A woman ferrying a boat across the Kosi River in Supaul district.
Photo: Neetu Singh
Originating in the mountains of Nepal, the Kosi River flows through Nepal, Tibet, and Bihar before merging with the Ganges near Rajmahal. Over centuries, the river has repeatedly shifted its course, flooding large parts of north Bihar and leaving behind destruction and displacement. Because of this unpredictable behaviour, the Kosi is widely known as the “Sorrow of Bihar".
On a humid afternoon, 40-year-old Bulandi Devi stepped off a small wooden boat on the banks of the Kosi. Wearing a yellow sari, with a cloth bag slung across her back and slippers in her hand, she had already walked nearly an hour from her village, Sikarhatta Palar.
Her journey was still far from over.
After crossing the river by boat, she had another half-kilometre to walk before reaching the road that leads to the nearest market, where she planned to grind wheat and buy vegetables.
Bulandi Devi walked quickly along the dusty path leading away from the riverbank. When asked why she was in such a hurry, she explained that time mattered.
“If we don't go quickly, we will be late on our return. We have to walk for an hour through the bushes and jungle to reach the village. It's a deserted road, and we are afraid of getting late. First we will grind the wheat, then we will buy vegetables from the market.”
For women living between the Kosi embankments, such journeys are routine. Markets, healthcare facilities, and schools are often kilometres away, and reaching them involves a combination of walking and crossing the river by boat.
“For us, walking 10–12 kilometres is a daily routine,” Bulandi Devi said matter-of-factly. “Now that we were born in Kosi, we have to walk that much.”
Four other women had crossed the river with her in the same boat. Because the route passes through isolated stretches of land, women and girls rarely travel alone.
Their village, Sikarhatta, lies nearly 100 kilometres from the Supaul district headquarters, a distance that illustrates how physically and administratively distant these communities remain from centres of governance and services.
The boat that carried them across the Kosi was steered by Shankar, a 60-year-old ferryman who has spent most of his life rowing people across the river.
Seven passengers squeezed into the narrow wooden boat as he pushed it away from the muddy bank.
“I don’t know my exact age,” Shankar said with a laugh when asked how long he had been ferrying people. “But I have been rowing since childhood. I was born in this village on the banks of the Kosi and still live here. Whenever someone needs to cross and I am free, I help them.”
Among the passengers were two sisters, Khushboo and Priyanka. Priyanka, who is married, was travelling to visit her mother on the other side of the river.
Her face reflected the mix of joy and fatigue common among people living along the floodplain.
“We live outside the embankment where flooding is less", she said. “My mother lives here because of the farm and the animals. When the river rises, my parents stay here and we remain on the other side.”
Seasonal separation between families is common in the Kosi region, where rising waters frequently isolate villages for weeks or months.
Khushboo and Priyanka hail from a village situated between the Kosi embankments.
After the boat reached the opposite bank, Priyanka led the way to her one-room house. She quickly lit a stove and prepared tea.
Inside the thatched structure, the belongings were sparse: a few utensils, two or three days’ worth of rations, and a small plate containing several rotis. Nearby lay about half a kilogram of onions. Flour and rice were stored in a bucket, alongside a small amount of salt and less than 50 grams of mustard oil.
This was the extent of the household supplies. Such scarcity is common in villages along the Kosi embankments, where recurring floods damage crops, erode farmland, and disrupt livelihoods.
Communities like the Musahar and Mallah largely inhabit these flood-prone areas. Their lives are shaped by annual flooding, soil erosion, sand deposition, crop losses, and limited access to education, healthcare, and infrastructure.
A Research conducted by Ranjit Kumar Sahni under the guidance of Dr Siddharth Krishnan at the Ashoka Trust for Research in Ecology and the Environment (ATREE), Bengaluru, highlights how geography shapes social decisions in the region.
According to the study, families often hesitate to marry daughters into distant villages because embankments and floods can cut off access for months. To keep daughters closer to home, families sometimes agree to higher dowries if a suitable match is found nearby.
Priyanka making tea in her small hut
Reaching Sikarhatta Palar village requires another long walk. The journey begins from Anita’s house and continues for about an hour along a narrow, unpaved path that cuts through fields and tall grass. This road is the village’s only link to the outside world.
Residents walk along it daily to reach markets and ferry points. Children use the same route to attend school. Yet for many, the journey becomes impossible during floods or monsoon months.
As a result, many students miss three to four months of schooling each year after the sixth grade.
Academic research has highlighted the broader social consequences of recurring floods in the region. A study published in the Sage journal by Subhendu Kumar Acharya, Jayshree Parida, and Braj Kishore Narayan Singh found that natural disasters in the Kosi basin deepen economic vulnerability, particularly among landless households.
