Out of the around 1,000 cows in the village before the flood, only about 15 to 20 remain.
The first thing that hits visitors to Nepali Khuti is the smell. A thick, sour stench of rotting animal carcasses hangs over what was once a thriving Gorkha dairy village on the banks of the Dikhow river, near the AssamNagaland border, about 12 km from Nazira. Today, thick layers of grey mud and silt cover roads, courtyards and paddy fields. Half-standing walls, twisted tin sheets, scattered bamboo poles and piles of broken timber mark the places where homes once stood. A few lonely cows wander through the devastation. The village, which once produced and sold around 1.5 quintals of milk every day, now has almost no dairy activity left. For the residents of Nepali Khuti, the disaster took place in just two hours. On the morning of 19 July 2026, it was an ordinary monsoon day, but by mid-day, the Dikhow river, swollen by heavy rainfall in the Nagaland hills, turned into a massive wall of water. Between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m., the flood submerged the entire settlement. Residents said the water quickly rose to chest and neck level before climbing even higher. Houses collapsed, cattle sheds disappeared, and almost everything that could float or be swept away, was lost. “The floodwaters came between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m.,” a woman standing amid the remains of her home told The Sunday Guardian. At the time, four young children, aged one, three, four and seven were inside the house. “What could we do? I held on to them. They were all very young. I lifted them to a higher place and held them tightly.” The family remained trapped for nearly three hours before a boat arrived around 4 p.m. and took them to a rooftop.
They spent the entire night there in wet clothes and later stayed in town for another two days. When they finally returned home, they found complete destruction. “We had 18 cows. Only one survived. Nothing else is left.” The family’s livelihood depended entirely on dairy farming. Today, they survive on flattened rice and biscuits distributed by private donors. “Nothing has come from the government. We urgently need assistance… tin sheets for those whose homes have been destroyed.” Just a short distance away, another family described the same terrifying experience. The man Jadav, said he had checked the river in the morning. But by 10 a.m. or 11 a.m., water had already begun rushing into the house. He carried his elder son to the road while his wife carried their younger child through chest-deep water. He then returned to rescue their livestock. Eight goats, five ducks and five chickens were all swept away, along with clothes and household belongings. The couple earned their living as daily-wage labourers. Since the flood, work has stopped completely. Another resident, Prakash, whose family operated a small tea and sweet shop that collected milk from the villagers, said the cattle were the backbone of the community. “The animals were our Lakshmi,” he said. “About 1.5 quintals of milk are produced and sent out from this village every day.” He recalled that when the floodwaters surged, people did not even have time to collect a change of clothes. A group of eight to ten men attempted to rescue the cows using a boat. They untied eight animals and searched desperately for higher ground. However, the boat nearly capsized, forcing them to release the cattle into the floodwaters. Many of the animals were later found dead near the bamboo groves. “There were around 1,000 cows in this village before the flood. Now only about 15 to 20 remain.” Before the disaster, the village had more than 200 houses. Almost none escaped serious damage.
The night of 19 July remains unforgettable for the survivors. People spent hours clinging to rooftops, trees and even electric transformers as floodwaters surrounded them. Around 61 people took shelter on the only elevated RCC house in the village. They remained there until the following morning without food or drinking water before local boats and volunteers managed to rescue them. Even after the water receded, recovery has been painfully slow. Some families continue to live under tarpaulin shelters, while others have returned only to dig through thick mud in search of anything that can still be used. Dead cattle and poultry remain scattered across the village or buried beneath layers of silt. The decomposing carcasses have filled the area with a strong stench and raised concerns about disease. Residents say relief has largely come from ordinary people rather than official agencies. Members of the Gorkha community have supplied flattened rice, biscuits, cattle feed and some tin sheets. Prem Tamang, chairman of the Assam Gorkha Development Council, also visited the village and distributed supplies for the few surviving cattle. However, villagers say government assistance has remained limited.
“So far, only promises… The only thing I personally received from the government is a mosquito net,” one resident said. “Most of the assistance has come from ordinary people. I sincerely thank the public.” Across the village, the demand is the same. Families urgently need tin sheets so they can rebuild roofs over their heads. They also seek support to reconstruct homes and restore the livelihoods that disappeared with the flood. Nepali Khuti was never a wealthy village. But it was self-reliant. Its dairy economy sustained hundreds of families. Cows provided milk, income and identity. The Dikhow River, which had long watered their fields and supported their cattle, destroyed the community in a single afternoon. Twelve days after the flood, the water has gone. Yet Nepali Khuti remains a landscape of mud, silence and ruins. The government has announced broader flood relief measures across Assam, including cash assistance and loan moratoriums in affected districts. For the people of Nepali Khuti, standing in the mud where their homes, cattle sheds and herds once stood, those announcements have yet to become the tin sheets and practical support they say they need most to begin rebuilding their lives
