Majuli island is loved by those well- informed but in the eyes of the ordinary, circuit- hopper tourist coming to Assam from outside, Majuli is eclipsed by its far more famous neighbour, Kaziranga. Perhaps Majuli’s comparative inaccessibility and lack of brand value (though I am not sure if these necessarily are drawbacks) work against it. I am often surprised to find that many people, even those who have been to Assam, are unfamiliar with the name Majuli. This is certainly unfair, because this gigantic river island of Brahmputra is full of delightful treasures waiting to be discovered.
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Day One
We were headed to Majuli straight after a short but exhausting visit to Ziro. Winding down a mountain road which, for the most part, tested our endurance due to its terrible condition, we touched North Lakhimpur by afternoon and turned rightwards along a narrow country road to reach Panigaon.
Majuli island is connected by ferries from both North and South banks. The river swells by nearly a kilometer in rains (which means there is a longer distance for the ferry to cover). It would be pointless to make a road there. Hence in summer, the last mile or two is a barely- there dirt track.
We were unaware of this and wondered for a while if we had lost our way, especially since the river still wasn’t visible. A local biker whom we asked for directions, smugly told us to “have faith and keep going” (not joking, these were his exact words). We rolled our eyes in resignation. But suddenly the vast waters of Brahmputra appeared over the horizon.
The riverbank was utterly barren. The 2pm sun was beating down on us harshly. Except for a couple of tea- and- snacks stalls, there was nothing else around. A couple of taxis were waiting for passengers coming from the island.
We could see the ferry departing from the island side. In no time, it crossed over and reached us.
The visual that greeted us was something like this. Not a very reassuring sight.
The ferry on Jorhat bank, as we subsequently learnt, is operated with a bigger, modern vessel. It has drive-in jetties at both ends. The Panigaon ferry however, is a poor cousin: a bedraggled wooden raft which looks like it is floating by magic and a mud path cut in the riverbank for vehicles to roll down.
We were feeling pangs of apprehension as to how our big sedan would embark on this rickety assemblage of wooden flats. But the crew was blissfully nonchalant. An experienced deckhand swung into action. He barked at the incoming bikers who were trying to rush in and made them back off. Then he stood facing me and waved the car up along the narrow defile, as if it was an aircraft on a runway! The ‘road’ was two wooden planks placed across water, in alignment (hopefully) with the car tyres.
For a while it seemed as if our car was destined come to an eternal rest in the muddy depths of Brahmputra. But no such thing happened, all aboard safely, though the modest dimensions of the deck meant that the nose and boot of my car were both protruding over water.
No sooner had the car been parked on the ‘deck’ than the waiting motorbikes rushed in and filled every inch of the already meagre space. The riders sat themselves down comfortably on roof of the boiler room. Others squeezed into the space between our car, the bikes and shapeless gunny bags of assorted cargo.
The ferry cranked its engine and began to move.
Majuli island is close to the North bank of Brahmputra. It was a short journey of some 20 minutes. Mid-river, the crew turned the ferry around, so there was no need of driving the car out in reverse gear. The exit at the other end was uneventful.
The thrill and surprise quotients of the Panigaon ferry ride were quite high no doubt. But I don’t look forward to taking my car across it again!
We paid the ticket charges and drove out into the island, along what turned out to be another dirt track. A much longer one.
However, a guy on a motorbike who had travelled on the same ferry as us, helped lead us out of it on to the paved road.
Famished since morning, lunch was the first thing we looked for! Luckily, this restaurant with rather fetching bamboo exteriors was right along the way. Food was good. But the owner looked a tad disappointed to know that we were vegetarians.
Over lunch, we also logged on to a travel website and booked ourselves a pad: a tiny family- owned resort at the other end of the island. We had to drive a good 30 minutes to reach there.
The resort was nothing but a set of basic bamboo rooms built on stilts, next to the owner’s house. A big plus was that the rooms faced a big natural wetland full of birds. In the morning we would just have to draw the door curtain to see the avian world go about its busy life. What could be better than that!
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Day Two
The first priority in the morning was to get the mud- plastered car a bath. A car wash was nearby and this was easily done.
Our first breakfast on the island was at a tiny watering hole called Borah Hotel overseen by a mom and run by her sons. We chanced upon it right in the middle of market. The fare was simple but homely. The owner-mom lovingly let us take a look into the kitchen, informing that the vegetables on our plate were backyard- grown. We decided to return to the same place for lunch.
