On May 20, 2020, a devastating cyclone called Amphan ripped through West Bengal wreaking havoc along its coast. Soon after, the West Bengal government called for support of the Indian Army to help with infrastructure restoration. That is the potential scale of underreported damage in the state. That is what we seem to be missing in our daily headlines.
In the week before Amphan hit, attempts to evacuate vulnerable communities from the coastal and forest areas were made and yet, the destruction caused in the middle of a global Covid-19 pandemic has been catastrophic. The damage still remains unquantified, but locals say that this is the worst cyclone to hit the region in the last 300 years.
A couple of years ago, a consulting assignment on sustainable fisheries took me to Bangladesh and I got an opportunity to participate in the unique subculture of the mighty Ganges-Brahmaputra-Meghna delta that nurtures the world’s largest mangrove forest, the Sundarbans. The gargantuan mangrove belt stretches for about 10,000 sq km across the coast of Bangladesh and India. Discernibly different from the rest of the subcontinent and yet strangely familiar, the Sundarbans forest is an intricate system of hundreds of rivers, millions of lives, centuries of history and abundance of biodiversity. Terror tales of Kalbaisakhi winds have echoed in folklore of the region with stories of violent thunderstorms (caused by the Nor’Westers winds) uprooting the Sundari trees from which the delta gets its name. However, between India and Bangladesh, nothing like Amphan has ever been witnessed.
A paved path leads to the channel waters of the Sundarbans. Much of this locally-built infrastructure has been destroyed after the storm surge. Photo: Ruslan Gubaidullin/Shutterstock Cover photo: The Sundarbans is a fine mesh of waterways and mangrove forests shared by India and Bangladesh. A fisherman begins his day on its waters as the sun rises. Cover Photo: Helal Sujon
Perhaps the history of struggle and similar culture that we share across borders is what makes Bangladesh seem like an extension of home. And the foundation of that home has somehow been shaken. The week after Amphan ravaged the coast has been about waiting for messages on WhatsApp to move from the limbo of a “single tick”. Even after the cyclone, friends on the Bangladesh side of this mangrove forest chose to continue their conservation efforts on the ground. On the Indian side, Rohinton Babaycon, a senior colleague and a former tea planter who readily tells stories from Assam’s tea gardens, was marooned in a high-rise apartment in Kolkata. My own family home lay flooded in the low-lying Elgin Road in Kolkata, thanks to a poor drainage system.
The storm has, as some say, set the state of West Bengal back by at least a 100 years — another massive setback after the man-made famine of 1943.
At the Indian Botanic Garden, Howrah, one of the two kalpvrikshas (supposedly a wish-fulfilling tree), an ancient Olea cuspidata, lies uprooted. The century old tree was no stranger to storms but could not withstand the force of Amphan. A friend from Pakistan married into a prominent Dhaka family, Zehra, tells me that it was her grandfather who had first told her about the tree when she was growing up on the other side of the world.
In an inexplicable way, the tree seems like a metaphor for everything that has been lost in this super cyclone in the middle of the pandemic. So much seems at stake — conjoint cultures, mirrored narratives, lives and stories along two of the world’s mightiest rivers, Ganga and Brahmaputra, and most importantly the shared risk of losing the mangroves. So much more is at stake including the livelihoods of millions subsisting on agriculture, fishing and wildlife tourism. The region has suffered losses worth thousands of crores and everything will most probably have to be rebuilt from scratch. Some say, that such is life in tide country.
A couple returns home after catching fish during the high tide near a small village called Laudob, Sundarbans. Photo: Helal Sujon
Electricity and internet continues to be down in parts flooded with water. Purbo Medinipur and the four adjoining districts of Howrah, Hooghly, Paschim Medinipur and Kolkata have also been severely affected. Reports say that on the Indian side of the border, the South 24 Parganas and North 24 Parganas, districts in which the Sundarbans is located, have been hit badly. The four western Sundarbans blocks around the landfall site — Sagar, Patharpratima, Namkhana and Kakdwip — have been most damaged by the cyclone. A lot of these areas are fishing villages with entire communities focussed on seasonal fishing for livelihood and food resources. Saline embankments built to prevent inundation due to surging waves, have caved in with an impending threat of collapse. Cycles of ebb and flood is the defining nature of an estuary. These deltas thrive as freshwater marshes with plants, birds, fish and wildlife survive on the delicate saltwater-freshwater interface. An excess of saline water entering the delta rivers destabilises this balance and creates a survival challenge for the species.
