Categories
Review

Along a River from Tibet to the Bay of Bengal

Book Review by Somdatta Mandal

Title: River Traveller: Journeys on the TSANPO-BRAHMAPUTRA from Tibet to the Bay of Bengal

Author: Sanjoy Hazarika

Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books

Sanjoy Hazarika, a former reporter for the New York Times, dons many hats, combining roles as researcher, columnist, mentor and practitioner. Over decades this veteran journalist has travelled extensively across the Northeast and its neighbourhood. His interests include developments in Myanmar, Bhutan, Tibet (PRC), Bangladesh and Nepal and he has produced over a dozen documentaries including on the Brahmaputra, dolphins, governance, conflict, and rights.

River Traveller tells the story of a great river, as powerful as it is mysterious. The Brahmaputra rises in Tibet, travels through three countries and, after travelling over 2,900 kms, flows into the Bay of Bengal. But the most interesting part is that this river is known by many names: Yarlung Tsangpo and Po Tsangpo in Tibet, Siang in Arunachal Pradesh, Brahmaputra in Assam, the Jamuna in Bangladesh, merging with the Ganga at Arichar Ghat, to form the vast Padma on its unending flow to the Bay of Bengal and its quest for union with the sea.

This book has come together over decades of travels on this braided river (including on the boat clinics that he launched in 2005 in Assam) where Hazarika had seen its beauty and faced its wrath, been stuck on sandbanks and swept out to sea. He listened to those who plied the boats, the pilots, drivers, fishermen and their families, the sick and the ailing, women and children, Buddhist and Hindu monks, Sikh and Muslim priests, officials, politicians, students and scientists. He has listened to poets, singers, writers and artists, and to businessfolk and daily wage earners, boat builders, contractors, tea planters and workers. The writer amalgamated all their stories which were a mix of sadness, a determination to survive, an acceptance of fate and joy. Therefore, his traveller’s tales span not just his own journeys but the stories of those who had gone before him. Like the river, the region and its neighbourhood “never cease to delight, surprise, inspire, sadden and confound.”

Of course, the most ostentatious reason for Hazarika’s travels is the filming of documentaries on the river at different points of time.  His first travel was for the film A River’s Story, the Quest for the Brahmaputra that he scripted and produced with Jahnu Barua as the director, Sudheer Palsane as cinematographer, Sanjoy Roy and Jugal Debta as audiographers as well as many others. The thrust area was to study the stories of the river and its people, from its beginnings in the Tibetan Plateau to the end in the Bay of Bengal. It wasn’t about science and theory, or politics and the environment, or climate change, but about the river and its moods, and especially its people and their relationship with each other, through history and changing geography, culture, faith, peace and poverty.

In the second venture, Gautam Bora was director and cinematographer of Brahmaputra, a six-part series for Doordarshan, shot in Arunachal Pradesh and Assam. In his third venture, he was involved in the making of Children of the River, the Xihus of Assam, which was directed and filmed by Maulee Senapati and where he learned much about dolphins.

Divided into three parts, the book is as exhaustive a study on the river as can be imagined. The Brahmaputra is one of the world’s longest and widest rivers—sustaining entire civilizations and agrarian systems. It has fascinated cartographers, lured adventurers, attracted kings and dynasts, and has supported life and ways of living by its banks. Before beginning with the actual travel in Part One that includes his sojourns in Tibet and Arunachal Pradesh, Hazarika goes back to history of the thirteenth century when in about 1215 AD, the Tai-Ahom prince Siu-ka-pha left his native land now on the China-Myanmar border and undertook a long march before settling down in Charaideo, his capital, with its surrounding flat plains, rich red soil, streams and the vast Brahmaputra nearby. After that for centuries, traders, smugglers, fighters, fugitives, goods, cuisines, languages and ideas as well as religions and religious people have travelled in either direction on the Siu-ka-pha trail.

Hazarika begins his yatra in Tibet and narrates how the challenges relating to it were not new. He describes a Tibet that was trying to hold on to its cultural legacy in the face of Chinese rule and the land’s exploitation for its resources. He recounts stories of explorers, spymasters and mapmakers, especially a motley crowd of intrepid men in the service of the East India Company and the Survey of India, who discovered the route of the river especially when it’s source was hidden in the most inhospitable terrain on earth. They finally solved the puzzle of the vanishing river and established that the Brahmaputra and the Tsangpo were the same river.

