Makeshift stall and huts, people slowly waking up from a strange sort of an indifference, all huddled together in a small cluster looked on at the strange urban creatures who had just arrived. There were three boats, operating as ferries, anchored by the bank of the Brahmaputra. There was no platform built for passengers to board them. The boatman would set up a pair of wooden planks which looked old and unsafe, yet strangely resilient and reliable as you walked over them into the boat. But, these boats weren't luxury water transportation where you can book a seat for yourself. The middle of the boat, where the streamline shape is the broadest, is used to carry vehicles - around three at a time, along with maximum four two-wheelers - and the edges of the boat are used by people to stay put for the while as this wooden beast draws itself slowly across the rivers, circumventing islets-like protrusions, elongated, isolated, in the middle of bustling waters.
I was wearing around my neck those strange red headphones which probably attracted attention of the locals, to whom they might have been resembling buttocks of a baboon. I wish I could help that, but, I was more disturbed by the idea that I had misled myself into underestimting the Brahmaputra. I walked along the white banks and stared at the river, which, from a distance, appeared to be a tranquil giant, the colour of which resembled that of jade, just a little too light. Stones with exquisite round surfaces, pebbles with spots and stripes, bearing whatever time and cricumstances had rendered could be found at the spots where river waters and white banks flanking them conversed. Chunks of sediments on these points would fall into the river every now and then. The river itself had ribbons of white islets situated within its body. You simply cannot guess how deep it is until you're told its depth.
I think it would be in order to explain where exactly is this place where I experienced the enlightenment I take so much pleasure in to elaborate upon. I was quite close to the eastern most tip of India, in the state of Arunachal Pradesh. I took National Highway 52, and my destination was Tezu, a little town on the other side of this river. Brahmaputra comes to us from Tibet, where it is known as Tsangpo. It's quite a huge river and it wouldn't be wrong to say that it has been sustaining economies, and has a huge potential to help these economies take up the next stage of development. There are many political disputes concerning this river, but let us not get into those.
It was evident we were the only tourists around the area. We took to one end of the boat and waited for it to start off. The gas emitted by the rudimentary engines entered our noses, and yes, the smell was disappointing, but I personally didn't place the importance of the same over what Brahmaputra held for me. It held absolutely nothing for me then, as it turned out. I leaned on over to let my hand flutter over the strong currents as the boat teared slowly upstream through the waters. I felt fragile, because it dawned upon me that yes, while the river was fairly silent , they were greatly agitated, strongly flowing and cold, and something larger in the environement quitened down the rushing waters. I scooped up some cold water and breathed into it before washing my face. It hd no smell, no taste. Just elegant, proud and yet, humble plainness.
A couple of days later, we were to cross it back again, and this time, the shades of jade gave away to the gray of skies that the river truthfully mirrored. Choppy waters and mild drizzle with a slight breeze. I looked to the either end of the river as it narrowed down into the horizons, but there was nothing grand that marked it in anyway possible. Just the strength of it, and the depths unfathomable by the naked eyes that, for me, made Brahmaputra a river more beautiful than the Ganges. It was like a textured paper of the slightest gray. Nothing defined it except its own creations - the shadows that made every current different from the other even for the tiniest of moments and clear silver chunks of silt solidifying into landform. My mother struck up conversation with some local Arunachali boys on the same boat as ours, and a conversation with them indicated that the locals didn't really find the idea of a bridge around that part of the river very pleasant. Brahmaputra has been bridged in the neighbouring state of Assam, where the link is about three kilometers long.
But, the whole river system is fascinating. As you drive into Arunachal towards east, you will hear of towns called Tezu, and Lohitpur. They are at the feet of mountainous formations that embrace the little area, composite of a few towns and many tiny villages. A little viewpoint in the furthest east of these mountain ranges show how the river system around that area, with the converging tributaries, meandering their way, causing white platforms to rise and solidify. Little creeks that trickle down the lowly hills provide the local, rural economies. I happened to be staying at Lohitpur, from where, we took a little roadtrip further to the east, closer to Indo-China border. From those mountains, I could see silver laces strewn across the land.
This area is very quiet, and the population density is fairly low. I would say that Brahmaputra, as it crosses Arunachal, isn't very polluted, and the recklessness of urbanization hasn't reached this area, to which, the magnificence of whatever the river has created and allowed to create around and dependent upon itself, would have been lost.
