SAGAR: A kilometre-long silver beach, with fascinating patterns, that used to be drawn by sand bubbler crabs, has been wiped out of the Gangasagar isl.
In many ways, Jamuna Mondal's life has been shaped by river erosion and climate change. When the 75-year-old married Sridhar Mondal at a tender age around sixty years ago, she became part of a well-to-do family. After half-a-century of upheavals, she now finds herself and her 10-member family towing the lines of destitution. "I have faced at least 10 separate instances of
Tigers Stalk, Storms Rage, but Poverty Forces Indians Deeper Into the Sundarbans 15/01/2021
Men on a boat row past mangrove trees encircling Satjelia island in the Sundarbans, December 15, 2019. Photo: Reuters/Anushree Fadnavis.
Satjelia, West Bengal: On a warm November afternoon, Parul Haldar balanced precariously on the bow of a small wooden dinghy, pulling in a long net flecked with fish from the swirling brown river.
Just behind her loomed the dense forest of the Sundarbans, where some 10,000 square km of tidal mangroves straddle India’s northeastern coastline and western Bangladesh and open into the Bay of Bengal.
Four years ago, her husband disappeared on a fishing trip deep inside the forest. Two fishermen with him saw his body being dragged into the undergrowth – one of a rising number of humans killed by tigers as they venture into the wild.
7:34 AM MYT
Parul Haldar (R), 39, whose husband died in a tiger attack during a fishing trip, her brother Nitai Mandal, 32, and her mother Lakshmi Mandal, 65, row a boat close to the Sundarban Tiger Reserve (STR) forest near the Satjelia island in the Sundarbans, India, November 20, 2020. According to the Sundarban Tiger Reserve s director, Tapas Das, five people have been killed by tigers in India s Sundarbans since April. REUTERS/Anushree Fadnavis
SATJELIA, India (Reuters) - On a warm November afternoon, Parul Haldar balanced precariously on the bow of a small wooden dinghy, pulling in a long net flecked with fish from the swirling brown river.
On a warm November afternoon, Parul Haldar balanced precariously on the bow of a small wooden dinghy, pulling in a long net flecked with fish from the swirling brown river.