In Arunachal Pradesh, Hazarika views the river from a helicopter and to him it resembled a great, brown meandering serpent, moving in huge loops, with many channels; at times, a stream or two which joined the flow backed down on themselves, creating elegant oxbow lakes. At Gelling, the first village on the Indian side, the turbulent Tsangpo churns its way through a narrow valley after a cascading drop from Tibet. Here for the first time the Tsangpo changes its name and is known as the Siang or Dibang for the next 200 kilometers before it enters Assam. At a place called Kobo, the Lohit meets the Dibang, Noa Dihing, Tengapani and Siang and develops the immense power that is mirrored in the Brahmaputra in full flow.

Part Two comprising of nine chapters focuses on Assam. After the earthquake of 1950, water ‘blockades’ happened not just on the Siang but also on several other rivers flowing into the Assam Valley and as a result the river changed its course, lifted the riverbed, flattened the banks and land, and braided it in many places far more than ever before. As a result, many towns like Rohmoria, Sadiya simply vanished after being embraced by flood waters, and places like Barpeta, Goalpara and Dhubri underwent demographic changes.

In separate chapters we learn about the tea gardens of Assam, the influence of Srimanta Sankaradeva and his satras[1], about the great river island Majuli, the singer Bhupen Hazarika, the presence of dolphins in the Brahmaputra, the thousands of islands known as the chars and saporis, which are permanent in their impermanence, where the Muslim residents are known as Miyas, the large number of migrants that inhabit the place, the sand bars and sandbanks that dot the riverscape from Upper Assam and how the collection of sand and its sale and distribution has changed the lives of many along the river to the point where it enters Bangladesh. He also gives us details about the ferry system, the boat clinics on the river that represent both a dream and a reality, as annually, nearly three lakh people are treated in these mobile structures.

The third part of the narrative obviously ends with four chapters on Bangladesh. We are told how to move from a slow riverine economy to a bustling one is quite challenging. This section includes fear of being hunted by pirates on an open sea, the faith in the navigators, ‘drivers’, pilots and other crew members who can read the mind of the river, the trip to the confluence of the Ganga and the Brahmaputra along with a Bangladeshi singer called Maqsoodul Haque or Mac. Both these rivers have different names in Bangladesh. The Ganga is the Padma while the Brahmaputra is the Jamuna. We are told about the story of the island known to Indians as New Moore Island and to the Bangladeshis as Sandwip island that appeared and disappeared, causing a diplomatic furore. The Brahmaputra’s role in shaping the destiny of low-lying Bangladesh is well-established and we are told of the connectedness of the people to the river, on either side of the human-made border. There are many places where the turbulent river refuses to accept human markers and controls and the border just remains an imaginary line snaking across shifting sands.

After reading about the multifarious experiences of Hazarika, it is needless to state that this book of non-fiction mesmerizes the readers to such a great extent that one hankers for more information. It is best to conclude the review by quoting from the poetic way Hazarika himself speaks at the end of the book about the interconnectedness that lies even in a grain of sand:

I have traversed the river, shared my secrets with it and laid my fears and troubles to rest there. It too has spoken to me and has been kind and generous, in the midst of its vastness and power, to someone who could not swim.

“River Traveller is deeply personal and piloted by my life and learnings on the river, failings, shortcomings, understanding. It’s about shared stories, loves gained and lost, inspiration and sadness. Autobiographical in parts, it navigates history and crosses borders.

Many travels beckon, for the river still calls.

 From extremism to environmental responsibility, politics to ethnography, River Traveller touches on a multitude of subjects, and is an enduring study of human life and natural history. It is a rich and memorable portrait of one of the mightiest rivers on our planet. The colour photographs that are included in the middle of the narrative add extra charm to the narration. A volume worth possessing and reading and rereading repeatedly.

[1] Specialised Vaishnavi monasteries in Assam serving as socio-religious, cultural and educational centres since the fifteenth century.

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Somdatta Mandal, critic and translator, is a former Professor of English at Visva-Bharati University, Santiniketan, India.

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Categories
Editorial

Counting Colours

Look around you and expand your heart. 
Petty sorrows are insignificant.
Fill your vacant life with love for humanity. 
The Universe reverberates with celestial ecstasy. 

