Assam and Meghalaya Villagers Unite to Block a Joint Hydropower Scheme

After decades of a simmering border dispute, something unexpected is happening on the banks of the Kulsi River – people from Assam and Meghalaya are standing shoulder‑to‑shoulder, and not in celebration but in protest.

Back in June 2025, the two state governments announced a 55‑megawatt hydropower‑cum‑irrigation venture at the point where the Dron, Shree and Dilma streams merge to form the Kulsi, a tributary that eventually joins the mighty Brahmaputra. On paper, the scheme promises clean energy and more water for farms. In reality, it threatens the habitat of the endangered Gangetic dolphin and puts 46 villages at risk.

On October 8, 2026, a crowd of more than two thousand – Bodo, Garo, Khasi and Rabha folk – converged on the tiny hamlet of Ukiam, which sits almost midway between the disputed border pockets of Borduar and Langpih. The gathering was organized by the Assam‑Meghalaya Joint Protection Committee (AMJPC), a body that sprang up in 2025 specifically to coordinate resistance.

Three traditional chiefs, the custodians of their peoples’ lands, took to the makeshift stage. Kestor Manik Syiem Iich of Nongkhlaw, Phlowing Syiem Nongbak of Nongmynsaw and Order Syiem Sad of Rambrai each declared, in measured yet firm tones, that no‑objection certificates – the essential green lights for any project that treads on tribal territory – would never be handed over.

“Projects that involve land in Meghalaya need the blessing of the traditional chiefs. That blessing will not be given for this dam,” the Nongkhlaw chief said, his words echoing through the gathered crowd. The other two chiefs echoed the sentiment, underscoring that the cultural and ecological stakes are simply too high.

Albert Nonglang, the AMJPC’s president, reminded everyone that the dam’s reservoir would flood farmland, displace families, and disrupt the flow that sustains the dolphin population. He added that the plan also risks inflaming the long‑standing border tension that has lingered since the 1970s.

Villagers, some of them with weather‑worn faces, shared personal anecdotes – a fisherman who’s seen dolphin calves vanish, a farmer who worries about losing ancestral fields, a mother recalling how the river’s song has always been part of village life. Their stories wove a tapestry of loss, fear, and fierce determination.

The protest was not just about stopping a dam; it was about asserting a right to decide what happens on their own soil. As one elderly Garo woman put it, “We have lived here for generations. The river is our blood, and we will not let anyone dam it without our consent.”

Authorities from both states have yet to respond publicly to the renewed outcry. Meanwhile, the AMJPC has vowed to keep the momentum alive, planning further rallies, legal petitions, and a social‑media campaign to raise awareness beyond the region.

For now, the Kulsi River continues its slow, steady journey toward the Brahmaputra, carrying with it the hopes of a community that refuses to be silenced.