The relationship of the people of Majuli with the Army was based largely on their experience with the Army operations in 1985. A young lieutenant by the name of Beniwal ruled Majuli with an iron hand, beating up young people at will and taking people into custody for days. He has passed down into history as a mythical sandman: mothers even now tell their children that if they don't behave themselves, Beniwal will get them! That experience, plus the frequent reports in the media of 'army atrocities' kept people indoors. The last rehearsal for the Ras was called off because the men were unwilling to attend, scared to leave their womenfolk alone at home.

When the Army returned after the Ras, they came in a new avatar — repairing the roads and bridges, running medical camps, and even as I write, selling cigarettes and wind-cheaters through their canteen stores — but it will take a long time for the wall to break. On New Year's Day, right under their noses, all of Majuli was plastered with ULFA posters!

This year Jengrai, the northern side of Majuli, has been badly affected. Usually this area, predominantly tribal, was spared the ravages of the annual floods, securely protected by embankments on all sides — but when the dikes at Dhemaji and Dhekuwakhana breached, the force of the water swept through and breached the road at three places, cutting it off from the rest of the island. Worse, when the river receded after the flood, it left acres of sand in its wake, destroying fertile agricultural lands and leaving behind a wasteland. In four or five years, the land will regenerate itself — but till then, it will be arid and sandy. We were working with a group of poor women from a village called Borpumua, close to Jengrai. After the flood, we helped them with a small loan for seeds for a winter crop. The idea was that they would meet every month and save a small sum of money, starting a process that would move them towards self-reliance. In fact what had happened was that the women had all been working in houses of their better-off relatives in Lakhimpur and Dhemaji, cutting rice and helping in the fields, in the hope that they would get some benefit later. This custom was predominant among the Mishings of Majuli, and was a very effective social safety net. When there was a good harvest somewhere, it became incumbent on that person to share, just so that when he went through the same adversity, there were people to help.

Of course the situation was not all idyllic. We were in the process of trying to build a bridge across the Tuni river, connecting about seven Mishing villages with the main island of Majuli. The Ratan Tata Trust had given us a grant with a condition that we raise resources from the community and government to match. Four times we had meetings, all elaborately arranged and minuted, but each time there was a different set of people, and the process started from scratch. The last occasion was the most awkward: our meeting was being held in a village primary school on one bank of the river that we were to build a bridge over. Across the river, on the other bank, we could see the Bengniati High School cricket ground, where a local match was in progress. The vast majority of our Executive Committee failed to show up for our meeting, but we could see them across the river, watching the game intently.

The bridge across the Tuni had the potential to become a lifeline for the Mishing villages. Having a permanent wooden bridge means that trucks and minibuses can reach that area, and this will reduce the prices of vegetables and essential commodities that come from outside. This area was prone to erosion, and having a bridge here is more than just a means of getting from A to B, it's a symbol of confidence of the people in a rapidly deteriorating environment. Even if the government is not prepared to put any resources into the area, the people can show how it can be done. So why this apparent lack of interest? So far the modus operandi for getting any kind of public work sanctioned had been to grease the palm of the concerned department (usually through the contractor). If this can be followed up with some pressure from the local MLA, it's fail-safe formula, so the concept of having to raise resources yourself and work was daunting and difficult to understand the need for.