In some cases, families coping with repeated financial losses resort to early marriage or depend on dowry as a strategy for economic survival. The study also notes a strong preference for sons, who are often seen as future breadwinners, while daughters are perceived as financial responsibilities.
These social dynamics reveal how environmental stress can reshape family structures and decisions over time.
In the villages situated near the Kosi River, women frequently pass through such desolate areas.
Villages located between the Kosi embankments remain largely disconnected from development.
Infrastructure projects in these areas frequently stall due to recurring floods. Each year, thousands of square kilometres of land are submerged, disrupting roads, electricity supply, and basic services.
Government data shows that flood-affected areas increased significantly between 2015 and 2020. Although updated figures are not available on the official portal, residents say the situation has changed little.
The lack of infrastructure is visible even during a simple walk through the area.
Along the path stood a small hut with a solar panel installed on its roof. The house belonged to Sitaram.
When asked about the panel, his wife explained its fate.
“It was installed three or four years ago, but it no longer works. Everything was submerged in the flood last year. It hasn't been working since then. Mechanics can't walk this far, so we live in darkness.
After crossing another water-filled drain and walking nearly 20 minutes further, the group finally reached Sikarhatta Palar village.
Just outside the settlement stands a small solar powerhouse with around 50–60 panels installed by the government, which provides limited electricity to the area.
Even with this facility, electricity remains unreliable. Most households depend on hand pumps for drinking water.
However, these pumps are frequently damaged or submerged during floods.
According to a report published in Mongabay, recurring floods have created a severe drinking water crisis in the region. When pumps remain underwater, residents are forced to use muddy or contaminated water, increasing the risk of disease.
Many women report falling ill in the weeks following floods.
Solar panels installed in Sikrahatta Palar village that have malfunctioned
Inside the village, the reality of flood-affected life becomes even clearer. In a dimly lit thatched house, 55-year-old Sita Devi was cooking on a small stove. The room was damp, with spider webs clinging to the roof and faint daylight filtering through the walls. Her bedding rested on a cot, while her clothes and belongings were stored in a wooden box.
Black plastic sheets covered the roof in an attempt to prevent rainwater from entering. Even so, almost every corner of the house remained damp.
“We cook while it's still daylight. By sunset, it gets dark. We don't have solar lights in our house. At night, we're very afraid of snakes and scorpions. When there's a flood, we go to live outside the village, at higher altitudes. When the water recedes, we return home. No one lives here by choice; everyone lives out of compulsion. Now, where can we go?”
Last year’s floods brought another painful loss. Sita Devi’s pregnant buffalo died. “Last year, during the floods, we used to crawl waist-deep to fetch grass for the buffaloes. Here, the water remained 24 hours a day for 10–11 days. It was very muddy. I don't know how a buffalo worth 50,000–60,000 rupees died. There's no income here. The buffaloes and cows cover our expenses. We produce a little. Here, we're not living; we're just passing the time.”
Stories like hers are common across the Kosi floodplain. During the 2008 Bihar floods, around 2.5 million people and nearly one million animals were affected. Nearly 100,000 hectares of farmland were submerged, and 300,000 homes were destroyed. At the time, Bihar’s Disaster Management Minister Nitish Mishra described it as the most devastating flood the state had seen in fifty years.
Sita Devi broke down in tears while recounting the hardships of her life.
In Sikarhatta village, nearly 300 houses stand close together, all made of thatch and covered with tarpaulins to prevent rainwater from entering.
Several girls in the village have stopped attending school.
Among them is Nishu Kumari, a seventh-grade student who has not attended school for more than three months.
“My sister is the only one in the entire village who has studied till 10th grade. I also want to study, but what can I do? Because of the distance, I am afraid to go alone. The boat schedule is also not fixed. If I find out, I can walk for an hour and then if I don't find a boat, I have to come back. This fear is the reason we don't go to school. I feel like going every day, but what can I do?”
Other girls such as Babita, Poonam, and Rita face similar challenges.
Rita stopped going to school two years ago.
“Go to school for four months and stay at home for four months. What's the point of such education? I had a dream of studying, but it remained unfulfilled.”
In villages along the Kosi, floods do not just destroy homes and crops — they also quietly disrupt children’s education.
The daughters of Sikrahatta village, deprived of education
Local organisations have stepped in to address some of these challenges. “In the interior areas of Kosi, girls often miss out on education, and boys also don't get adequate educational opportunities,” said Manoj Kumar Jha of the organisation Goonj, which has been working in the flood-affected region for 17 years.
