In Bhagalpur relief camps, displaced Bihar families wait for the water to recede

Outside a shelter of black plastic sheets on the Tilka Manjhi Bhagalpur University campus, Raj Kishore lies on a cot — the one possession his family managed to pull from the floodwaters that entered their home in Didarpur Bind Tola nearly a month ago. The cot now doubles as a bed, a chair and a storage space for what little remains.

Documents, cash and jewellery were all submerged, the 25-year-old says. He was in Hyderabad when his family called to tell him water had entered the house. By the time he reached Bhagalpur, there was little left to return to. Grain stored in a couple of drums has been underwater for weeks.

Kishore is among hundreds displaced in the district for whom the kothi inside the university campus has become a settlement of its own. Black plastic sheets stretched over bamboo poles form low shelters along narrow cemented pathways. Some are covered with decorators' fabric; others with old saris. Women talk outside tents, children weave between them, goats wander the lanes, and men sit watching the day pass.

A medical team is stationed near the entrance, and an anganwadi centre holds classes for about 30 children in two shifts. From some angles it resembles a village compressed into a few hundred metres — except that none of the families here has a home to return to for now.

Tempers flare easily. Two men argue as a small crowd gathers. "Arguments like these happen quite often here," says 23-year-old Suman Kumar. "Everyone here has lost most of their belongings. So, emotions run high."

Suman was in Ludhiana when his father called. Only one train connects Ludhiana and Bhagalpur, and it runs once a week; there were no trains for the next four days, he says. Like him, many in the camp are migrant labourers who left Bihar in search of work and rushed back as news of the floods arrived. Some could not even collect their wages. Karan Kumar, who works at a construction site in Hyderabad, says his salary had not been paid when he heard the news. Kishore and his friend Ravi Kumar also have wages pending from employers in the Telangana capital.

Kishore keeps returning to check on his house, still underwater. "The water is so dirty that you cannot see anything beneath it," he says. The visits have one advantage: things sometimes float to the surface. "We bring back whatever we find," he says. "Otherwise, most of our belongings are gone."

For the children, the district administration has arranged a different routine. Local artists have been teaching them Manjusha, the traditional art form associated with the Bhagalpur region, along with storytelling, cultural programmes and film screenings. "We are trying to make the situation a little better for children through art therapy," says Ankit Ranjan, the district art and culture officer. The programme, run daily by the state art and culture department with the district administration, has begun drawing women participants too, he adds.

Around noon, an announcement travels through the camp: food is ready. At Rabindra Bhawan, a university building where Rabindranath Tagore is known to have stayed and where parts of Gitanjali are associated with his time in Bhagalpur, meals are prepared for the displaced. The building now houses the control centre monitoring relief, including the feeding of around 250 families. "We serve meals twice a day," says Hanish Kumar, a teacher overseeing food preparation.

At the T N B Collegiate Ground Relief Camp, the scale of displacement takes another form: the school grounds are divided between people and animals. A large common tent stands on one side, rows of smaller plastic-sheet shelters on another, while buffaloes and cows are tied wherever space permits. For many families, the animals are the most valuable assets left. "People can somehow find their way out of the flood but cattle cannot," says Ram Mohan, a camp resident. "Many people have lost their animals." Those that survived still need feeding and watering. "For now, they are getting that here. But we do not know how it will be managed in the future."

Mrityunjay Kumar, a teacher posted at the camp, says around 400 cattle are being kept on the grounds, with separate arrangements for fodder and veterinary care. The camp feeds about 650 people from the submerged areas of Dildarpur, Shankarpur and Bairariya. Not everyone eating there lives at the camp. "Some families have pucca houses that are still standing, even if surrounded by water," he says. "They eat at the camp and return to their homes," fearing that someone may break in and steal what they have salvaged and kept on the roof.

Resident Rajesh Kumar says the grain stored at home is now submerged. The loss comes at a bad time. Families had grown maize in the previous crop cycle and harvested it around April; some was consumed, some sold when money was needed. The stored grain worked almost like a household bank account, convertible into cash on demand. That reserve has now been underwater for weeks.

Usha Devi, staying at the camp, says recovery will take long even after the water recedes — cleaning houses, removing mud and sludge, salvaging what can be saved and making homes habitable again. "It may take until Chhath," she says. "How will people earn a living in the meantime? And after the relief camps close, we do not know what will happen."

By evening at the university campus, tube lights strung along wires illuminate the paths between shelters. Cooking fires glow outside some tents; since rice is served at all meals, those who prefer roti make it themselves, a volunteer says. Kishore remains near his tent, as does 52-year-old Surya Narayan Mandal, adjusting the plastic sheet over the shelter where ten members of his family have spent the past month. Most of what they owned is gone.