A catastrophic flash flood that ravaged Nepal’s mountainous Syafrubesi region on August 26 claimed the lives of three Indian migrant workers, leaving their families in Bihar, India, grappling with profound loss and uncertainty. Neyaz Miya and Mehadi Hassan, two survivors from the same village, recounted the harrowing moments the torrent surged through the once-bustling market town, a vital hub near the Nepal-Tibet border. The flood, a devastating natural disaster, wiped away not only structures but also livelihoods, leaving a trail of destruction and an immeasurable human toll, with over 1,200 bodies recovered and thousands still missing or displaced.
The Devastation of Syafrubesi
The small town of Syafrubesi, a picturesque settlement nestled along the Trishuli River, was transformed into a scene of utter devastation by the flash floods. This region, known for its strategic location and vibrant trade, was a popular stop for trekkers and traders. The August 26 deluge, however, erased much of its existence. The sheer force of the water overwhelmed the landscape, ripping apart buildings and sweeping away everything in its path.
For Miya and Hassan, the day began like any other workday, a routine forged by years of labor in Nepal. Miya, a carpenter by trade, was working on a partially constructed home higher up the hillside. Hassan was on the ground floor of the Ganesh Hotel, closer to the river. Their respective tasks – Miya adjusting a kitchen handle, Hassan fixing a bed bracket – were suddenly interrupted by a terrifying cacophony.
"First came the terrifying loud sound. Then the ground trembled, and dark clouds descended upon us," recalled Miya, a 34-year-old native of Bihar’s Bettiah district. He described a frantic scramble for safety, running uphill with a handful of others, leaving behind possessions and any semblance of normalcy. Hassan, positioned lower on the slope, did not hesitate, abandoning his tools and phone to flee upwards. He climbed a steep, stair-like path, finding refuge approximately 60 meters above the road.
A Decade of Labor Washed Away
Miya and Hassan had arrived in Syafrubesi a decade prior, seeking opportunities that were scarce in their home state of Bihar. Miya, initially a carpenter, later brought Hassan to Nepal, and together, they became integral to the town’s development. Over the years, their skilled hands shaped the interiors of numerous hotels and homes, crafting sofas, beds, almirahs, and kitchens.
On that fateful Wednesday morning, their decade of dedicated labor was consumed by the raging waters. The multi-story hotels where they had poured their sweat and skill – the Red Panda, Garden Hotel, Buddha Hotel, and Sunrise Hotel – were among the structures swallowed by the flood. "The town was gone in a blink," Miya stated, now back in his village of Turhapatti, Bihar. He identified three categories of survivors: those who were away from town, those who were working and managed to escape, and those who lived at higher elevations.
Miya estimated that only a few hundred of Syafrubesi’s original population of 2,271 (according to the 2011 census) likely survived the catastrophe. Among them were Miya and Hassan. Tragically, three of their close friends and colleagues, also migrant workers from Bihar, were not as fortunate.
The Unfolding Tragedy
The workday for these Indian migrants began early, typically around 7 a.m. To start at that hour, they would wake as early as 4 or 5 a.m., often leaving their temporary lodgings on empty stomachs. Building owners would provide them with tea and biscuits or doughnuts at the construction sites. Their first break would be at 11 a.m., when they returned to their rented one-room accommodation, a shared space costing approximately 3,500 Nepali rupees (about $23) per month, housing five to seven workers.
On August 26, Miya and Hassan left for work accompanied by three other men from their village: Arman Ansari, 34; Samir Ansari, 20; and Mukhtar Ansari, 52. Also present in the rented room were Arman’s 14-year-old son, Salman Alam, and his 17-year-old friend, Shibu Alam, who had arrived a month earlier for a visit.
Salman recounted that his father had prepared meat bhaat (rice with meat) and that he was eagerly awaiting his father’s return for the midday meal. Arman was working alongside Hassan on the ground floor of the Ganesh Hotel, applying a decorative laminate to a bed. Samir and Mukhtar were on the top floor of the Full Moon Hotel, engaged in their construction duties.
As the floodwaters surged, Hassan fled the under-construction building and scrambled up the hill, assuming Arman was close behind. However, by the time Hassan and Miya reunited at a higher vantage point, there was no sign of Arman, Samir, or Mukhtar. The two boys, Salman and Shibu, were found on the hill, traumatized and searching desperately for their fathers. "Salman was crying, howling and searching for his father," Hassan recalled, his voice heavy with grief.
The flash flood, characterized by its high speed, took approximately half an hour to recede. In its aftermath, rescue helicopters began to appear, airlifting those critically injured. Miya, Hassan, and the two boys descended the hill to search for the missing men amidst the debris. Their efforts yielded only sludge and devastation. Miya’s furniture-cutting tools and machinery, valued at 80,000 Nepali rupees ($530), were lost, buried beneath the mud.
Their rented room, situated precariously on a slope, had miraculously survived the deluge. However, the army had taken control of the area, and soldiers were directing survivors away from the riverbanks, warning of potential further floods. The group spent the night in a government school building, where they were provided with daal bhat (rice and lentils) and slept under tarpaulin.