“Due to lack of employment opportunities, boys migrate at a young age. We've tried to encourage volunteers to construct temporary buildings using bamboo and tarpaulin, where children can come and study for three to four hours,” he added. Around sixty children are currently studying in Sikarhatta through these informal learning spaces.
The organisation also runs programmes to support women, including hygiene awareness, distribution of sanitary pads, and livelihood initiatives under the “Vapsi” programme, which helps women sustain households when men migrate for work. For many families along the Kosi embankments, such initiatives provide small but significant support in a landscape where floods continue to shape everyday life.
Women in Sikrahatta Palar village, Supaul, expressing their concerns
As the journey through the village continued, conversations with local women revealed another pressing concern: health. Alongside the hardships caused by floods, women here face limited access to healthcare and little awareness about nutrition or medical care.
Flooding in the Kosi region isolates villages for long periods, making it extremely difficult for residents to reach doctors or health facilities. For women and adolescent girls, the consequences are severe.
Across India, 60% of adolescent girls (15–19 years) and 57% of women of reproductive age (15–49 years) suffer from anaemia. Nearly one in two pregnant women in the country is also anaemic, increasing the risk of complications during childbirth and maternal mortality.
The situation in Bihar is even more alarming. According to the National Family Health Survey (NFHS), 63.6% of women of reproductive age and 63.1% of pregnant women in the state suffer from anaemia. Earlier NFHS data (2015–16) estimated that around 67% of women in Bihar are anaemic.
Maternal health indicators reflect similar distress. Bihar’s maternal mortality ratio (MMR) is 267, the highest in the country, and only 17% of deliveries in flood-affected areas occur in health institutions. These conditions significantly increase the risk of maternal and neonatal deaths.
Floods further worsen the situation. After floodwaters recede, epidemics and waterborne diseases often spread rapidly, affecting women and children the most.
According to NFHS-5, Bihar’s infant mortality rate is 47 per 1,000 live births. Among adolescent mothers under 20 years of age, the rate rises to around 64 per 1,000 births, highlighting the risks associated with early pregnancies and disaster-affected environments.
These figures show that the impact of floods extends far beyond the Kosi basin, shaping broader development indicators in Bihar. On many measures related to women’s health and wellbeing, the state continues to lag behind the national average.
For residents of Sikarhatta Palar, the sense of isolation is not only geographical but also political.
Villagers said that it had been years since a journalist last visited the area.
Gajendra Mehta expressed his surprise at the visit.
“No media person had visited our village before. I don't know how you took all this trouble to come here. Thank you. Please convey our concerns to the government. If a dam is built here, everyone will feel better. Media members should stay with us every month or two so we can convey our message to the government.”
His words reflected a long-standing frustration among residents who feel their struggles rarely reach policymakers.
Even the men in the village acknowledged the difficulties faced by women, particularly during pregnancy.
Kamleshwar Mehta described the situation: “There’s no doctor here for treatment. Pregnant women face the most problems. Anganwadis have been set up in wards 16 and 17, but they are of little use. In the past 30–35 years, many pregnant women have died here during pregnancy. If something goes wrong during childbirth, where will they find treatment in this jungle?”
Reports have repeatedly highlighted the vulnerability of pregnant women during floods in Bihar. According to an IANS report, many women lost their lives during childbirth due to the lack of medical care during flood emergencies. Even those who delivered in relief camps faced overcrowded and unsafe conditions.
Following the devastating 2008 floods, the Bihar government announced financial assistance for newborns in relief camps. At the time, Chief Minister Nitish Kumar declared that families would receive ₹11,000 for every girl child and ₹10,000 for every boy born in relief camps.
However, none of the families interviewed reported receiving these benefits. That year, dozens of pregnant women reportedly died during childbirth, and many newborns did not survive due to the lack of doctors, medicines, and basic facilities. Some mothers were even unable to breastfeed because of extreme stress and food shortages.
During the post-flood period, access to healthcare becomes even more unequal. Many families hesitate to seek modern medical treatment because of high costs and limited income. As a result, people often rely on traditional or local healing systems.
However, migration after floods has slowly begun to change this pattern. With some family members working in cities, households have gained greater purchasing power and access to health information, allowing more people to seek modern healthcare when possible.
Dr Saurabh Varshney, Executive Director of the National Institute of Diabetes and Anemia (NIDA), AIIMS Patna, emphasised the scale of the problem.
“Anemia is a major concern as nearly 50% of women of reproductive age are affected by it. Bihar and Jharkhand are among the most affected states.”
Sikrahatta Village: Where neither the media nor the government visits.
