Baghjan: Where the Fire Still Smoulders

It has been almost five and a half years since the oil-field blowout in Baghjan village on 27 May 2020. Baghjan is located around 15 kilometres from the Tinsukia town, the district headquarters of the Tinsukia district of eastern Assam. The blowout fire continued till 15 November that year, causing unprecedented misery to the villagers of Baghjan and the surrounding areas. Many houses, agricultural fields, homesteads, and other properties were gutted, and there were large-scale evacuations of the local population. The fire caused severe damage to the eco-sensitive zone, which is close to the Dibru-Saikhowa National Park and Maguri-Motapung wetland (beel). 

As we were at Dibrugarh University for a training programme on water on 21 October last, we decided to visit the site to understand the current condition of the villagers. The four of us –Bhai (Keshab Chatradhara), Mirza (Mirza Zulfiqar Rahman), S. Viswanath, popularly known as the ‘Rainman of Bangaluru’; and I – drove to Baghjan, which is about 50 kilometres from Dibrugarh. We took the road to Guijan Ghat from National Highway 115 and went straight to the ghat, which lies on the bank of the Lohit River, a tributary of the Brahmaputra. According to the locals, it was once the Dibru River that flowed here; later, the Lohit changed its course to occupy this channel, merging with the Dibru. In the distance, on the western horizon, the Lohit joins the Brahmaputra.

Across the Lohit, one can see the Laika-Dadhiya forest villages, a part of the Dibru-Saikhowa National Park, inhabited by the Mising tribe, who have long demanded permanent rehabilitation after being displaced from their original habitats by the 1950 earthquake. We saw people ferried across the Lohit by both motor launch and country boats.

Nirantar Gohain, who runs the Dibru-Saikhowa Eco Camp, came to meet us and lamented the pollution in the ghat – from the immersion of idols and plastics, not to mention the noise pollution created by the loud music during emersions during puja seasons. We saw the numerous wooden frames of idols lying strewn along the riverbank. He invited us for tea. But since our destination was Baghjan, we departed, promising him to return on our way back.

Crossing a few villages where darkness descends even when the sun is still bright due to densely populated trees and their foliage, we took a left turn to reach the concrete bridge over Maguri-Motapung wetland, which is located around 3.5 km from Guijan. Bhai and Mirza, who frequent the area, observed that the water volume in the wetland is way less than what is normal at this time of the year. This observation was confirmed by a couple of villagers we met at the site. They also spoke of a decline in fish population in the wetland.

One km further is Baghjan village. Before we turn toward the village on the right, lies the protected site of the Baghjan Coup no. 5 of Oil India Limited (OIL).  This is where the blowout took place. The fire engulfed a large area around the oilfield, and its impact was felt in a much larger area.  While the surrounding areas have today regained their greenery back which the fire turned to ashes, a great testimony to nature’s capacity to replenish itself, the adverse effects of the disaster continue to linger in different ways.

In August 2022, OIL undertook a dense plantation of 35,000 trees of 46 species in the area of the Coup no 5 following a modified Akira Miyawaki technique to create an ‘environmental protection forest’. Locals, however, told us that hardly 3000 of these trees are likely to survive.  

Papul Gogoi is a local youth in his late twenties or early thirties with a calm yet resolute disposition. A former secretary of Milan Jyoti Yuba Sangha, a local youth organisation, Papulis now its advisor. This organisation represented the victims of the disaster for compensation.

Papul briefed us on the current situation of the village. It is evident that even after five and a half years, the villagers have not yet overcome the traumatic experience of the disaster. It has left deep psychological scars in the minds of most of the villagers, and in some, its impact has remained as deep as ever. Papul told us that there have been many cases of skin allergies in the village. A child died of bone cancer around one and a half years before. There are several cases of paralysis among the villagers. Cases of appendicitis among small children are rising. There have been several cases of stillborn babies. Villagers believe that these are the fallout of the pollution that the blowout has caused. “kobo nowaroaruba ki kibemarolai” (“we don’t know what new diseases are waiting for us”), Papul said.

The first house on the right as one enters the village belongs to Labanya Saikia. Her home, which stood closest to the blowout site, was gutted in the fire. Someone told us that she refused to leave her during the evacuations of the villagers that followed the blowout.  Her story – and the deep psychological toll the fire took on her –has already been documented in several reports. Now in her fifties, she is a gutsy woman.

She also spoke about water contamination. Water drawn from tube wells for drinking and cooking still has an oily taste. Papul mentioned that the water supply under the Jal Jeevan Mission has reached some nearby areas, but he was doubtful whether the piped water would ever reach Baghjan, and even if it does, whether it will work efficiently.

While I suggested the installation of filters for drinking water, Biswanath proposed rainwater harvesting. As an expert on the subject, his model seemed practical. Labanya Saikia, however, smiled cynically at the idea and said, “petotiman dine ji somabolagesomaisei sage” ("whatever bad stuff was meant to get into the stomach must have already happened."). We all agreed Biswanath’s idea was cheap, simple and sustainable.

Baghjan village was once known for its fertile soil and agricultural productivity. Rice, banana, betelnut and green tea leaves from small tea gardens from the village were sent to the markets outside, which contributed a great deal to the economic well-being of the villagers. However, villagers now complain that agricultural productivity has declined sharply since the blowout, blaming the contamination of water, soil and air.

Baghjan is a grim reminder of how corporates,in their pursuit of profit, often flout various established procedures –such as informing local communities, conducting proper social and environmental impact assessments, following safety procedures, and so on.  Such negligence pushes local communities, wildlife and the environment to the brink of catastrophe. Whether the corporates will draw any lessons from disasters like Baghjan, however, is anybody’s guess.

It was already dark when we left Baghjan. The place is no longer in the news, and we seem to have forgotten what the villagers continue to endure as the aftereffects of the blowout. These aftereffects, experts say, are likely to persist for many years. In the meantime, the struggle for adequate compensation continues.

We headed back toward GuijanGhat. A long procession of local Adivasi youths was moving toward the riverbank for the immersion of idols after Kali Puja. Zubeen’s song ‘Maya’ blared from the speakers. A few of the youths from the procession helped our car pass through the crowd. As we drove past, they shouted cheerfully near our window, “Jai Zubeen Da”!  We sheepishly echoed back, “Jai Zubeen Da”!  

Baghjan today stands at a crossroads of memory and neglect. Nature has slowly begun to heal, yet the people continue to carry their wounds — some visible, many not. The flames that once rose high above the Dibru–Saikhowa skies are gone, but traces of loss, displacement and distrust still hang in the air. As new development projects are planned in ecologically fragile frontiers, Baghjan remains a reminder of how costly progress can be when it comes at the expense of both people and nature.

(The writer is a professor of Sociology at Tezpur University)

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