Sarwar Majhi, a fisherman in the Kutobjom region of Moheshkhali, has to go out to sea regardless of how extreme the weather conditions may be. There’s also the temptation that fish are more abundant during storms. As Sarwar speaks, his eyes reflect a lifetime of endurance, sharing tales of resilience in the face of nature’s fury.
“When a sudden storm hits at sea, there’s no escape. We secure the nets with a circular knot (locally called ‘heska’) and leave them in the water,” Sarwar explains. This local technique prevents the high waves from directly hitting the boat, reducing damage. A symphony of waves crashing against the hull creates a constant reminder of the uncertainty of their lives.
Nowadays, the emergence of islands and sandbars here and there in the sea reminds them of the fragile line between survival and disaster. Sarwar Majhi’s hands, roughened by years of toil, grip the wheel of his trawler as if in a protective embrace. With 38 years of surviving on water, Sarwar’s intimacy with the sea goes beyond mere occupation. “I can predict how or when the weather will become inclement by looking at the sky. When lightning strikes in the northeastern sky, the weather deteriorates,” he says with a hint of pride.
It’s a skill passed down through generations, an intuition that guides him through the tumultuous waters. Sarwar told The Business Standard that most fishermen in this region can identify hostile sea conditions when they spot red water circling and brewing in a specific location, locally known as ‘Rongcholin’. The impatient behaviour of a fish called ‘churi’ also plays a role in their superstitions.
However, Sarwar’s mastery of the elements contrasts sharply with his struggles inside an oppressive livelihood system further worsened by the severity of nature and other constraints. “If I can’t venture to sea, no food will be cooked at home to eat,” he reveals, his voice carrying the weight of years of battling the sea. Moreover, he has a loan of more than Tk2 lakh to repay to the mohajan (money lender).
The stranglehold of debt
No wonder this highly challenging occupation yields an annual income of approximately Tk5 lakhs for a fisherman like Sarwar. However, the cruel twist of fate is that he still struggles to make ends meet, living from hand to mouth. As the fisherfolk battle the sea’s unpredictability, they find themselves entangled in a different kind of unpredictable struggle on land. “I can’t even pay the interest with what I earn per voyage, let alone the principal,” says Sarwar, as a testament to the grim reality of the loan system in the coastal area. His journey mirrors that of Shaheen Mia, another fisher from Boro Tengra village in Patharghata.
Like many others, Shaheen also finds himself trapped in a centuries-old debt system, locally known as ‘Dadan’, which continues to function as a suffocating chain for fishermen. “I borrowed Tk3 lakh from the moneylender a few years back for my daughter’s wedding and now, as long as I do not pay back the money, I have to bring my share of fish and sell it to him at a 40% lesser price,” Shaheen reveals, highlighting the ruthlessness of the Dadan system. Years go by, he can neither repay the borrowed money nor escape this draconian cycle.
Furthermore, the fishermen and sailors find themselves as hostages to the wholesalers or boatowners. Under this system, accounts are settled only after all the sales have been made. ypically, a large fishing boat carries 15 to 20 crew members. A single voyage, which lasts an average of 10 to 15 days venturing deep into the sea, some 200 to 250 miles offshore, incurs expenses of over 2,000 litres of diesel and food valued at approximately Tk3 to 4 lakhs.
The catch from these voyages usually results in sales from Tk10 lakhs to – if fortune favours – Tk30 to 40 lakhs. “The remaining profit is then distributed in a convoluted manner, with all the fishermen receiving approximately 37% combined, while boat owners claim a significant 63% share,” reveals Shaheen. In these coastal areas of Bangladesh, the oppressive shadow of the Dadan system compounds the hardships, perpetuating a cycle of debt that stretches across generations. Even as these fishers brave the sea’s tempestuous nature, their hard-earned labour benefits others more than themselves.
