On enormous river island in India’s Assam, annual floods threaten native arts | Arts and Culture | USAEMALL.com

Assam, India – Makon Kumar’s wrinkled fingers are covered in dried-up clay. She squats on the damp dirt outside her one-room, bamboo-stilted home and spins a pottery wheel – a palm-sized grey bowl – with her left toe.

Inside the bowl is a lump of newly-bought wet clay, which Kumar slaps, flattens and curves into the pot’s base.

“My grandma and her grandma passed this practice down to us. We are not farmers, we have no land, and this is our work,” 60-year-old Makon said as she pressed her fist into the clay and carved out the pot’s mouth.

Makon belongs to the Kumar community of about 540 people, whose women have been known for their unique pottery work since the 16th century. These women avoid machinery or a potter’s wheel but rely on their toes to spin a plate or bowl with clay.

The Kumars live on Majuli, an island district between the Subansiri and the mighty Brahmaputra rivers in India’s northeastern state of Assam. Home to nearly 200,000 people, which includes people from other ethnic groups, Majuli has shrunk from 1,300sq km (502sq miles) to 483sq km (186.5sq miles) in a century due to erosion caused by annual monsoon rains and floods.

During the monsoon season, which can stretch from May to September, the floodwaters can get more than 1.5 metres (5 feet) high, forcing Makon and the other Kumars to either seek shelter at the highway bordering the village or stay trapped inside their homes.

Last week, the Assam State Disaster Management Authority (ASDMA) said there were more than 72,000 people taking shelter in 355 relief camps across the state due to the floods, which have also killed at least 24 people this year.

Access to riverside clay denied

During the floods, the Kumars’ pottery business comes to a halt, interrupting their main source of income. Moreover, the lack of flood prevention efforts by the authorities has worsened their condition.

“[Our family] used to get clay from the banks of the Brahmaputra River,” Makon told Al Jazeera.

Kumar men traditionally dug 18 to 21 metres (60 to 70 feet) deep on the riverbank to extract a glutinous, dark grey clay that locals call Kumar “maati” (soil).

The state-run Brahmaputra Board, which supervises the government’s response to the floods and soil erosion, began building river embankments in 2018, preventing the Kumars from digging the riverbank for clay.

“While the Brahmaputra Board deeply respects this traditional craft [of making pottery], extracting clay directly from the exposed riverbanks causes severe soil erosion, hindering the board’s efforts to protect Majuli island,” a spokesperson for the board told Al Jazeera.

The spokesperson said the board provided an alternative to the Kumar potters by making clay available through designated pits or boreholes that could be accessed after filling an application form. The board, however, did not say how many Kumars applied.

Makon said the embankment on the Brahmaputra forced her to buy clay from mainland Assam, increasing her expenses for a business already lacking commercial value or organised marketing.

November is their best month when floodwaters recede and foreign and Indian tourists take a 90-minute ferry from Jorhat, a city in mainland Assam, to Majuli’s Salmora village, where the Kumar women sculpt pots with their hands and feet. The tour brings extra cash for Makon’s two daughters studying in a secondary school.

On other days, the Kumars sculpt and sell pots of various sizes to local vendors. Tekelis, the most popular and smallest pot used for storing milk, is sold for just 10 rupees ($0.12) to vendors, who resell them for 20 to 100 rupees ($0.23-$1.15) at shops across Majuli and mainland Assam.

Salmora has long, narrow dirt roads, with rows of bamboo and concrete houses built on stilts. When the island is not flooded, hundreds of dried tekelis lie stacked on top of each other on a road bordering the village. The men bake those pots and sell them in the market.

‘No money in it’

However, it is not just a dying form of pottery that is under threat in flood-prone Majuli.

Almost 18km (11 miles) from Salmora lies Upper Katoni village, where the silence of the nights is often interrupted by young men and boys singing and thumping hollow drums. They perform a four-hour theatrical production known as Bhaona, mostly performed past midnight. Locals come for the performance after finishing their dinner, sit on the floor, and watch their neighbours, siblings, or friends perform.

The entirely male troupe of actors play characters from the Hindu epic, Ramayana.