The other major drama unfolding in Majuli was the response to the influx of Christianity into the island by the powerful satras and satradhikars. The phenomenon was quite recent — perhaps five or six years old. The sphere of influence was restricted to the Jengrai area, and most of the converts are Mishings. As of today there may be only five hundred or so practising Christian families, but the thought that it can make inroads into Majuli, so far considered to be a bastion of Vaishnava culture in the region, has made people sit up and take notice. In spite of a sizeable Bengali population in Majuli, there was no Durga Puja, with or without the sacrifice involved — so strong is the influence of the satras. Yet at the same time what makes it possible for Christianity to make inroads? I put the question to Sri Duta Deb Goswami, the young and articulate satradhikar of Bhogpur, one of the satras founded by Sri Sankardeb himself. He was very candid. 'Sri Sri Sankardeb spent twelve years wandering to different places of worship, to learn and develop the concept that he came back and propagated. He meant us to be like him — to travel to spread the word, and make people aware of the path. Yet we fell victim to the same orthodoxies that he had rebelled against. The Rajas gave us land, and we developed these ashrams, and monasteries, and preserved the culture, the dance, the music, the thought, all within these walls — leaving it to the people to come and receive, if they wanted, but not making the effort to go out among the people ourselves. Why then should it surprise us if people turn away to different enticements? He himself resolved to take time out from his meditation and writing and spent time travelling and being among people.

The issue was very complex. On the one hand though there may be no overt conversion, the fact was that the best English medium school on the island was St. Paul's in Jengrai. English was identified as the passport to success, with the West, and western culture. The people who came to preach know the tribal language, and there was even a Bible in Mishing — that was more than we could say for the almost 100,000 other people who had coexisted on the island for the last five hundred years. Although Sankardeb himself may have had disciples in his close circle from different religions and castes, in Majuli the interpretation had become rigid — none of them allow Scheduled Caste or tribal people to become bhakts and live in the satras. Women even today were not permitted everywhere, and certainly none of them would take women as bhakts. It was these pushes and pulls that were playing themselves out in Majuli — only time will tell what shape they will take.

In an unprecedented show of solidarity today, more than a dozen voluntary organisations came together to try and work out a low cost solution to the problem of erosion in Majuli, which had shrunk the world's largest river island by one third over the last ten years. Arif Hussain, a doctoral student in the Department of Applied Geology at the Dibrugarh University, explained the concept. 'Basically what we have here is an almost perpendicular, upright river bank. As the water flows under the bank, it cuts under the bank, gradually forming a sort of overhang — the weight and pressure of that then crashes into the river. So what we are trying to do so is to use natural forces to resist the river. We're pulling back the slope, giving it an incline, and planting all manner of local grasses and plants on the side. Debajit Baruah, a botany teacher in the local Majuli College, says, 'We have selected six of the best known local species. You can look at any bank that's not been eroded it usually has a thick vegetative cover — we're just using that commonsense'.

The decision to come together and do some work practically came out of a meeting between Sushil Goswami, a professor at the Dibrugarh University (who is studying the erosion problem under the aegis of AVARD, the voluntary organisation that is co-ordinating this exercise), and some concerned citizens of the island. He said that there had been many meetings and a lot of talk on the subject, but little by way of practical work, using local knowledge and resources. 'While there is need for us to continue to work on remote sensing imagery, generate a good data base, and use that information for advocacy with the government to create a pressure, we should also work on the problem ourselves,' he told the group. That was picked up, and a campaign started.

Twenty-one groups volunteered to participate, including the local schools and colleges, youth clubs, and the district-level women's organisations and the AJYCP. The area selected for the experiment is between Bhotiamari, a Mishing village near the Kamlabari ferry ghat, and the mouth of the Tuni river, almost two kilometers away. Each of the organisations has been given a hundred meter stretch of river bank to work on, but the norms may have to be changed. David Humtsoe, spokesperson for AVARD, said, 'We had underestimated the work, today there were fifty people and after working for six hours, we have been able to complete a model area of only ten meters. In consultation with the other groups that came, we decided to reduce the length to thirty metros, which can be completed by twenty persons working for the entire day. That might make the size of the project smaller, but it should at least be a well-done job. Our effort is not simply to stop erosion, but also generate a sense of local participation, and interest, and create a belief that something can be done, even on a small scale.

Bhaben Kakoty, the district general secretary of the AJYCP was appreciative of the effort. 'We've been taking up this issue of erosion protection by the government for many years now, and in the past also have mobilised our member and local communities to do this kind of shramdaan — it's natural that we should be associated, and want to help and make it a success'.