— Anondodhhara Bohichche Bhubone (The Universe reverberates with celestial ecstasy), Tagore, 1894

Some of the most beautiful colours in this universe are blended shades— colours that are born out of unusual combinations. Perhaps that is why we love auroras, sunrises and sunsets. Yet, we espouse clear cut structures for comprehension. As we define constructs created by our kind, we tend to overlook the myriads of colours that hover in the gloaming, the brilliant play of lights and the vibrancy of tints that could bring joy if acknowledged. That ignoring the new-born shades or half-shades and creating absolute structures or constructs lead to wars, hatred, unhappiness and intolerance has been borne true not only historically but also by the current turn of events around the globe. While battles are never fought by the colours or beliefs themselves, they can harm — sometimes annihilate — rigid believers who are victimised for being led to accept their way as the only one and hate another. Perhaps, this has echoes of the battle between the Big Endians and Little Endians over the right way to break eggs in Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels (1726). As the book is mere fiction, we can admire, agree and laugh at the content. However, in real life, watching newsreels has become a torture with destruction and violence being the main highlights. These detract from life as we knew it.

Writing or literary inputs seem to have become a luxury. But is it really hedonistic to play with words? Words used effectively over a period of time can impact readers to think peace, acceptance and love and also help people heal from the ensuing violence. That can be a possibility only if we self-reflect. While we look for peace, love and acceptance in others, we could start by being the change-makers and bridge builders ourselves. That is the kind of writing we have managed to gather for our November issue.

Building such bridges across humanity, we have poems on the latest Middle Eastern conflict by Stuart McFarlane and David Mellor, which explore the pain of the victims and not the politics of constructs that encourage wars, destruction of humanity, the flora, the fauna and our home, the Earth. Michael Burch writes against wars. Prithvijeet Sinha and Ahana Bhattacharjee write about refugees and the underprivileged. Reflecting colours of the world are poems from Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Suzayn AH, Radhika Soni, Ron Pickett, George Freek and many more. Rhys Hughes has brought lighter shades into his poetry by trying a new technique while reflecting on yetis and mermaids. His column tries to make a parody of a non-existing parody, using TS Eliot’s century old poem, ‘Wasteland’, with amazing results!

Our translations are all poetry too this time. Professor Fakrul Alam has translated a poem discussing human aspirations by Quazi Johirul Islam from Bengali. Another Balochi poem of hope by Bashir Baidar has been brought to us in English by Fazal Baloch bringing into play the moonlight.

For the first time, we are privileged to carry poetry from a language that has almost till now has eluded majority of Anglophone readers, Maithili. Vidyanand Jha, a Maithili poet, has translated his poetry for all of us as has Korean poet, Ihlwha Choi. Winding up translations are Tagore’s ultimate words for us to introspect and find the flame within ourselves in the darkest of times – echoing perhaps, in an uncanny way, the needs of our times.

Our conversation this month brings to us a poet who comes from a minority group in India, Banjara or gypsies, Ramesh Karthik Nayak. In his attempt to reach out to the larger world, he worries that he will lose his past. But does the past not flow into the future and is it not better for traditions to evolve? Otherwise, we could all well be living in caves… But what Nayak has done — and in a major way — is that he has brought his culture closer to our hearts. His debut poetry book in English, Chakmak (flintstones), brings to us Banjara traditions, lives and culture, which are fast getting eroded and he also visits the judgemental attitude of the majoritarian world. To give you a flavour of his poetry, we bring to you an excerpt from his book, livened beautifully with Banjara art and an essay by Surya Dhananjay that contextualises the poetry for us. Our excerpts also have a focus on poetry for we are privileged to have a few poems from Mamang Dai’s The White Shirts of Summer: New and Selected Poems. Mamang Dai is a well-known name from the North-eastern state of Arunachal Pradesh for both her journalistic and poetic prowess.

We are happy to host Ranu Uniyal’s beautiful review of I am Not the Gardener: Selected Poems by Raj Bisaria. Bisaria among other his distinctions, was named “Father of the modern theatre in North India” by the Press Trust of India. The other reviews are all of prose. Somdatta Mandal has written of Ali Akbar Natiq’s Naulakhi Kothi, a fictional saga of gigantic proportions. Anita Balakrishnan has reviewed Lakshmi Kannan’s short story collection, Guilt Trip. The book that gives hope for a green future, Akshat Rathi’s Climate Capitalism: Winning the Global Race to Zero Emissions has been reviewed by Bhaskar Parichha. Parichha contends: “Through stories that bring people, policy and technology together, Rathi reveals how the green economy is possible, but profitable. This inspiring blend of business, science, and history provides the framework for ensuring that future generations can live in prosperity.”

