In Calcutta, the very mention of the Sundarban, the massive mangrove forest that straddles the India-Bangladesh frontier, ignites immediate conversations about a broad range of wildlife – the Royal Bengal Tiger, crocodiles, rare birds – as well as the ecotourism potential that the area holds. But it hardly ever motivates any discussion, or even mention, of the 4.3 million people that make the Indian side of this deltaic area alone their home. And while international concern spiked last year following the November destruction of roughly 40 percent of the Sundarban within Bangladesh by Cyclone Sidr, much of that outflow of emotion, and money, again went in the direction of the area's famed wildlife. Meanwhile, the traditional economic activities undertaken by the Sundarban's human inhabitants, such as the collection of honey and nipah-tree products, have been banned in Bangladesh this year, out of deference to the ecological damage wrought by the storm.
In the hopes of going beneath the headlines (or lack thereof), this writer recently travelled to an island in the West Bengal Sundarban, to visit a few of the villages there. After travelling by train and auto-rickshaw, we arrived at Raidighi, the headquarters for Mathurapur-II block of South 24 Parganas District. We had lunch at a small hotel, where the server continuously urged us to take more rice, daal and vegetables, all at no extra price. I wondered how long such hospitality would remain in this backwater, as yet untouched by hardcore capitalist logic.
From our lunchtime veranda, the island, locally known as Jater deep (island), was visible across the Moni River. Our eventual destination, the village of Purba Sridharpur, was located on the southeastern corner of Jater Island, home to about 50,000 people. The island is straddled on the west by the Moni and on the east by the Thakuran, both of which flow north to south, intermingling with a host other flows and giving birth to myriad estuarine channels and islands large and small. The ever-changing water levels and salinity also give rise to a complex and unique ecosystem.
From Raidighi, we took a diesel-powered launch out onto the river. The Moni is no more than 250 metres wide at Raidighi, yet it has taken 60 years of independence to bridge it, or even for an electric cable to cross it. Indeed, with the bridge having been inaugurated just days before our arrival, the locals excitedly consider good work to be in progress. As the launch began to move southward, away from the mainland, the water's breeze diluted the power of the delta sun, and the Sundarban landscape started to unfold. The loud, incessant clanging of the diesel engine provided some element of seclusion from the immediate surroundings on the boat, and allowed for an opportunity to absorb the harsh beauty of the place.