The following morning, a helicopter transported them to another village, and from there, another airlift took them to an army compound. In the evening, they joined forces with five other migrant workers, pooling resources to hire an SUV to reach Kathmandu, Nepal’s capital, each contributing 3,500 rupees ($23).
The journey back to India was arduous. The next day, August 28, they hired another SUV to Birgunj, a town on the India-Nepal border, paying 950 rupees ($6) each for the 290-kilometer (180-mile) trip. They crossed the border on foot before boarding buses for their respective villages in Bihar. This was not the homecoming any of these migrant workers had envisioned.
The Lure of Work Across the Border
Turhapatti, the village from which Miya, Hassan, and the Ansari brothers hailed, is one of thousands of settlements lining the 1,715-kilometer (1,066-mile) India-Nepal border. Generations have crossed this open border in pursuit of employment, fostering deep ties between the two nations, often described as a "roti-beti ka rishta" – a relationship of sustenance and family.
Kathmandu is as accessible from Turhapatti as Patna, the capital of Bihar. Official statistics indicate that Nepal hosts approximately 700,000 foreign-born residents, with an overwhelming 97 percent originating from India. This cross-border migration is driven by economic disparities. Wages for carpenters and masons in India typically range from 600-700 rupees per day, whereas in Nepal, the same work commands around 900 rupees.
Nepal itself faces a significant out-migration crisis, with a per capita income among the lowest in South Asia. This creates a demand for labor, which is met by workers from Bihar, India’s poorest state.
For Miya, the meager 0.03 hectares (0.06 acres) of land he owns in Turhapatti are insufficient to support his wife and six children, along with his parents. His transition from carpenter to contractor in Nepal allowed him to employ more workers from his village and send home approximately 30,000 Indian rupees ($315) monthly.
Hassan’s situation is even more precarious. He inherited only a small room from his father and possesses no agricultural land. "There is no regular daily work here," he stated, explaining his reliance on the 15,000 Indian rupees ($157) he sent home each month for his wife and four children.
This economic imperative fuels migration from Turhapatti, a village of 16,000 people according to the 2011 census. In nearly every household, men have left to work as carpenters, masons, or laborers in various parts of India and abroad. Destinations include Kashmir, where nearly 700 men from the village work, Nepal with around 600, and numerous Indian cities like Chennai, Kolkata, Delhi, and Mumbai. A significant number, approximately 100 men, have found employment in Dubai, Oman, and Saudi Arabia. The prosperity of these migrant workers is often reflected in their homes; those working in the Gulf have built marble-fronted, iron-gated residences, while those who remained in India live in less substantial dwellings. Migrants in Nepal, like Miya, have managed to build brick houses.
Lingering Trauma and Uncertain Futures
The economic necessity that drove Arman Ansari to Syafrubesi has now led to his presumed death. He, along with Samir and Mukhtar, had left for Nepal on July 26. Arman’s son, Salman, and his friend Shibu had accompanied them, ostensibly for a trip to the hills.
Now, Arman’s brother-in-law, Jameel Miya, a carpenter in Kathmandu, is tirelessly searching hospital records for any trace of Arman, providing authorities with identifying details like scars on his right hand and chest. Arman’s wife, Sahrun Khatun, clings to their last phone conversation, two hours before the flood. "He was about to get his wages on September 1 and return home," she said, her voice choked with emotion.
Salman, who had tagged along with his father, has been plagued by nightmares. "The moment I close my eyes, I feel the flood is coming for me," he confessed, the trauma of witnessing the event deeply imprinted on his young mind.
The families of Mukhtar and Samir are also immersed in a desperate search for news. Kasmun Khatun, Mukhtar’s wife, spends her days online, seeking any information about her missing husband, aided by her daughter Asmana and son Sadre Alam. Her eldest son, Osama, a tailor in Kathmandu, has been combing through city hospitals. "After waiting for a week and watching the videos, I submitted my DNA samples," he stated over the phone. Osama’s remittances, while vital for his family, are no longer sufficient, especially as his mother requires urgent eye surgery. "The guardian has gone, all of a sudden," he lamented, referring to his father.
Samir Ansari, the youngest of the missing migrants and the youngest among his five migrant brothers, was working on the Ganesh Hotel project, which was merely three days from completion. His father, Hasmuddin Miya, recalled their last phone call on the evening of August 25, when Samir mentioned finding another construction site. Samir, a skilled mason specializing in marble tiles, had honed his craft in Kashmir under the tutelage of his elder brothers.
The families of Arman, Mukhtar, and Samir are now preparing for the somber ritual of a "bhoj," a funeral feast for hundreds, signifying their acceptance of the grim reality and the loss of their loved ones.
Meanwhile, the two survivors, Miya and Hassan, are already making inquiries to find new work. Their search is now directed towards the plains of Nepal, far from the perilous hills. They have vowed never to return to the mountainous regions. "My whole body shivers at the thought of going there," Hassan expressed, the memory of the relentless flood forever etched in his mind.
