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Friday 13 November 2015

Where Life Ebbs Away ...(part 2)


Byline: Deepa Philipps
India

Climate change is as real as it gets on the Ghoramara Island which is slowly eroding into the depths of the Bay of Bengal, reports Deepa Philip

"The storm that raged last night was the last straw, as waters caused the front wall to collapse," says his wife. "Thankfully my mother-in-law was not inside." 

The mud house that contained the family's ancestral possessions lies decimated the coconut fronds that framed its roof, graying under the blaze of the sun have crumbled inwards like a pack of cards. Old memories die a slow death as Routh and his family sifts through rotting wood, to pick up anything remaining of worth.

 “We have seen our neighbors drowning in the water when their house and livestock was washed away,” recollects Feroza Bibi, mother of Firoz. The water creeps up stealthily on them leaving them hapless. So what do they do when drowning is inevitable? “We make a grab for the food items and run towards higher grounds,” she says.

For the villagers fleeing the inundated swathes of land, houses of relatives or the local school, turn into makeshift shelters. “We stay at our grandfather or uncle’s place till the time the new house is built,” says Firoz. His new house, fifth in succession, is also precariously perched behind a mud wall that also doubles up as a road for the villagers.

Various studies have not labelled Ghoramara’s inhabitants as ‘environmental refugees’ but the state nor central governments have budged an inch. It was 2006, when Pradip Saha, director of Damage Control, an organization based in Delhi, had released a documentary 'Mean Sea Level' on Ghoramara. “I held a global premiere in Ghoramara itself, highlighting the plight of the island,” he says. During his research for the film, he was disconcerted with the government's apathy. “The islanders are losing land to the sea and left to fend for themselves and there is no sarkari [governmental] mechanism is place, it is very odd!” he tells TEHELKA. “The government has to officially declare it as a 'disaster', if any progress has to be made.”

Historical past, indeterminate future
Legend has it that two British brothers were allotted the erstwhile Ghoramara Island as their zamindaari (revenue land). Soon, the younger brother came riding on his horse to inspect the land. After taking a few rounds of the land, he left his horse tied to a tree. On returning, he found the horse missing and discovered later that it had been eaten by a tiger. Thus the island infamously got its name as ghora (horse) mara (killed).

Back then, the island was home to a post office that was an observation tower in disguise. With high and thick walls, the post office resembled a fort and was discreetly used by the ‘Britishers’ to relay information about passing ships. The post office was among the prime heritage buildings that have disappeared into the water along with its villages of Baishnabpara, Khasimara, Khasimara Char, Raipara and Baghpara. The loss of land has meant separation from the mainland and thus a forced isolation.

Ghoramara that was once a stone's throw away from Kakdwip located on the mainland now takes half-an-hour to reach in a ferry. "If you would stand in Ghoramara and speak, the person standing on Kakdwip could easily hear you," Ram Bari Maity tells TEHELKA. "Now there is a huge gap with acres of land having gone into the water."

The loss is telling. Owing to the gulf created by rising water levels, access to medical help is also restricted. "It takes over an hour to get a patient to the nearest hospital on the mainland," says Shahana Bibi as her daughter clothed in bare minimum clutches at her shoulder. There is one primary health center in the island that caters to a population of 4284 (Census 2011). It opens doors till noon, and has medical staff who travel back to their homes after the allotted window of time.


The situation is particularly disturbing for women. "In case of pregnancy, there is no provision in the island for safe childbirth," says Bibi. "There have been many instances when women have given birth in the ferry itself." Those desiring to reach the mainland for pre and post-natal care find themselves at the mercy of ferry drivers. "Many a time, they simply refuse to ply the ferry. They don't care if we [women] die or live," says Jaitun Devi angrily.  As a mother of three, she remains occupied in protecting her children from the incessant flow of water that rushes in. “When the water enters the land, it sweeps over everything and leaves no room even to keep the children,” she explains.

... story continues with the next post 

This story was sourced through the Voices2Paris UNDP storytelling contest on climate change and developed thanks to John Upton, @ClimateCentral

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