The anti-thesis to the theme for a welfarist approach towards Earth can be found in Koushiki Dasgupta Chaudhari’s poignant musing titled, “The Theft of a River”. Meredith Stephen’s travel to California and Sai Abhinay Penna’s narrative about Chikmagalur have overtones of climate friendliness. Ravi Shankar writes further of his travels in Peru and Peruvian coffee. Keith Lyons takes us peeking at Beijing and the Great Wall. Gayatri Devi adds to the variety by introducing us to the starry universe of South Indian cinema while Devraj Singh Kalsi brings in the much-needed humour with his narrative about his “Crush on Bottles“. Suzanne Kamata has also given a tongue-in-cheek narrative about the mystique of addresses and finding homes in Japan. We have fiction from Paul Mirabile located in England and Kalsi’s located in India. Pause by our contents page to view more gems that have not been mentioned here.

Huge thanks to our team at Borderless Journal, especially Sohana Manzoor for her fabulous artwork. This journal would not have been as it is of now without each and every one of them and our wonderful contributors and readers. Thank you all.

Wish you all a wonderful month as we head towards the end of a rather tumultuous year.

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

Click here to access the contents page for the November 2023 issue

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READ THE LATEST UPDATES ON THE FIRST BORDERLESS ANTHOLOGY, MONALISA NO LONGER SMILES, BY CLICKING ON THIS LINK.

Categories
Excerpt

Poetry by Mamang Dai

Title: The White Shirts of Summer: New and Selected Poems

Author: Mamang Dai

Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books

Hello, Mountain

Every morning when the forest wakes
The canopy goes for a walk
Hailing the sun, courting the wind
Discussing fruit and weather

The idle moss turns into velvet
Branches make signs.
Who says there is no time?
The only thing we are given is Time.

Chattering life high above,
Babel of tree dwellers.
For a seed falling so far down
To rise again, time is a given.
A foothold for the hunger of a weed,
Colour, scent, camouflage
And the grass that never sleeps

Shooting up to meet the gaze of the mountain.
How are you, mountain?
Is everything all right?
Is the earth growing old,
Birds flying away, trees falling?




After Gabo

No one can say it like you said it,
about love and magic,
solitude and growing old.

Here it’s white butterflies
whirling around in the garden
and the scent of bitter almond
is the scent of orange blossom.

You know, love is a virus too,
jumping ship,
landing up in ports and cities
so eager, enchanted
by the banks of another river
in the time of quarantine.

There are lines and lines
of communication
jostling through a virtual pandemic,
a sadness named, unnamed.

Fermina Daza, is it true:
Everything is in our hands?

Outside my window
red hibiscus, red.
If the aim is to survive,
it’s time to weigh anchor again.

For how long? Who knows.

Our old life is gone.
It’s another summer
and the pages are turning
in a chronicle of things foretold.

One battered flag in a time of lockdown.
Despite contrary winds
a battered flag is fluttering,
you’ll see it here and there
pointing in the direction of the future.
Salt water, caresses,
buoyant as the hearts of old lovers
young enough to believe
in forever.

(Extracted from The White Shirts of Summer: New and Selected Poems by Mamang Dai. Published by Speaking Tiger Books, 2023.)

About the Book:

 ‘A major voice in Indian English literature, and literature from North East India…[Her] poems are like a race of butterflies bargaining with the night.’

Keki Daruwalla

‘Dai’s poetic world is one of river, forest and mountain, a limpid and lyrical reflection of the terrain of her home state. Nature here is mysterious, verdant with myth, dense with sacred memory. There is magic to be found everywhere…But as you read closer, you [also] sense a more sinister undertow: this paradisiacal landscape is also one of “guns and gulls”, punctuated by “the footfall of soldiers”. You also realize that the simplicity of Dai’s verse is not without guile. It possesses a gentle persuasive riverine tug that can lead you to moments of heart-stopping surprise.

‘For all its simplicity, Dai’s poetry does not arrive at easy conclusions. There is no dishonest sense of anchor here, no blissful pastoral idyll. The poet describes her people as “foragers for a destiny” and her work is pervaded by a deep unease about erased histories and an uncertain future. And yet, implicit in her poetics is the refusal to divorce protest from love. This seems to translate into a commitment to a poetry of quiet surges and eddies rather than gritty textures and edges…[and] a tone that is hushed, wondering, thoughtful, reflective. The strength of this poetry is its unforced beauty and clarity, its ability to steer clear of easy flamboyance.’

Arundhathi Subramaniam

About the Author

 Mamang Dai, poet and novelist, was born in Pasighat, Arunachal Pradesh. A former journalist and a Padma Shri awardee, Dai is the author of a short story collection, The Legends of Pensam, and the novels Stupid Cupid, The Black Hill (winner of the Sahitya Akademi Award) and Escaping the Land (longlisted for the JCB Prize). Dai lives in Itanagar, Arunachal Pradesh.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL