At the Confluence of Rushikulya

The 165 km long Rushikulya river originates at an elevation of about 1000 metres from the Rushimala hill range at Daringhbadi (also referred to as the Kashmir of Odisha) and covers a catchment area of 7700 km2 in the districts of Kandhamal and Ganjam (central and southern Odisha respectively). There is a small reservoir at the source - Rushikunda, and above the hilltop is a cave called Rushigumpha. The legend says that in ancient times'- many rishis(saints) attained enlightenment in these caves, and a holy dip in these sacred waters (Rushi - saints, kulya - rivulet) will free people of their sins, miseries and diseases.

A major part of the Rushikulya River flows through the district of Ganjam, where it meets the Bay of Bengal at Puruna Bandha. The forest region along the banks is rich in timber, wild herbs and aromatics. Ganjam is known for its Kewda Rooh (locally called Kia Phula) which is used in making perfumes and flavouring agents. The basin is rich in mineral wealth, which constitutes limestone, clay, manganese, sand talc, black sand and grinding materials. Due to its fertile plain, surplus agricultural produce, forest product of the hinterland, and location as an ideal port for maritime trade, Ganjam became a significant port town under the Chicacole Sircar of the Golconda kingdom (1571-1753). The name Ganjam itself stems from 'Ganj-i-am', which means granary of the world and hence the European powers were keen on its possession.

In 1753, Ganjam was ceded away to the French by Nizam Salabat Jang, and after the fall of Masulipatnam in 1759, it became part of the British Raj. Both the French and the British attempted to make Ganjam their administrative and military centre; the French made a fortification at Ganjam with strong walls for the troops' security and ammunition. Later, the East India Company appointed Edward Cotsford as the first Engineer and Resident; he carved out the present-day Ganjam district out of the Northern Sircar and constructed a fort on the ruins of the French establishment, which is now locally called Potagarh (pronounced as Potagada). He also built some buildings inside the fort, which besides residences, had office buildings, artillery, an armory, a store, custom houses, granaries and water tanks.

My journey along the coastline starts here, at one of the forgotten vestiges of the colonial maritime history of Odisha, which stands as a mute witness to the vicissitudes of time – the Potagarh Fort. As we drive towards the fort, we see nothing but an entrance gate within the folds of the rampart. The fort is built in a pentagonal shape facing to the south with the works of battlement extending right into the waterfront with a sloping tunneled gateway. Its Lilliputian height camouflages it from being noticed by any visitor. Unlike the usual forts, this fort is not a standalone one. Instead, it is a part of a small cluster of forts built over time by successive rulers. It was dawn by the time we reached. The greenery accompanied by the fresh morning air, gentle breeze, golden sun rays and chirping birds was enchanting, causing a stir in the aura.  

   The confluence is also a wintering ground for the migratory Bar-headed geese who come here from far off Mongolia, Himalayan regions and China. An environmental signal triggers the migration that allows these geese to miss the summer monsoon season and the worst winter storms on the east coastline of India. They return to their nesting grounds in Tibet in early spring flying through the passes of the highest mountains, with winds that blow at speeds of more than 200 miles per hour and temperatures low enough to freeze exposed flesh instantly. Their powerful and constant flight helps generate the body heat to prevent them from freezing. They also have a particular type of haemoglobin which absorbs oxygen more quickly than any other bird. These geese usually come near the confluence during the daytime and return to Chilika lake (70 kms from the fort) at night, where there is ample food present for them.

The Rushikulya river drains eastwards, and its mouth is shielded by a sandbar caused by littoral drift on the fort side. The main gate facing the river is in ruins. The outer walls are dilapidated, with trees growing through the debris of the walls and bricks and stones lying scattered all around. Inside the compound are several old buildings, and except for three structures, the rest are in ruins. The existing buildings are of different and unique designs and have no similarity with each other. There are also two passages on the eastern side of the compound wall opening to the river. One was probably used as a secret passage to escape to the sea, and if a local myth is to be believed, the other passage was meant for the Queen to go to the river unseen for bathing. The remnants of the fort are no less than an archaeological wonder, and it intrigued me to ask; how such a major port is now abandoned completely. How is it a rare thing for a ship to come here, though it was once the chief port of the district?

Ganjam was visited by a devastating famine in 1790, which reduced its agricultural production, and Calcutta captured its rice market. Increased taxation on hinterland produce and appointment of non-Odia Telugu officials by the East India Company led to a complete loss of faith in the British administration. The final blow came in 1815, when a deadly epidemic broke out in Ganjam, reducing the population from 30,000 to a mere 6,000. Out of fear, the inhabitants deserted the town, and the government shifted the military contingent to Berhampur; since then, the port was left abandoned. Presently, there is scarcely a vestige of the port's original splendour besides the picturesque looking fort.

