Khumi is a small indigenous group living in the deep hilly forests of southern Bangladesh, namely Ruma, Rowngchori, and Thanchi thana in Bandarban district. According to the Bangladesh Bureau of Statistics (BSS) 2022 report, around 3,800 Khumis live in Bandarban. They maintain distinct socioeconomic, religious, and cultural values, rituals, and norms that define their identity. They mainly practice Buddhism, though there is a tendency to convert to Christianity. A large number of Khumis live in severe poverty because their primary source of income is Jhum (Shifting) cultivation, in which they grow rice, corn, cotton, pumpkin, ginger, chili, and other crops. Khumis also raise animals, such as cows, goats, pigs, dogs, and chickens, and grow vegetables and fruits, such as pineapple, oranges, jackfruit, papaya, and mangoes, in their gardens.
Last week, during a fieldwork expedition to five Khumi villages in Rowangchori, we witnessed the stark reality of this ‘water war’. To reach villages like Longtong Para and Shanking Para, one must endure an hour-long, bone-shaking bike ride over crooked mountain tracks. But the physical exhaustion of the journey fades in comparison to the exhaustion of the Khumi people, who spend their lives chasing a resource that simply isn’t there.
In Longtong Para, we watched a group of girls, barely ten to thirteen years old, descend the steep hills to a Jhiri (natural stream). This trek takes fifteen minutes down and a grueling climb back up. But this year, the rain has failed them. The Jhiris are nothing but scorched, muddy beds.
When we asked how they would bathe or drink, they pointed to small, hand-dug holes in the dry stream bed where stagnant water slowly collects. It is a heartbreaking sight, human beings forced to scavenge for water like gold in the dirt.
The heat on May 8th was unforgiving, and our supplies quickly vanished. When we reached Shanking Para, the villagers, in their characteristic warmth, offered us bottled water they had stored from the Jhiris. As I held the bottle, I could see microorganisms dancing in the liquid. There was no choice; we drank it, feeling a profound sense of guilt and gratitude.
For the Khumis, this contaminated water isn’t a temporary emergency; it is their daily reality. Our research data shows the acute prevalence of waterborne diseases: diarrhoea, typhoid, cholera, and dysentery, tearing through these families. When the same water source is used for drinking, bathing domestic animals, and cleaning utensils, the health risks are not just “potential”; they are inevitable.
The most striking moment of our trip occurred on our return to Bandarban city. We stopped at a Marma village for tea, where the shopkeeper offered us water with a smile, saying, “It feels like we have received the God Buddha.”
We learned that the newly elected parliamentarian, Saching Prue Jerry, had recently installed a water tank for that village, resolving a crisis that had lasted generations. The relief and joy in that community were palpable. It was a reminder that the solution is not impossible, it is simply a matter of reach.
While the Marma people have found their “Water God,” the Khumi villages of Aungtong, Bagi, and Mosung remain in the shadows. There are currently no water facilities provided by the government or NGOs in these specific areas.
We often hear the phrase, “Water is life,” but we rarely feel the weight of those words until we see children waiting for a dry hole in the ground to fill. For the Khumi, water is more than a biological necessity; it is a meeting with dignity.
We urge our newly elected MP and active NGOs to look toward the deep hills. By installing water tanks and sustainable filtration systems, we can ensure that the Khumi people, who have given so much to the cultural tapestry of Bangladesh, are no longer left to perish from thirst in the very forests they call home. It is time we help them meet their own “Water God.”
The writer is an Associate Professor of Sociology, University of Chittagong, Bangladesh