Majuli lends well to exploration on a bicycle. The roads are lined with shady trees. There isn’t much ascent and descent. Distances are moderate. Traffic is sparse. However the bikes available on rent locally are poorly maintained and nothing to write home about. Nevertheless, we selected three from whatever bikes were there and set off towards Auniati Satra.
A word about Satras. Majuli has a large number of them. The Assamese term literally means a (Vaishnavite) monastery. But each Satra has its own different mythology, traditions, rituals and history extending to many centuries. Going to all Satras was not practically possible, so we decided to visit the nearest and more famous ones, starting with Auniati.
The 12 Km ride (return distance) was fun though I wished the road was black- topped. The paved path gave me more shocks than I needed!.
We passed laidback clusters of rural houses, farms and big ponds full of birds. We took our time, leisurely stopping every now and then, to click pictures of the feathered friends.
Auniati Satra has a temple, a garden and a small museum containing incredibly beautiful old artifacts (but no photography is allowed inside the museum). Later in the day when we saw Kamlabari Satra, we felt that Auniati was more organized and resource- rich. The precincts were well- maintained and a lot of construction appeared to be going on.
We retraced our treads back from Auniati and desperately knocked on the door of the Borahs for lunch. Hungry after having cycled so much in afternoon sun, we could have eaten the dining table. The ever- gracious Mother Borah brought up a meal in no time.
Next on the itinerary was Uttar Kamalabari Satra. A few Km of peddling in another direction brought us to it. As I have said before, this place was austere. But its quiet, bygone-era look had a charm of its own. The old temple building exuded serenity and calm. There was hardly a soul around. A senior priest in a white dhoti was singing a soulful devotional song in Assamese. We washed our feet, sat ourselves down on the floor and soaked ourselves in the peace.
It was close to 4pm. We could have turned back and been none the worse for it. But we learnt that a village of the famous Mising tribe lay a little further on the same road. We mounted our wheelies and set off. Alas, it was not to be. Just a mile ahead of Uttar Kamlabari, my bike developed a puncture. We had no option but to return. Luckily a tractor came right along. I hitched a ride on it along with my bike.
On the way back, we saw platoons of armed personnel in khaki uniforms and numerous forest department vehicles lined up along the road. Our query revealed that a rhinoceros from Kaziranga had crossed over to Majuli and was on the loose.
I couldn’t quite figure out how. Can these beasts swim such large distances?
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Day Three
Before departure, we had a couple of hours to spare in the morning for a trip to Samaguri Satra, the mask-makers’ monastery.
The mask- making tradition in Samaguri goes back centuries. Now, it is a well- recognized art form which has won acclaim and awards alike. Tourists buy them as souvenirs. Samaguri Satra even arranges to have them couriered to your home. Some of the masks were indeed very striking.
I was quite intrigued by this version of the ten- headed Ravana and was tempted to buy it. But the price quoted was way more than I liked.
It was time to bid goodbye to Majuli. Our exit was to be via Nimati ferry, towards Jorhat. This one is a commercial operation built to carry cars, even buses and trucks.
The boat was named after one of my favourite music composers, Sachin Dev Burman. A fitting end to a lyrical holiday.
The ride to Jorhat is nearly two hours long. There was proper seating arrangement and even an upper deck for a panoramic view of the river.
With the magnificent view of river, wind straight in my face, a high noon sun and the deafening roar of the engines, I didn’t realize when I fell asleep. When my eyes opened, we were nearing the shore.
Postscript
Google search tells me that future holds two prospects for Majuli. Both are equally disastrous. Both will bring a doom upon Majuli in their own different ways.
First one is geographical. Scientists believe that Majuli is fated to submerge sooner or later. The island may look huge to us, indeed it is, but it was much bigger in the past. Inch by inch, Brahmputra is swallowing it. Who knows, in a few decades, Majuli may be lost forever and will be reborn as a folklore Atlantis of Assam, tales of its exotic wonders told fondly in villages on the riverbanks. I pray such a thing never happens and Majuli lives on.
Second one is man-made, hence sadder. ‘Development’ is soon coming to Majuli in form of a road bridge. I don’t know how the local inhabitants perceive it. Maybe they are indeed looking forward to it. Maybe they no more want to be museum displays for tourists. But a bridge will bring with it restless traffic, raucous crowds, shining motels, shopping arcades and much worse. I know that it is the inevitable march of ‘progress’. But for some reason, it doesn’t make me happy.
Chalat Musafir 