Chapter 4: Majuli — Land of Boats, Masks, and Mosquitoes
The boat was making noises no boat should make.
Ravi and Sneha stood at the edge of the ferry, gripping the rusty railing while the Brahmaputra glided below like a lazy giant with secrets.
"This thing better be unsinkable," Sneha muttered, staring at a patch of duct tape near her foot.
Ravi glanced down. "That's... probably decorative?"
"If we die," she said, "I'm haunting you first."
"What did I do?"
"You turned into a fish in my dream last night. It felt ominous."
"Great. Even your subconscious blames me."
The boat let out a moan that sounded suspiciously like regret. But soon, Majuli appeared on the horizon like a promise—lush green, sprawling, and slightly magical. The world's largest river island was more than just a dot on their map. It was a detour waiting to become a memory.
By the time they docked, their shoes were dusty, their hair full of wind, and their enthusiasm aggressively intact. The air smelled of wet earth, fried snacks, and mischief. They rented cycles from a sleepy uncle with one good eye and one great moustache.
Sneha rang her bicycle bell twice. "Let's ride like we're escaping bad decisions."
"Technically, this is a bad decision," Ravi said, wobbling slightly.
"It's cardio," she declared, swerving around a goat with the reflexes of a ninja. "I'm balancing out the ten jalebis I'm going to eat."
"That's not how physics works."
"It's how my physics works."
They pedaled past paddy fields, grazing cows, and children who waved like they were old friends. A chicken ran across the path like it had a personal vendetta against Ravi's front wheel.
Eventually, the road brought them to a quiet Satra—a monastery built on silence and movement. Monks, some barely ten, danced with perfect stillness in motion, their feet tapping rhythms into the earth.
Sneha watched, rapt.
Then, of course, she tried to copy it.
And of course, she nearly knocked over an oil lamp.
A monk caught it mid-air. Another gave her a slow, knowing smile, the way you might smile at a well-meaning cat trying to play the violin.
Ravi facepalmed. "You're going to get us excommunicated from Buddhism."
"Worth it," Sneha whispered, breathless. "That dance was epic."
Nearby, a young artist was sculpting massive masks out of clay and fiber. Some looked divine. Others looked like Ravi before coffee. Sneha picked up a demon mask and held it to her face.
"Do I look terrifying?"
"You look like me after three exams and no samosas," Ravi deadpanned.
Sneha laughed so hard she snorted. A French tourist two stalls away raised an eyebrow. She waved at him with the demon mask still on. He flinched and walked away.
Ravi gave her a thumbs-up. "You're an ambassador for Indian tourism."
Lunch happened at a homestay that smelled like someone had been cooking love for hours. The host family served them bamboo shoot chutney, mustard-fried fish that crunched like chips, rice wrapped in leaves, and a curry so sharp it reset their internal GPS.
Sneha took a bite, blinked twice, and whispered, "I think I saw god."
"This is probably the best mistake we've made," Ravi said, eating like he'd never tasted flavor before.
Sneha raised a finger. "Third-best meal of my life."
Ravi paused. "Third? What beat this?"
"Meal one: my grandma's khichdi during a fever. Meal two: maggi in the rain."
"And this?"
"This is number three. Because I'm full, happy, and not thinking about anything else."
Ravi didn't say anything, but he knew what she meant. The pressure. The expectations. The people waiting back home for them to "get serious." On this island, those voices couldn't reach them.
After eating, they sat under a jackfruit tree while Sneha doodled quietly in her sketchbook. Ravi leaned back and watched the clouds roll past like lazy cows.
She held up her page: a tiny mango with a smiley face.
"Is that supposed to be me?"
"No. It's me."
He nodded. "Explains the shape."
She threw a leaf at him.
Later, as the sun dipped low and the mosquitoes started their war, Sneha swatted one off her arm.
"These mosquitoes have ambition."
"They see blood as opportunity."
Ravi slapped his neck. "This one had a diploma."
They ended the day with sticky limbs and tired legs, standing beside the river as the sky turned orange.
"I haven't thought about the real world for hours," Sneha said quietly. "Not about college, or careers, or future plans I don't believe in."
"Same," Ravi admitted. "Though I never really had a plan to begin with."
Sneha nodded. "Good. Then we can fail spectacularly together."
"Already doing that."
"And you're paying for dinner again, right?"
"Obviously. You think this journey runs on your sarcasm?"
"A little bit, yeah."
They stood there, surrounded by muddy shoes, full bellies, and a sky that looked like it had been painted just for them.
Tomorrow would be a new place. A new meal. A new disaster.
But for tonight, Majuli was theirs—and that was more than enough.