The afternoon in Netrokona’s haor-surrounded Boronto village no longer resembles ordinary days. The air no longer carries the scent of raw paddy, nor is there any joy of golden harvests. Instead, the reality now is blackened and sprouted paddy spread across threshing yards and the silent sighs of distressed farming families.
Shekol Mia is a small farmer from Gaglajur Union in Mohongonj Upazila of Netrokona. With all his savings and hopes, he cultivated paddy this season on 20 kathas of leased land in Dingapota Haor (locals calculate one katha as 10 decimals of land). He spent BDT 48,000 on land lease alone, paying an advance of BDT 2,400 per katha.
Including cultivation costs, fertiliser, pesticides, and other expenses, he spent another BDT 15,000. Altogether, his investment stood at nearly BDT 63,000, most of which came from NGO loans.
He expected to harvest at least 130 maunds of paddy from the land and earn more than BDT 100,000 by selling the crop. He planned to repay his loans, support his family, and cover the educational expenses of his eldest son. But nature had different plans.
Just as the paddy fields had turned golden, sudden floodwaters entered the haor. He watched helplessly as the crops went underwater. With a desperate effort, he has harvested around 50 to 55 maunds of paddy by getting down to water and hiring labourers.
Even then, the losses did not end. Due to a lack of sunlight and insufficient drying space, the harvested paddy began to sprout, rot, and turn black. The grain is no longer suitable for sale in the market.
A trader offered him only BDT 300 per maund. Altogether, he may receive around BDT 15,000, while labour costs alone for harvesting amounted to nearly BDT 34,500.
Far from making any profit, the losses have become devastating.
While drying paddy in the threshing yard on Monday, Shekol Mia said, “Everything is finished. I thought I would sell the paddy, give money to my son, and somehow stabilise the family. Now I don’t even understand how we’ll survive ourselves.”
Shekol Mia’s eldest son is studying at Ananda Mohan College in Mymensingh. A few days ago, he told his father that he wanted to prepare for the IELTS examination. Including coaching fees, books, and other expenses, he would need around BDT 40,000. Shekol Mia had assured him that he would provide the money after selling the paddy. Today, that dream has also collapsed.
Sitting nearby and turning over rotten straw, Shekol Mia’s wife could not hide her despair either. “Our son had so many hopes. Now we’re struggling even to feed ourselves. People from the NGO came to collect instalments on May 6. We somehow persuaded them to leave. They will come again. I don’t know how we’ll repay the money,” she said.
Crushed by debt pressure, crop losses, and an uncertain future, the couple now feels completely directionless. There are also no alternative work opportunities in the area. Consequently, they are considering leaving the village and moving to the city to work in garment factories.
With a deep sigh, Shekol Mia said, “There’s nothing left for us to do here. We have to repay the loans and save the family. So I’m thinking of leaving.”
The story of the haor is not only that of Shekol Mia; it reflects the silent suffering of thousands of farmers. A single flood does not merely submerge crops; it also drowns dreams, education, and hopes for the future.
The voice of Azim Hossain, a farmer from the haor region of Dharmapasha upazila in Sunamganj, carries the same tone of despair and uncertainty. This year’s flood has overturned all calculations of his life.
“Everything is finished,” he said. “I now have debts of BDT 60,000 to 70,000. I have a wife and two daughters. I don’t know how I’ll support them. There’s no work in this area. I’m thinking of moving to Dhaka and driving a rented rickshaw or auto-rickshaw.”
Like Shekol Mia and Azim Hossain, many others are now considering leaving their villages. For the farming communities of the haor region, migration has become a last refuge — a desperate move toward the cities in search of survival. But this path is not open to everyone.
The harsh reality of that helplessness is reflected in the eyes of 76-year-old Chittaranjan Banik from Mohongonj upazila. At this stage of life, he too has lost his only crop. He cultivated paddy on 10 kathas of land in Dingapota Haor. But because of the flood, he could not bring home even a handful of harvest.
Chittaranjan said, “I’m already 76 years old. My daughters are married, and my son works in a garment factory where he lives with his own family. We, an elderly husband and wife, live separately. Now I hear many people are going to Dhaka to work in garment factories. But who will give me work at this age? What will we do now?”