The Unheard Women of Assam's Langdang: Weaving Dreams in Silence

Langdang Para is not the kind of place that shows up on tourist maps. Tucked away in a forested corner along the fringes of Manas National Park in Assam’s Baksa district, it’s a village few have heard of—and fewer still have visited. There are no proper roads. Electricity flickers, when available. The nearest health centre is miles away. But in this forgotten dot on the map, a quiet revolution is unfolding, one thread at a time.

A group of women—many of them widows, mothers, and farmers—have come together to script their own story of survival and dignity. Their collective is called Purnima SHG, a self-help group that began over a decade ago, and today, is the lifeline of many households in the village.

“We tried everything,” one of the older members told me, sitting on the earthen floor of her home. “Pigs, goats—we grazed them near the Manas river. They died. We tried chalk and pencil making. Nothing worked. Even mushroom farming failed. But we didn’t stop.”

It was only when they turned to the one thing passed down through generations—handloom—that something finally clicked.

A Loom in Every Home

Today, each member of Purnima SHG spins and weaves from home. Their days begin before sunrise—cooking, cleaning, working in the fields—and somewhere in between, they manage to sit at the loom. It’s backbreaking, slow work. But it’s theirs.

“In three days, one woman can weave two gamusas,” said another member, proudly holding up a freshly woven Bihuwan. “We sell them for 100 rupees each. The Bodoland gamusa, which takes more effort, sells for 300. If someone takes two, we give it for 500.”

They don’t have a shop. Customers come to their homes, or they connect with buyers through Aaranyak, an NGO that works in the area on wildlife conservation and sustainable livelihoods.

There’s no marketing team, no social media page, no e-commerce app. Just word of mouth—and a commitment to keep going.

More Than a Product, It's Survival

What these women are doing is more than creating textiles. They are keeping themselves, their families, and their culture alive. In a village with no steady income sources, women have become the backbone.

And it’s not easy.

“After all this, we still have to go to the fields,” said another woman. “Sometimes we don’t eat properly, but we don’t stop the weaving. At least this brings money home.”

Many of them have lost members over the years. Some founders of the SHG passed away. Others left. But new hands took their place. The loom never stopped.

A Story Hidden Beneath Tourism Posters

While tourists click photos of golden langurs and rhinos in Manas, the stories of Langdang Para’s women are largely ignored. There are no schemes reaching them, no training workshops, and no support for scaling their work. Their products rarely make it to mainstream markets. Their names are missing from government files.

And yet, they weave.

They use natural dyes, dyeing yarns with care before weaving. Every piece is handmade, every thread dyed and pulled by hand, every design rooted in tradition.

One woman laughed as she spoke to me, almost embarrassed:

“We failed so many times. Pig, goat, chalk, mushroom—all went to loss. But this, this thread work—we know it. This is what we know how to do.”

What They Need: Not Pity, But Access

What could help them? The answers are simple: better looms, proper dyeing equipment, a centre to train younger girls, perhaps even a solar-powered unit to run machines. But more than anything, they need access—to markets, buyers, and recognition.

They don’t ask for charity. They want buyers. They want their work to reach people beyond their district. They want the dignity of earning from their skill.

As one woman summed up, “We don’t want anyone to give us free money. We just want a way to sell what we make.”

A Thread of Resistance

The story of Langdang Para isn’t just about handloom. It’s about resistance—against poverty, patriarchy, and neglect. It’s about women who’ve faced repeated failures, buried their losses, and picked up the loom again.

In a remote village forgotten by systems and statistics, these women are weaving more than cloth. They’re weaving a future—with colour, strength, and silence.

Let’s not wait for the world to notice. Let’s choose to listen.

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