One of the earliest memories is sailing a small boat in our backward paddy field during floods. No fear; it was too exciting there. While the Titanic sank because it hit an iceberg, we also got hit by a bhur (banana raft) in the strong water current that can sweep away even large objects. Villagers steered a boat to the bank for their livelihood. Ours actions of fun-filled pleasure were never ending. Ask when villages were cut off by the large body of water. We pulled hard on the oars against the moving water. Living on water is normal for riparian habitat. People embrace floating chang-ghar (flood-resilient homes on bamboo stilts), which can keep floodwaters at bay, and their lives roll on.
We heard of Chandubi Lake’s formation as a result of a devastating earthquake in 1897 of moment magnitude (Mw) 8.1, when parts of hills along the Assam-Meghalaya border sank and led to the formation of the lake. The lonely stretch of the National Highway 37 at the foot of Garo Hills, surrounded by the fresh air of Barduar Tea Garden, rejuvenated visitors in the weekend gateway, and we too decided to aspire for another time on the natural lake like youthful days. The site was unbelievable to notice submerged large tree trunks. The underwater forests made difficult for sailing through the water shrubs. But slowly, things have changed now.
Soon we booked a boat ride; we were made to have life jackets and haaluwa jappis (a farmer’s umbrella), which will surely love you. The sleeveless buoyancy of inflatable red jackets had obviously persuaded us to keep afloat in water. The local people of Rabha-Hasang showed us great hospitality. As we set off the boat, I was shaken by Grandma’s stories of the great Assam earthquake and how the edge of the Shillong Plateau was being thrust violently upwards about 11 metres and the hills sank, forming Chandubi.
People felt the intensity that lasted for 3 minutes. The river rose, and the waves from the Brahmaputra destroyed its riverbanks. It reduced to rubble all the masonry buildings in Guwahati and Shillong. While Richard Dixon Oldham, the Superintendent of the Geological Survey of India, analysed the seismic records from Italy and reported the first clear evidence of seismic waves, The northeastern region appears to be compressed from almost every side and is among the most seismically vulnerable regions in the world. This region has also witnessed the 1950 Assam-Tibet earthquake of Mw 8.5.
While propelling the boat, the water looked calm on the surface, but water runs deep. There were poles embedded in the mud inside the lake, cautioning boatmen to avoid the route. In the meantime, rain had fallen, but a bundle of tokou (palm) leaves from the Jaapis protected us from the intermittent rain. We slowly grew tired after we took to the oars in the blazing sunshine. It rarely bothered with such situations. We trusted the lake. It is home to a large number of aquatic plants and exotic wildlife. The presence of migratory birds bestowed it with natural beauty, and we picked up kolmou (water spinach) as exotic vegetables for the kitchen and plucked a few vets (water lilies) as souvenirs.
Sadly, the forest is now under threat. Chandubi has shrunk with the vegetation cover, and its wetland has rapidly declined, while the growth of aquatic vegetation could endanger vulnerable species of fish, amphibians, reptiles, birds, mammals, and plant species. The threats from climate change and anthropogenic activities caused by human activities took their toll.
By the time it was the middle of the day, we went on a retreat at Ranikhamar waterfalls. We were miles and miles away from the maddening crowd of the day. All that hiking had given us an appetite, so we grabbed some boiled rice and fish.
The Kulsi River rolls down from the Garo Hills, but illegal sand mining poses a serious threat to the habitat of aquatic mammals like river dolphins, as the people dwelling on the banks of the river depend on the Kulsi for their livelihoods. The river runs into a small stream connecting the Chandubi Lake and finally flows through the mighty Brahmaputra at lower Assam.
The sun finally set, and we hurried back home on the route, which passes by the mountain shadows above the speed limit warning of the speedometer. The moonlight and the fresh air through the sunroof had freshened up after an exhausting cruise, but the rhythmic sound of oars and water along the shore of Chandubiare was indistinctly heard so far.