Scientists and observers have been quoted saying that the ecologically-fragile region was already under stress due to rising sea levels. On-ground reports from south Bengal’s poorest areas predict that the Amphan calamity combined with COVID-19 related reverse migration, may also give rise to a new wave of migration and increased stress on the forest areas.
Embankments in the Sundarbans, that was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1987, have been breached as the cyclone inundated many kilometres of the islands, presumably on both sides of the border. In the middle of the pandemic, Amphan has not merely damaged infrastructure, it has rendered many homeless, and has severely impacted local livelihoods and small businesses.
In some areas of Sundarbans women collect shrimp larva during a low tide. Fishing is one of the main livelihoods of the region. Photo: Helal Sujon
As of now, the loss to the habitat, wildlife and ecology of the region has not been ascertained. Since the lockdowns were announced in both, India and Bangladesh, the forest itself has been off-limits — no motorised fishing has taken place, tourism is at a much-needed standstill even as fishing communities and honey collectors have been struggling with basic livelihoods and income. The pandemic-related lockdown had brought in brief spells of blue skies and clear waters, but they must not be confused with long-term climate resilience of the region.
Even before the cyclone hit the fragile ecosystem, the Sundarbans has been put at risk repeatedly with the rapid development of the waterways, powerplants and ports. This not only threatens iconic species like the royal Bengal tiger and the Indo-Gangetic river dolphin (shushuk) but has seriously impacted populations of other animals and birds as well as cetacean and marine life further out in the Bay of Bengal.
The Sundarbans is among the most biodiverse places in the world. It also provides ecosystem services which regulate winds and act as a barrier against incoming cyclones and storms. The oceanographic conditions support a diverse and large population of cetaceans as well as fisheries that are vital for the region’s food security and economy.
Today, more than ever before, there is a need to recognise the impact that all our individual and collective actions have on maintaining a balance between economic development, food security and climate risk. The time is also right to address transboundary issues and put in place climate resilient practices through the interface of shared cultures and shared risks. Recurring cyclones and extreme weather are consequences of the climate crises and emergence of zoonotic pandemics are results of human exploitation of the environment — felt more acutely in areas like the Sundarbans.
Sitting far away I can only hope that the secret phoenix of the mangroves will swing into action. The agnostic in me makes a wish on Bonbibi — the supreme protector of the mystical and timeless Sundarbans forest, and vanquisher of the evil king Dakhin Rai.
Bonbibi is worshipped by all the communities of the region – Hindus and Muslims – and across borders, in Indian and Bangladesh. An important part of the shared cultures, in some parts Bonbibi is believed to have travelled on the Kalbaisakhi winds and taken away the woes of the Sundarbans. Photo: Upamanyu Roy
Even as arguments about how cyclones are a regular occurrence in the region continue, the Sundarbans is at great risk and not as resilient. In the wake of Amphan, conservation approaches need to be put in place at the earliest. When WhatsApp messages finally get delivered, my Bangladeshi ex-colleagues and I discuss how the conservation approach needs to be anchored in the shared forest that stretches across political borders and provides protection for all and more importantly requires effective protection from all. As plans for redevelopment are made, it is imperative that collectively as two countries, we do not lose sight of the ecological security of the mangrove ecosystem and that the spirit of the Sundarbans remains resilient and resolute.
How you can help
If you are able and willing, you can help communities in the Sundarbans by donating to the following organisations.
DISHA
DISHA, a non-profit organisation, is on ground in the Sundarbans helping coastal and fishing communities with essentials. To donate visit their website: www.dishaearth.org
Dakshinbanga Matsyajibi Forum (DMF)
DMF is a grassroots organisation led and run by small-scale fisher workers in the Sundarbans. They are delivering food, tarpaulin and other essentials to Amphan victims. Visit their Facebook page for details on donating.
Jadavpur University Commune
The Jadavpur Commune, managed by Jadavpur University students, research scholars and alumni, is organising relief for the survivors in Kolkata and other districts while also operating a community kitchen serving around 600 people daily. Click on their Facebook page for donation details.