For residents of Sikarhatta, accessing medical treatment often requires travelling long distances.
According to reports, many villagers say they must travel two to three hours by boat to reach Supaul, the nearest town with adequate medical facilities.
When asked about the situation, Supaul Civil Surgeon Dr. Lalan Kumar Thakur stated that the administration takes measures during floods.
“During floods, we set up camps throughout the area to ensure no one faces inconvenience. We spray mosquito repellent and provide medicines. Pregnant women are moved to safer locations to avoid complications during delivery. There are also primary health centres within the Kosi region where people can seek treatment.”
However, Indra Narayan Singh of the Kosi Nav Nirman Manch disputes this claim.
“There is no government hospital inside the Kosi embankment. People living here have to travel two to three hours by boat to Supaul for treatment. Pregnant women deliver in unsafe conditions.”
For many women in Sikarhatta, life is marked by isolation.
Most of the young men from the village migrate to cities for work, leaving behind households largely made up of women, children, and elderly people.
Babita Devi described the uncertainty of everyday life.
“People travel the world in search of work, but where do we go? Politicians come only during elections and promise change, but nothing happens. At night we cannot sleep peacefully because the area is surrounded by jungle and we fear animals. There is not even a small patch of dry land to sit on. Mosquitoes are everywhere. We crave even the smallest comforts here. If someone stayed here for a week or fifteen days, they would understand what life is like.”
Despite these hardships, villagers continue to cultivate rice and vegetables. Bamboo scaffolding supports climbing crops across small plots of land. Yet every year, there is a constant fear that floods will wash everything away.
Still, people plant crops again, hoping that the river might spare them that season.
Flood-prone regions also expose women and girls to other risks. Reports indicate that in several villages, most men migrate to cities in search of employment, leaving women to manage households alone.
Girls in these areas face insecurity during floods and are particularly vulnerable to trafficking. The Supaul district has also reported high rates of child marriage.
In some cases, older men from states such as Haryana and Uttar Pradesh marry young girls from poor families by offering money to their parents. Poverty, insecurity, and the absence of economic opportunities often push families towards such decisions.
Local organisations are trying to counter these pressures. With the support of Goonj, women in the region are being linked to small self-employment opportunities to strengthen livelihoods and reduce distress migration.
Shekhar Kumar Jha, coordinator of the Gyan Seva Bharti Institute, which has worked in the region for nearly three decades, says economic independence is key to changing these conditions.
Women from Sikrahatta village in Supaul district
The Kosi basin has witnessed repeated floods over the decades. After the devastating flood of 1954, major floods occurred again in 1974, 1987, 1999, 2004, and 2007–08.
The 2007 flood proved particularly destructive. According to official data, crops worth nearly ₹30 crore were destroyed, 1,183 people lost their lives, and countless homes and farmlands were wiped out.
The disaster directly affected around two crore people and 1.8 lakh hectares of land. Thousands were left homeless, hungry, and landless.
(Source: NIDM Annual Report, 2011, p. 243)
These numbers offer only a partial picture of the devastation. For the people living along the Kosi embankments, floods are not a one-time disaster but a recurring reality that continues to shape their lives year after year.
Communities living along the Kosi embankments frequently face outbreaks of waterborne diseases after floods. Reports and local news coverage following major flooding events often highlight a rise in diarrhoea and other infections.
Floodwaters contaminate hand pumps and tube wells, leaving residents with little access to safe drinking water. After the devastating 2008 Kosi floods, widespread cases of diarrhoea and severe food shortages were reported across the region.
Recent updates from 2024 suggest that similar patterns continue. Villages in the flood-affected belt report increasing cases of stomach ailments, skin infections, and other health complications after floodwaters recede.
In this village in the Kosi district of Supaul, women and other residents are falling victim to a host of ailments.
For women, these health risks are compounded by the physical hardships of daily life. Long walks through muddy terrain, exposure to contaminated water, and the absence of proper medical care often leave visible marks — wounds on hands and feet, exhaustion, and persistent illness.
The struggles of women in Sikarhatta Palar village reflect the broader reality faced by communities living between the Kosi embankments.
Babita Devi, a resident of the village, described the uncertainty that has shaped her life since marriage.
“Ever since we got married, we have faced these troubles. Except for a few years, our paddy crop has been submerged by floods. When it rains and the river’s flow becomes strong, I cannot sleep out of fear. Where can we run? We don’t even have enough money to live elsewhere. Now life and death are in the hands of Mother Kosi.”
Her words capture the fragile balance between hope and despair that defines life along the river — where every monsoon brings the same question: whether the river will spare the village this year.