the other side of floods

In West Bengal, at least in most parts of the state, this is the season of floods. The rain had poured down tirelessly all these past two months and now the rivers are flowing over their banks and flooding villages and crops. Every year during this particular period of time newspapers and tv channels depict the loss and destruction that come with the flood. My village, which is situated in the basin of a not so well known river in a remote corner of Malda district has always been a victim of this annual ritual of flood. It is a low lying area. However the village, a long row of houses, is perched on a high ridge that spans from west to east across the basin. It is said that a king built this ridge as a road which could be used in times of flood. I don't know whether in past it managed to remain above water but in present times it often get submerged and the use of the village path had to be put on hold for a month or so. Every house in the village is built on a ground much higher than that of the path. So, as everything around- the fields, the ridge itself with the unpaved path, the forest that faces the village in the south- go under the water the houses , some clustered together in an unbroken line, while some alone surrounded by water on all sides, floats like an archipelago from a mysterious watery world. It is the beauty of the flood that I have experienced in my village. It is exotic with water stretching to the horizons. Sometimes it feels almost surreal and one tend to ask oneself is this belongs to the same world that has Kolkata or for that matter Burdwan.Boats, only means of communication, ply from house to house. Voices slips on the water surface as men talk while they fish with their nets sitting in their boats. In these few days everyone in the village with a boat of his own turn fisherman and it is a great fun to do so with such a vast expanse of water at their disposal, and they fish in water beneath which lie the lands that they would cultivate once the water recedes. Women go out on boats to collect the succulent stalks of water lilies which ,with their flat round leaves and beautiful flowers stretch out over large expanse of water.Every house smells of fish. On market days boats of every size loaded with men and women make their ways through the water in a colourful and noisy procession. The moonlit nights are particularly spectacular. As a cool breeze sweeps acroos the water every ripples sparkle with a crown of silver,as far as one see. Tops of submerged trees stood like ghosts, ghosts that come out only in moonlight. One has only to take a cruise on a boat through this water gently skimming the glittering surface while the land below the water sleeps.After all a coin has two sides.