We walk further down along the confluence of Rushikulya. After around 15-20 minutes of walking, we reached the first fishing village along the banks – Purunabandha. We continued walking in vast stretches of sand for the seemingly endless quest to see the river's mouth. We walked past several villagers; some were doing their daily chores, and others were either returning from or going to the sea for fishing. We halted at a place where three men were repairing their fishing nets, and I asked, ”How far is the muhana?"

One of them replies, ”There are still two more villages you have to cross - Gokharkuda and Podampeta."

As I tried to get to know them and their fishing community, the outspoken one among them states, "As fishermen, we are never certain of our lives since we can never know what the sea has for us today. Months before, one of our companions died because of high tides near the mouth (muhana). We are Kaibarta Matsyajibi; we are blessed by Lord Vishnu to sustain ourselves by killing fish. We don't fear the waters as long as we have a boat to steer and in case the water turns violent, and we drown, Ganga Maiya would make sure that we reach some shore safely.” He points to the marble temple which faces the sea.

Looking at the blazing sun, he asked us to start walking if we wanted to see the muhana. He exclaimed, "It would be harder for you while returning against the winds with your feet sinking into the sand. The fishermen must also have returned by now from their trip."

We crossed the village and walked along the banks to reach another village – Gokharkuda. There were numerous boats docked in the harbour, and many more were returning from the sea. Just beside the banks were small fish markets where each of the boats would bring their catch, and merchants would bid for the catch. The women would be waiting there to dry the fish, carry them and sell them at far off places. There was hubbub all around owing to the engine's whirring, the clamour of the bidding and the whizzing winds.

The river pierces through the beach and divides it into two halves. While one half continues to be the main beach, the other has turned into an island spread across five kilometres in front of Gokharkuda and Podampeta villages. The island is now a new nesting destination for the rare Olive Ridley turtles. We found ourselves a boat that would take us to the island; the boatman said he would charge us more since they had just returned from a trip, and the gas prices have also risen since Covid. We agreed and boarded the boat. I asked them, ”How was today's catch?" He replied, "The number and variety of fish have gone down in the years, and we have had to go much farther in the sea. The rising petrol prices are also a headache for us. Kartika and Phalgun months are best for us to fish; we make two trips a day in those months."

We reached the nesting site; this rookery is India's second-largest turtle nesting ground. The turtles nest their eggs during the late summer (around mid-February), where each of them lays around 100-150 eggs. Our companion digs up some soil and shows us some eggs. Later, he covered them with dirt to prevent them from being scavenged by the eagles. He says, "Only one out of thousands of them grow up to be a turtle." The turtle eggs face heavy predation from gulls, crows, dogs, etc.; there are also other causes which delay mass nesting, such as, high waves, heavy rains and the erosion of nesting beaches that destroy thousands of eggs each year. Before 1970, local people ate and traded turtle eggs, but they never ate the turtle meat, as turtles were considered as an avatar of Lord Vishnu. Turtle meat used to be transported to the Calcutta market until the implementation of the Wild Life Protection Act (WLPA), 1972.

People of Rushikulya became more conscious after one particular incident when a live female turtle was being transported to Kolkata by train, and the eggs started dropping from the gravid female. People felt sorry for torturing the sacred animal and slowly stopped consuming eggs of turtles and selling eggs and live turtles. In 1990, some local youngsters got involved in a study conducted by a researcher Dr Bivash Pandave from the Wildlife Institute of India and were inspired to conserve turtles. They had begun to campaign against the use of turtle eggs, trade of eggs and live turtles, and provision of penalty for the use and trade of turtles under the WLPA, among local people. Though disadvantaged during the nesting and hatching period because of the fishing ban, the fisherfolk community understood the vitality of turtles to maintain the marine ecosystem. The turtles feed on jellyfish, which feed on shrimp and fish hatchlings. So, if there are more turtles, there will be ample fish in the sea for the fishermen to sustain their livelihood.

As more scientists and conservationists dropped in with such pamphlets, videos and slideshows to educate the residents about the marine wealth in their backyard, people stopped poaching eggs. They took active measures to conserve their population, and accordingly, more hatchlings began going to sea. This year (2022) marked a record mass nesting (114,305) of these Olive Ridley turtles owing to the spirited community level participation. The rare turtle nesting and tranquil beaches bring potential tourist opportunities to this once abandoned place. Tourism would also result in more livelihood opportunities for the locals. Twenty years down the road, we do not know whether this place will turn into a tourist hotspot or will still remain as a best-kept secret. But what amazes me the most is how the port transformed itself from ruins and if not all of it, most of the credit goes to the waters of Rushikulya, which supports both the native life as well as migratory life with utmost prosperity.

About Abhishek Narayan Gotri

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Abhisek Narayan Gorti is an undergraduate student at IISER Pune (2022) pursuing a career in interdisciplinary science research. Living close to the coast, water has played an integral part in shaping his life. Finding a community sharing alike values as him, made him interested in doing a walk alongside the Rushikulya coast and this story was produced as a result of it.