Majuli, where river and culture converge

The disappearing Majuli River Island in Assam was all about the mighty Brahmaputra, Satras, tribal culture and quietness. A blissful place to stay.

An early morning view from the cottage was such a delight. I was in a state of euphoria looking at the green fields on the one side of the cottage and river on the other side. The mat of rice fields which were covered with mist were slowly paving way for the sun that was moving up the horizon. My happiness knew no bounds!

Soaking in the beauty of the placid Island, we got ready for the day’s programme. We had planned for full day sightseeing at Majuli. Parag and Ajay had made our job easy by chalking out the day’s itinerary.

  A house belonging to Mishing Tribe at Hookunamukh
village which had completely submerged during
last monsoon.

Majuli, which is famous for its landscape, is equally popular for the ancient Neo-Vaishnavite Satras (Hindu monasteries). These Satras are the heritage places of cultural significance. They are pilgrimage centres for the devotees of Lord Krishna. Devotees from all over Assam visit the Satras throughout the year, while tourists from other parts of India come to Majuli to see its scenic beauty.

The Island which once used to house over 60 Satras, has only 22 Satras now. Of them, due to the time constraint, we decided to visit three main Satras -Samaguri, Aouniati and Dakshinpat.

Dakshinpat Satra, though is famous, did not yield much curiosity. It was like any other temple. In the same speed we entered the prayer hall of the Satra, we had to come out. We were almost ousted from the prayer hall. The reason - men and women in English style attire (particularly those wearing pants) were not allowed inside the prayer hall. Even the men wearing pants and shirt were praying from outside, while those wearing kurta and dhoti were allowed to go in. We, three women were ignorant about this rule. However, having seen many such restrictions imposed on women in temples, this tradition did not come as asurprise. Specially, it did not make any difference to the atheist in me.

Dakshinpath Satra at Majuli.

Satra and the monk

While we were about to leave Dakshinpath Satra, something interesting happened. An

old man who was staring at us called us. Looking at his attire, we knew that he was monk living in the Satra. He insisted that we take some “prasad.” For the next 15 minutes we communicated with him overcoming the language barrier. While we were completely alien to Assamese, the monk didn’t know Hindi. Still we managed to talk and understand. We could see so much affection in him towards us, but at one point it became a thing of irritation, so much so that we began making futile attempt to escape. Before giving us “prasad,” he forcefully took us to the guru (head-person) who is in-charge of the Satra. 

Masks at display at Samaguri Satra.

After accepting moong dal prasad we left to the next Satra, heaving a sigh of relief.

Aouniati Satra too was not great as such, except for the well-maintained museum that displays artefacts from the times of Ahom Kingdom (Ahoms ruled Assam in the 13th Century). But, Samaguri Satra was way too different. It did not give us a feeling that we were in a place of worship. It was a place where indeed “work was worship.”

Mask-makers of Majuli
Samagurii is known for mask-making. Tens of masks replicating the mythological characters like Jatayu, Hanuman, Mahishasura were neatly placed in a large room. Artistes were busy making the masks using bamboo skeleton, clay and raw colours, under the guidance of Hemachandra Goswami who owns the Satra. One of his students Khagen Goswami narrated us the historical significance of mask making and how these masks are even exported to foreign countries. The best part was when he wore a mask and performed before us. I swear, it was fun to watch!

We were told, these masks are worn by the artistes and performed in public. Raas festival which is celebrated at Majuli in the third week of November is the time when these masks are extensively used. Raas is the festival of music, dance and culture. Apparently that is the best time to visit Majuli. But we missed it!

A monk wears a mask and performs.

In between, we also visited Salmora village which is famous for pottery making. A bunch of women in the village welcomed us, only after making sure with Ajay that we would pay them for showing the craft. We agreed. A woman there began showing us handmade pottery. She did it in such a speed that we just marvelled at her ability. After a bit of roaming around and chit-chatting with the villagers (again we had a tough time communicating with these women), we said bye-bye to them. 

Of course we did not forget to pay them the fee for showing us the craft. We could not afford to forget paying them after hearing a scary story which Ajay told us. Apparently, these women had once assaulted a driver who accompanied the tourists when the tourists did not pay them the money as promised.

The days are too short in Assam. Though the sun rises early, the day begins quite late for the villagers and it ends early. By 4 pm, we were back to our cottage. When we were just thinking what to do in rest of the time, me and fellow-traveller Deepthi spotted two bicycles parked beneath a cottage. The moment we saw the cycles, an irresistible desire to ride them blossomed.

Woman busy making pottery at Salmora village.

When we conveyed our wish to cottage owner Parag, he readily agreed to give us the

bicycles. He fixed the broken cycles and we were all set for the bicycle ride. Such a pleasure it was to ride cycle after a long long time. It was double joy to cycle on the narrow roads of Majuli, where all you could see was green fields and plains stretched far and wide.

Cycle ride after a long time.

The day at Majuli ended with us trying some Apong (the local rice beer). Had heard that none who visits Majuli leaves without sipping some local drink. It was a famous drink among Mishing Tribes of Majuli. The beer had a distinct smell, but tasted almost like wine. It was white in colour, similar to toddy.

As the day ended, I marvelled at the way in which the humble people in Majuli live in the island. Every year, when it rains heavily, half the village is submerged, crops are washed away, bringing an unending misery. A village Hookunamukh on the banks of Brahmaputra, where we had visited earlier during the day, was an evidence to the fact. 

Ginger field at Hookunamukh village.

The village was flooded in last monsoon, but now the people were living there again in small bamboo huts, trying to grow ginger and other crops in the semi-fertile land. The soil fertility is almost lost in most of the villages in Majuli which makes it very difficult for the agrarian communities to cultivate. Building their lives again and again has perhaps become a habit to them.

The best part about Majuli was not Satras or spots of tourist attraction. Majuli won my heart because of the typical tribal villages, the greenery, simplicity and peace. You could sit on bamboo chairs facing the river for hours and do nothing. There was none to disturb you. You could just get lost in thoughts.

Bidding adieu is the hardest part specially if you like the place of stay. Majui gave me that hard feeling. The next morning when we boarded the boat to go to our next destination, I just turned back at the Island and told “Majuli, I will come back to you again. Perhaps during monsoon, to see the other side of Brahmaputra!”