Most of the fishermen in coastal areas do not possess any land, their home is on khash (public) land. As of 2021, the number of registered fishermen in the Patharghata and Moheshkhali sub-districts are 23,516 and 27,050, according to data from the Bangladesh Bureau of Statistics (BBS). It’s a cycle that all too often traps fishermen in generational poverty, braving treacherous seas only to return with empty hands and heavier burdens. Meanwhile, once abundant fishing grounds in the Bay now see lesser fish stocks, a poignant reminder of environmental and climatic challenges exacerbating the fishermen’s struggles. “We used to catch a certain amount of fish in four days, but now even in 10 days, we are not able to catch that same amount of fish,” Shaheen lamented. He says the number of boats has increased exponentially over the last couple of years. “People in this region do not know anything but fishing,” he said.
Foreign incursion: dance of scarcity and struggle
Fishermen in this region express their frustration over Indian fishermen illegally intruding into Bangladeshi waters and catching hilsa fish illegally. Despite the Bangladeshi government’s introduction of a 65-day ban in 2015, aimed at conserving fish stocks and promoting sustainable fishing practices, the situation remains dire. According to a report by the NGO Save Our Sea, around 80 lakh tonnes of fish are caught annually from the Bay of Bengal, but Bangladeshi fishers only manage to catch 7 lakh tonnes.
This stark contrast in fish catch was lamented by Firuzur Rahman, another fisherman in Moheshkhali’s Gorakghata. While the 65-day fishing ban in Bangladesh ends on 23 July, on the other part of the coastline, in India, the 61-day fishing ban ends earlier on 14 June, starting from 15 April. This time gap means Indian fishers can exploit Bangladeshi waters when the fish have matured by the end of June, when Bangladeshi fishers are restricted from going out at sea.
“Indian fishers catch fish by using about five types of nets, some of which are restricted in Bangladesh,” reveals Firuzur. Due to disparity in distance from the coastline, Bangladeshi fishermen need a full day to reach the main fishing grounds, while their Indian counterparts take just hours. Golam Mostafa Chowdhury, president of the Barguna District Fishing Trawler Owners Association, told TBS, the 65-day ban hasn’t benefited the local fishers. He suggests, “India and Bangladesh should coordinate their sea fishing bans to ensure equal opportunities for both countries’ fishers. At the end of the day, it’s the same water body where the fish are found.”
Inadequate lifeline
Mohammad Bacchu, a fisherman from Badurtola village of Patharghata, says the government relief is inadequate to survive for two long months, for a family of seven. During the 65-day ban period, 40kg of rice is provided by the government, which does not even last for a month, according to Bacchu. Additionally, during the 22-day ban, 25kg of rice is allocated for each registered fisher under the Vulnerable Group Feeding (VGF) programme.
Fisheries and Livestock Minister SM Rezaul Karim told TBS that there is no new plan apart from the assistance of 40kg and 25kg of rice for coastal fishermen. “But we will take action in light of need and situation.” Though Bacchu is a cardholder, his neighbour Babul Munshi, living next door, couldn’t manage to put his name in the VGF database.
Many seasoned fishermen like Babul are not registered in the relief database and are deprived of government food assistance during the ban period. Babul Munshi said, “there is an issue of unfair relief distribution by the local government members who favour only a select few.” According to a study conducted by the Center for Sustainable Development (CSD), 82% of people of Patharghata Upazila of Barguna District and Moheshkhali Upazila of Cox’s Bazar District are dependent on the income generated by only fishing. Bacchu and Babul expressed the grim reality that fishing is the primary, and only skill that the people of the coastal region ever acquired, and finding or learning other means of livelihood is impossible for them.
Due to prolonged unemployment, fishermen with their families are living an inhumane life during the ban period. Amidst the tumultuous waves and the deafening winds, the voices of Sarwar, Shaheen, Babul, Bacchu and Firuzur etched with the salt and sweat of years spent at sea, weave a narrative of life and survival.