It was a hot sticky day in June. The engine of the boat, a capacious motor launch lent to Islam by the Deputy Commissioner, the top civil authority in the district, coughed into life and shuddered away from the ghat to the main current of the Brahmaputra. The early morning weather was fine but by 10 a.m. it was cruelly hot and humid. We stopped at numerous hamlets and islands, the MP chatted to his constituents; we talked to settlers, trying to win their confidence.

The vessel eased its way into estuaries and smaller, quieter channels as it docked at the chars. Huts appeared amid clumps of coconut and banana trees; in some places there were groves of tall bamboos. The khas bon or stalks of high grass, crowned by their unique puffs of powdery fluff, grow well here during the winters; their stems are used for thatching roofs and walls. There were rice-fields and the yellow mustard flowers bending in the wind. Once away from the boat, a person could be forgiven for believing that one was living on the mainland.

I was told how to make out the difference between an old char and a newly emerged island. The old one would have jack fruit and mango trees; the new char would have only grass or shrubs and some banana trees, showing the evolution of plant species as lands became more enduring and were settled.

The channels would narrow, became shallower and then broader and deeper as they spread their network across the lands of the river. To get off, we would step on to a wooden plank connecting the boat to the nearest bank and then leap across the last few feet separating the land from the vessel.

Collecting data in any part of the world is a tough job. On the Indian subcontinent, it is even tougher. No sooner than one takes out a notebook and pen, that people who have been conversing fluently till then suddenly develop a peculiar paralysis of the mouth. It’s a metamorphosis that many journalists are especially familiar with—a surprised expression on the face, followed by one of acute suspicion; a frown replaces the smile and a glazed look suffuses the face, rendering the subject virtually deaf and dumb.

But we had to make contact and the presence of the legislators actually did help—they were able to banter with their supporters and the islanders, telling them that we were out here to search for the elusive foreigners from Bangladesh. There was good-natured surprise and remarks that such things did not take place. We got the distinct feeling that people were telling us that we were wasting our time and energy.