A river cruise on the Brahmaputra is more than just a wet and wild experience, writes NARAYANI GANESH
What was the lady doing? I can see her bending low on the emb a n k m e n t , carefully spooning the rich alluvial sand into a Ziploc bag. The tourist from Canada, here on a river cruise aboard the M V Mahabaahu on the Brahmaputra, had seen me do this the previous evening, spooning sand into a bag, and asked me what I would do with it.I had told her I would place it in the tulsi pot at home, the Holy Basil.And now she is going to carry a part of the Brahmaputra all the way back to Canada, perhaps add it to her garden soil. Well, the Brahmaputra does cast a spell of sorts on you! As wide as a sea, as grey as George Clooney’s hair,competing with the sky in its vastness and mystery.When you look out from the top deck of the vessel we’re sailing on,you can see water and sky meet at the horizon, leaving a trail of at least 50 shades of grey.
River dolphins that jump up and disappear back into the water in the blink of an eye — they too are grey, a perfect camouflage.Who knew that the colour grey could so captivate one? The route we’ve taken is from Jorhat to Guwahati, sailing on the Brahmaputra for a whole week, stopping each day at a different place, experiencing new things — a Mishing tribal village and weavers’ community; ancient monuments of the Ahom Kingdom at Sibsagar; even more ancient temples and rituals that continue to this day and the world’s largest inhabited river island, Majuli with its Neo-Vaishnavite tradition.We also have the privilege of visiting a rambling private tea estate that hosts a delicious home-cooked lunch; go on a boat safari on the Dhansiri River where it meets the Brahmaputra,spotting swamp deer on the banks and watching a wild buffalo nurse its wounds in the river and see two tortoises having a tete-atete beneath a piece of driftwood. We get off at Bishwanath Ghat and offer prayers at the ancient Shiva temple; visit a 100-year-old tea factory and a jute mill; go on elephant and jeep safaris in Kaziranga National Park that takes you close to rhinos and elephants, buffalos and deer.The jeep safari offers us the experience of viewing at least 40 to 50 species of birds that fly past or perch on trees,a bird-watcher’s delight. We spend considerable time in a village of Bangladeshi people, admiring their spic and span homes and feel happy that all their children attend regular school. Visiting the homes of Mishing tribals and those of Bangladeshi migrants in another village, one is struck by the simplicity and utter neatness and cleanliness not just inside the home but also outside. Absolutely no trash to be seen anywhere.
This is the kind of minimalist lifestyle one yearns for, to do away with all clutter and garbage, to stay free and happy, with no extra baggage weighing you down. We couldn’t see plastic or any other garbage anywhere on the 385-km journey down the Brahmaputra,not on the river, not in the villages, not on its banks — but once we docked in Guwahati, all that changed. Plenty of trash here, with discarded plastic water bottles and plastic wrappers lining the stairway to the Umananda temple on Peacock Island. It is abundantly obvious that urbanisation is not synonymous with civilisation. At Guwahati,we take a boat to Peacock Island, the smallest inhabited river island in the world, to see the golden langurs housed here in the hope that they would breed uninhibited in the secluded island. “Now I know where David Bowie copied his look from,”exclaims Sandra from New Mexico,who has been watching the langurs carefully, who are now perched on tree branches, their long and luxuriant tails dropping down like Rapunzel’s hair.“Look, doesn’t he look like Bowie?”Yes indeed, we had to agree.At the foothill is a resplendent golden Hanuman in brass, perhaps telling us:look,here’s the abode of the golden langur! Once we’re back on the mainland, we make straight for the Kamakhya Temple,where Parvati’s genitalia is said to have fallen when Shiva carried her body across the cosmos in anger.The colour theme is red, red, and red. At every turn at the temple you see blotches of vermillion, on the floor, smeared on deities, garlanded with deep red hibiscus.
The only aberration is that they continue the practice of animal sacrifice.... But the power of faith is evident here as devotees stand and wait patiently in serpentine queues in order to go to the sanctum sanctorum with the stones and water spring that symbolise Kamakhya Devi, perhaps a fertility goddess who is said to menstruate once a year for three days when the sanctum is closed and devotees chant prayers in the precincts. All through the seven days, not a single day passed without some amount of rain,a welcome respite from the heat wave in other parts of the country. I wave goodbye to the only male river in India,named after Brahma the Creator’s son, born out of wedlock with Sage Shantanu’s wife Amogha, as an ‘aquus’ child.Mythologies there are aplenty,and temples, too, but even without those stories,monuments and places of worship, the abundance of nature and wildlife and the simple village lifestyle here are sufficient pull factors that will tempt you to return once again.
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