaved stretch acting as the road to Kamalabari. The headlights showed huts on stilts lining both sides of this road. Children with the tell-tale stamp of malnutrition ran in and out. No, they were not refugees, Deepak informed us. These were bonafide Majulials whose villages with all their assets had been claimed by the river. Obviously, they come under the purview of none of the government welfare schemes or the UN High Commission for Refugees. Their only option is to cling to life and somehow eke out a living on the embankment till that ground also vanishes from beneath their feet.

Kamalabari, some three kilometres from the ghat, is a bustling market area. Here, Badan Satola, Deepak’s uncle and our host, was waiting for us. He had booked us into a hotel opposite the Majuli Police Station. Seuj Bilaas was a small Assam type complex with a few rooms and dining facility. The place was clean and comfortable, with running water and a power generator. The tarriff rates were extremely moderate and the meals with fresh local produce had delicious home-cooked flavours.

The next morning, our host took us on a visit to the Satras. Our first stop was the famous Auniati Satra, where we were in time for the morning naam-prasanga. After offering prayers at this historic seat of the Vaishnavite faith of Assam, we went to a goha, an establishment of the satra disciple housing his wards. This is a unique system where each Bhakat,a lifelong bachelor, looks after his family of several ‘sons’. The boys, little Bhakats in the making, come from all over Assam. They are given religious training in the satra, but are otherwise educated in regular schools and colleges. The entire cost of running his household is borne by the Bhakat himself. Hence, apart from his religious duties, a satra disciple has to take up some occupation to sustain himself and his ‘family’. This, I thought, is quite in contrast to the secure lives of the Catholic priests and nuns whose needs are amply taken care of by the Church. Then, I remembered the fabulous wealth and opulence of the Vatican and the Euros, we, tourists, contributed to their kitty for visiting each part of the Basilica of St Peter’s. Here, we were obliged to pay not a single paisa to the Satras! As for wealth, their lands eroded by the river in Majuli were encroached upon with impunity elsewhere.

The Auniati Satra has a magnificent gate with two sculpted lions guarding the portals. Entry of any kind of vehicle, as well as footwear, is prohibited beyond this point. Inside the premises is located a museum housing artefacts from the Ahom era, including sachipat scrolls and gifts from royalty, as well as prized articles of use belonging to this 17th century Vaishnavite institution. A disciple who is a college student has been deputed by the Satradhikar to act as a guide and he does a commendable job. One, however, wishes that modern scientific methods were used to protect these priceless items from the fury of the elements.

Our next visit was to Uttar Kamalabari Satra. Because of massive erosion, the ancient Kamalabari Satra has been relocated to Titabar. The original institution now has two branches in Majuli and this particular one houses some of the old artefacts. Kamalabari Satra is the epicentre of Satriya art, culture and literature in the State and artistes, especially from Uttar Kamalabari, have presented cultural functions in many parts of India and abroad. Both here and in Natun Kamalabari Satra, which we visited the next day, we saw auditoriums where regular classes of Satriya studies and art, as well as cultural functions, are held.

No tour of Majuli is complete without paying obeisance at the famed Dakhinpat Satra. The road from Kamalabari to this institution is over the embankment which is supposed to protect the island from the river’s foraging power. There are many villages along this route which have a makeshift appearance, thanks to the ongoing erosion. The dyke is not only the sole barricade, but also the single communication route these hamlets possess. The PWD road, like most other link roads in the place, is in such bad shape that traversing the fifteen odd kilometres seemed like going five times the distance.

One of the oldest seats of the Vaishnavite faith, Dakhinpat Satra was established by Satradhikar Sri Banamalidev in 1584. Here, the idol of Mahaprabhu Jadavarai is worshipped. A very ornate gateway with religious motifs, animals and flowers beautifully engraved over it welcomes the visitor. Similar sculptures and paintings with divine overtone adorning the walls of the Namghar heighten the aesthetic appeal of the sacred precints.

On the way to Dakhinpat, we passed the approach to the Bengenaati Satra, a repository of priceless antiques and an important centre for performing art. This institution, too, was forced to shift here from its original site because of erosion. Our host pointed out a piece of land encircled by water.

“It won’t take the flood waters more than 15 minutes to breach this last bit of land standing. In that case, Majuli will be bifurcated and the historic Satra will be gone,” he stated in a matter of fact way.

We were stunned. Loss, vital and irreparable, has become a way of life in this potential island paradise. The fertile tracts which could have been the granary of the State are left at the mercy of a ravenous river, while the authorities and the general public in the mainland do little more than mouth platitudes.

A visitor to Majuli has reasons to be overwhelmed, not only by its natural and cultural splendour, but also by its spirit of endurance. Over the years, the island and its inhabitants have been fighting for survival against tremendous odds. The mighty Brahmaputra and its tributaries have wreaked havoc, reducing its area from an estimated2,82,165 acres in 1853 to around 1253 sq kilometres today. Majulials live an uncertain life from one season to the next. There are hundreds who have lost their homes and fertile lands, sometimes overnight. Compensation has been minimal, if any, and relocation difficult and heartbreaking. Yet, one is struck by the people’s equanimity, their faith, their enterprise. The place exudes an old world charm difficult to come by in the Assam of today. The co-passengers in the ferry are happy that you have come to visit their island. The Bhakats in the Satra extend their hospitality and hope that you can come again during the Raas festival. In a Mising village, neighbours converge on your host’s courtyard to meet you and exchange pleasantries. Despite the not too frequent ferry service and the bad roads, the shops stock most things a finicky tourist might need. There are reasonably good hotels and also guest houses run by the principal Satras. Public transport system is almost non-existent on the island, but you can hire vehicles to move around. Within a short while, a visitor would feel the inherent charm of the place and realise its potential as a tourist destination. Here is Nature in her unspoilt and awesome grandeur. Here thrives the precious cultural and religious tradition established by the great Vaishnavite saints of Assam. Here live in harmony several ethnic groups, showcasing their unique heritage through their very lifestyles and occupations. And most important from a tourist’s point of view, is a spirit of welcome pervading the whole atmosphere. A sense of hope pulsates in the air despite the uncertainty of life and the lack of official patronage. This comes perhaps from the resilience and resourcefulness of the people evident all over the place. They have battled calamities unimaginable in most parts of the world. To have retained their faith, their optimism and carried on cheerfully is a most remarkable feat.

The cheer, the optimism is infectious. You leave the fragile acres not with a feeling of despondency, but with pleasant memories. Of Namghars reverberating with a faith age-old, but abiding, of wet-lands set against the evening sun, where egrets converge in their hundreds to fish, of omnipotent rivers feared but not hated, of a people colourful, ebullient and welcoming. On our way back, we once again failed to see the illusive river dolphin, but then we were going to return to this beautiful island soon. It was only “au revoir Majuli, to you and your magnificent people.”

Maitreyee Barua Das