Chhattisgarh Villages Vanish in Rains Losing Access to Treatment
Monsoon-soaked forests of Bastar’s Abujhmad region, entire villages disappear from accessibility, isolated by swelling rivers and crumbling infrastructure. Here, a fever becomes a crisis, education halts, and survival is measured by how far one can swim. Despite official claims of development and health improvements, these villages remain cut off, voiceless, and waiting—for bridges, medicine, or just a listening state.
Every year during the monsoon, villages like Gumiyabeda and Doomnar in Chhattisgarh’s Bastar become literal islands. Cut off by rising river waters and lacking bridges or boats, residents are forced to swim or float across using plastic-wrapped vessels. Reaching a hospital or even a school becomes an ordeal. These journeys often result in tragedy as people are swept away by currents.
Education takes a seasonal pause in these areas. With only a primary school accessible inside the village, students often stop attending classes during rains. Many wait for water levels to recede to resume learning. Meanwhile, residents also face communication barriers as power outages disable mobile charging. Villagers walk long distances to charge phones, only to find other settlements equally powerless.
Health emergencies during the monsoon are dire. With no proper roads or transport, sick villagers are carried on cots across rivers to seek help. Many suffer from malaria and other monsoon-related illnesses with no immediate medical assistance. A family found waiting by the Kukur River, all suffering from fever and malaria, had lost hope until they were helped by visiting volunteers.
Despite government statistics claiming a 72% drop in malaria cases and infrastructure expansion in Bastar, locals see little change. There’s a growing disconnect between official reports and ground reality. For the residents of Abujhmad, monsoon doesn’t just mean rain—it signals isolation, halted futures, and a health crisis that state plans have yet to fully reach. Their voices remain drowned beneath rising waters.
As Bastar’s rivers swell each year, so does the distance between promises and lived experiences. Abujhmad’s quiet suffering reveals how monsoon intensifies systemic neglect. These villages aren’t just disappearing from the map—they’re vanishing from policy focus. Until bridges are built—both physical and administrative—Bastar’s residents will continue waiting, not for statistics to improve, but for someone to truly see and act.
