Keramat Bhai was quite frank. ‘We go because we fulfil a need over there, we go also because it meets a need here. Your people need our skills and hard work, we need the money.’ This sounded a bit like the Awami Leaguer and his explanation of the export of cattle from ‘Hindu’ land to a ‘Muslim’ society.

A cup of tea was sent out from the kitchen. I was tired of sitting on the murha. We had been talking for nearly a couple of hours, and it was time to stretch my legs. I walked to a nearby dwelling in Keramat Bhai’s courtyard. This was a house without a roof but it had a raised floor, at least a foot or so higher than the ground level. A few clothes were hung out to dry and Keramat Bhai moved quickly to remove them.

Why this outhouse, I asked. ‘When the flood comes, we move in here,’ he said. That explained the higher level of the floor. But surely if the water rose much higher, how would they manage then?

Usually, they would get on to tables and planks. But, he added, the water rarely rose much beyond a particular level in this part of the village.

‘Keramat Bhai, explain something to me: you have been going to Assam all these years,’ I began. He interrupted: ‘I stopped going about five years ago, it gets too difficult, I’m getting older.’ He shrugged and appeared indifferent.

‘But what was it that they wanted you for, what skills do you have that the Assamese fishermen don’t?’

‘Ah, sir, they don’t know the kaida, the trick of being a successful fisherman. You have to know how to fish, gauge the currents correctly, know where to cast the net and when, and then work very, very hard,’ he smiled. ‘The Assamese don’t know the trick. Another thing, you must have good nets.’

Keramat Bhai said he had stayed in places as far north as the Nameri National Park, fishing for the great golden mahseer in the Jia Bhoroli river. He knew the name of the river and the name of the sanctuary. The mahseer is perhaps the most majestic and powerful of the fresh water fish in Indian rivers. A wonderful, sporting fish, it grows to a huge size in the shallows, protected by the rocks that slow the speed of the flow. Catching it takes great skill and strength. Near Nameri, a group of environmentalists and businessmen have set up a camp for tourists and anglers who want to catch the mahseer. The organizers have developed it into an eco-friendly, educative and conservation sport where the fish is caught, weighed and then released into the water. Some of them have been not less than 22 kilograms!