Last year, as the monsoon swelled the Brahmaputra and spilled into Assam, Amir Hussen understood one certainty: he would have to rebuild once more.
“I have lost my house 17 times to riverbank erosion,” said the 47-year-old from Kharballi village in Barpeta district. Homes, fields and livelihoods built along shifting riverbanks are routinely swept away. Families are forced to move repeatedly, often reconstructing on borrowed plots or the narrow strips of land the river temporarily leaves behind.
Floods take more than shelter and livestock — they wash away papers and land records too. In Assam, where recent citizenship verification drives have placed Muslims under intense scrutiny, losing documents can trigger legal trouble and even threaten people’s status. “When people lose their homes and migrate to cities like Guwahati for work, cases are filed against them,” Hussen said. His maternal uncle, despite possessing papers dating to 1913, was labeled a “D-voter” (doubtful voter) and had to fight in court to prove his Indian citizenship. Others have been less fortunate: Hussen described a neighbor who spent two years in Matia detention camp before being released by a court — the family’s property had been sold and their lives upended.
The danger is not confined to Assam. Across India, climate change is increasing the frequency and intensity of floods, cyclones and droughts, but its burdens are uneven. Religious and social minorities living on floodplains, coastal strips and erosion-prone islands are often the first to lose everything and the last to receive aid. They are also typically poorer and politically marginalized.
Temporary relief, recurring loss
In flood-prone Supaul district of Bihar, which borders Nepal, the pattern repeats. Abdul Rauf, a 40-year-old teacher, has long watched the Kosi River — nicknamed “the Sorrow of Bihar” — inundate homes and fields. He estimates that about “80% of the population is affected by floods.” The poorest and lower-middle classes suffer most, he said: “If people had resources, why would they live in the floodplain?”
Relief arrives but is short-lived. “They give polythene sheets, dry food, some compensation,” Rauf said. “But people return after one or two months and meet the same fate next year. They have no option.” In Araria district, 23-year-old Aftab Alam described how villages become islands each monsoon. “Leaders say ‘jal hi jeevan hai’ [water is life],” he said. “But for us, it is death.”
A 2024 assessment found roughly 82% of families in north Bihar were temporarily displaced by that year’s floods; many had to sell or mortgage jewelry, livestock and land. About 91% of affected households reduced food intake, and 75% borrowed food. Alam recalled catastrophic flooding in 2017, when embankments collapsed and whole settlements vanished overnight. His family spent a night on a highway — the only elevated ground available. He complained that state compensation was inadequate and distributed unevenly: “Those who are rich and privileged manage to take it. They don’t even live here.”
“Nobody cares what happens to us”
Kharballi itself has been steadily eaten away by the Beki River, a Brahmaputra tributary. The village once lay inland; now much of it has gone. Nearly all of the roughly 300 families there have been displaced multiple times. Flood timing has become unpredictable: “Earlier, floods used to come during July or August,” Hussen said. “Now the pattern is changing. Sometimes floods come two months earlier or two months later. Sometimes there is torrential rain. Sometimes there is drought. It’s as if the air is changing.”
Beyond the floods, residents face government indifference. Officials come, measure land and compile lists, Hussen said, but “the lists remain lists. We haven’t received a single penny.” He believes the neglect is rooted in marginalization: “We belong to the minority community. Nobody cares what happens to us.”
Compounded misery
The damage lasts long after waters recede. “Climate change is ultimately about who has the means to absorb loss,” said Vimlendu Jha, an environmentalist and climate activist. Poor families depend directly on land and weather; when climate shocks hit, their incomes collapse first. For people like Hussen, each flood layers on previous losses: land and documents disappear, disrupting food security, schooling and any capacity to plan beyond the next monsoon. Hussen recalled sitting his high school exams decades ago after days without food while living in a makeshift shelter. His children have faced similar disruptions: his daughter, a strong student, nevertheless could not continue education because of the family’s precarious situation.
Fertile but risky floodplains
Across Assam and Bihar, many floodplains are inhabited predominantly by Muslims, Dalits and other marginalized groups. “These are active floodplains,” said Ishfaqul Haque, a remote-sensing scientist with BhoomiCAM, which monitors rainfall, soil moisture and rivers in eastern India. The soils are fertile, attracting agricultural communities, but in floods those without resources have the least ability to recover. Wealthier families can move, rebuild or absorb losses; the poor remain exposed. “So it is a double whammy for the marginalized,” Haque said.
Jha added that repeated displacement drives distress migration and deeper insecurity. Governments typically respond after disasters, but long-term resilience planning — the measures that could reduce recurring harm and help people rebuild sustainably — is still largely absent.
The reporting for this story was supported by a grant from the HRRF Journalism Grant Program.
Edited by: Darko Janjevic