When I Went to Deepor Beel: Watching Guwahati’s Urban Wildlife Disappear

A few days ago, I stood near Deepor Beel, watching the late afternoon light fall over the water. The sky was open, the hills framed the horizon, and for a moment, Guwahati felt untouched.

But then the silence broke — not by birds, but by truck engines and construction noise.

I had gone there expecting flocks of migratory birds, the way people describe the winters of old Guwahati. Instead, I saw a wetland surrounded by garbage, earthmovers, and settlements creeping closer. It felt like the city was swallowing its own lungs.

That day stayed with me.

As a student, I have heard stories about Deepor Beel being a paradise for birdwatchers.

People spoke about storks, teals, herons, ibises — hundreds of winter visitors. I waited with my camera, hoping to see something rare.

I did spot birds — but not in the numbers Guwahati once had. A few egrets skimmed the water, some cormorants sat on poles, and a lone kingfisher flashed blue.

Beautiful — yes.

But too few for a  site that should be full of life.

I kept wondering —

Are the birds leaving us, or are we pushing them away?

Deepor Beel is supposed to be a protected wetland. In reality, it is a dumping ground, an encroached corridor, and a construction zone.

Deepor Beel is home to more than birds — it shelters turtles, snakes, frogs, butterflies, fish, and even elephants.

Locals told me about elephants crossing the beel area in search of food, entering human settlements because their corridors are blocked.

Snakes appear near drains.

Pythons are rescued from construction sites.

These are not wildlife incidents — they are warnings.

When animals leave their habitat, it means the habitat is dying.

I love Guwahati — the cafés, the flyovers, the hostels, the energy.

But I also see a city turning into concrete faster than it can think.

Standing at Deepor Beel, I felt two things at once:

love for the beauty that still survives

fear that it may not survive much longer

Deepor Beel reminded me of something simple:

Urban wildlife is not separate from us — it protects our water, our climate, our city.

If we lose it, we lose a part of Guwahati’s soul.

Maybe one blog doesn’t save a wetland.

But a voice can.

A camera can.

A city can — if it chooses to.

Rita Chetry,
MA 1st Semester,
DCJGU