Can you imagine villages that vanish from maps every monsoon? Where reaching hospital becomes a life-threatening mission? This isn't a dystopian novel - it's a reality in the heart of Bastar.
Just 15 kilometers from Narayanpur in Chhattisgarh's Abujhmad region, villages like Gumiyabeda, Jyulapadar, Jharawahi, Doomnar, and Kormeta turn into islands every year during rains. No boats. No bridges. Just a river and uncertainty they get completely cut off during monsoon.
Crossing a river here means tying empty vessels with plastic sheets - or swimming across. "We've been crossing this way since childhood. Some were swept away," says Lakhuram Mandavi, a villager. To go to the city, one has to cross the river by swimming or take a long detour to reach Brihbeda. If someone falls sick, they are carried on a cot across the river. What facilities are there for us tribals? We've been doing this since childhood - crossing rivers using membranes tied to vessels. People have been swept away. When I was small, I heard many died like this. The school inside has been shifted to Kurushnar."
In monsoon, even school takes a pause. "My daughter is in Class 11. She waits till the water recedes," said Bawan Poyam. "She stops going to school when it rains. There's only a primary school inside. We only come out when the water level drops."
Budhram from another village came to charge his phone - only to find the neighbouring village also without electricity. "We have mobiles, but nowhere to charge them. People crossed rivers to nearby villages just to charge their phones. But even those villages had no power. Every house has a phone, but what use is it if we can't charge them?"
District Collector Pratishtha Mamagai assured that services are being expanded. "Wherever our monsoon camps have reached or work is approved, things will improve in a few months."
And then comes illness - silent, consistent, and often fatal.
At the banks of the Kukur River, NDTV found a family waiting - not for a miracle, but for the fever to pass. The mother's lips were dry, the children were burning with fever, and the father watched helplessly. "I have malaria. I also have fever. Everyone has it, except one child," says Ramesh Kumar Salam, pointing to his feverish children and pale wife. Other people in the village are also sick. There's no help."
When NDTV met them at the Kukur riverbank, their pain was overwhelming - but not new. They had learned to wait. But this time, our team didn't. We carried them ourselves to Ramakrishna Mission Hospital.
Though, Chhattisgarh government claims malaria cases in Bastar have declined by 72 per cent since 2015. The malaria positivity rate is down from 4.60 per cent to 0.46 per cent, and API (Annual Parasite Incidence) has dropped from 27.4 to 7.11.
But Abujhmad asks, can a mother wait for "months"? Can a fever follow a government plan? Abujhmad doesn't shout - it flows quietly like its rivers, swallowing roads, futures, and often, hope. This is not just about distance. It's about the divide - between the state and its most silent citizens. When the forest runs a fever, its heat scorches the soul of a nation still learning to listen.
(With Inputs from Zulfikar Ali)
