Black Alluvium

The Brahmaputra. Also known as the Tsangpo on the leeward side. The flood season is over. The banks are sandy and the river is silent, except for the occasional murmur as the waters eddy around the sand deposits or debris hidden beneath. No Dolphins today. There is haze and mist adding to the surreality with the midday glitters on the water. The sky and the deceptive dark flow are hardly discernible. We make our foot prints among the many left earlier by Rhinos and Elephants on this gray dusty bank, and just like them, we are unable to reach the water from the sandy cliff. More than 300 meters away, a solitary Elephant sounds off a warning and continues to graze and play with the sand. It blends in easily. The fine dust kicks up readily and sticks on to the shoes, clothing and the camera. There is no wind. There are numerous perfectly conical and identical holes on the ground -- entrances to the underworld. The shifting sands, the moving river, the animals, insects and us... nothing stands here for too long, except the plants. And the movements are all measured and very slow. In this desolation, with its sheer volume and width of about 15 kms, the river appears pristine and primeval to the eye. For now, everything is calm and sleepy. I am, without choice or protest, in sync. The memory is flooded with information and all the thinking has to come later.