“We’ve been rehearsing for the last three weeks,” said actor Jyoti Bhuyan, who plays a king in the dance drama. “Even in the hotter months, we’re able to perform.”

The Bhaona dates back to the 16th century and is performed at Namghars, open prayer houses unique to Assam. The island has more than 384 Namghars, according to a spokesperson from the Majuli District Office.

“I’ve been doing this since I was a young boy,” said Karunav Bhuyan, a Bhaona actor and political science professor at a college on the island. “What doesn’t change is that anyone from any background can come and watch us perform.”

Bhaona actors wear special masks, made from bamboo and a mix of clay and cow dung. The masks typically have wide, almond-shaped eyes; thick, furrowed brows; and a mouth flaunting a full set of teeth or bright red lips. The mask’s sharp, angular facial features, paired with contrasting eye and hair colours, are often displayed inside the houses of Majuli residents.

“At first, no one wanted to make masks because there was no money in it,” 67-year-old mask maker Hem Chandra Goswami told Al Jazeera.

Goswami, who lives in Majuli’s Samaguri village, started making smaller, easy-to-hang masks and has been teaching the art to high school students since 2012. He was awarded the Padma Shri, India’s fourth-highest civilian honour, in 2023 for promoting the art form.

Traditionally, only men made masks and used them for Bhaona performances. But that is changing.

Brishti Hazarika, a 25-year-old theatre student, is learning mask-making at Majuli University of Culture, an institution dedicated to preserving the local art forms. “Whether we get financial help from the government or not, it doesn’t stop us from putting on shows or enjoying our festivals,” Hazarika said.

The island’s more well-known tourist attractions are the Satras – the cultural and religious centres where celibate male monks, draped in white cotton cloth, reside.

Known as Bhakats, these monks join the Satras during preadolescence and spend their lives worshipping Lord Krishna, unlike the polytheistic pantheon of numerous gods in mainstream Hinduism.

But annual floods and land erosion have reduced Satras from more than 65 to just 35 in the past decades, according to the Majuli District Office spokesperson. Worse, not every Satra is properly maintained.

Unlike Makon, the Samaguri Satra is located away from the Brahmaputra River and has, therefore, been spared the devastation caused by annual floods. That explains why Pradip Goswami, another local mask artist and a cousin of Hem Chandra, wishes there were more opportunities to produce the masks commercially.

“The way for mask making to continue spreading is by having a bridge over the river to connect us to the mainland,” he said.

‘This is all we know’

In 2022, the Assam government announced the construction of an 8km (5-mile) bridge connecting Majuli to Jorhat. But the $70m project was halted in September last year after Uttar Pradesh State Bridge Corporation Limited (UPSBCL), a state-run entity tasked with building the bridge, withdrew from the project over payment disputes, according to local media reports.

Al Jazeera reached out to the UPSBCL for its response to such speculations, but did not receive any reply.

In May this year, the Assam government said it was looking for a new contractor to construct the bridge. But Majuli residents say the government has been apathetic towards their lives and livelihoods affected by the floods.

The Majuli Cultural Landscape Management Authority (MCLMA), created in 2006 to oversee the island’s development and protect its cultural heritage, has not held a meeting in more than a decade, alleges MCLMA executive member Sanjib Borkakoti. Even the office where he used to attend meetings twice a year does not exist any more, he says.

“There is no [government] supervision,” Borkakoti told Al Jazeera. He said the Indian government tried at least twice – unsuccessfully – for a UNESCO World Heritage Site status for Majuli, a tag that would have brought “international attention and pushed the local government to protect what’s remaining”.

Al Jazeera reached out to a government spokesperson and Majuli’s local officials for their response to Borkakoti’s allegations, but did not get any reply.

Meanwhile, for Majuli residents like Makon, art goes beyond just preserving a cultural identity. It is rooted in survival.

“We just don’t know if we will have a home tomorrow,” Makon says as she gives shape to a clay pot, using a wooden bat. She spins the pot one last time to check for any bumps and says, “This is all we know.”

This story was funded by a Reporting Fellowship grant from the South Asian Journalists Association.