When the Earth Trembles: Assam's Unending Tryst with Earthquakes

It starts with a faint sound: the clinking of utensils, a creak in the wall, the lightest trembling beneath your feet. In Assam, that sound is no stranger. Within moments, people pause mid-conversation, eyes dart to the swaying ceiling fan, and then everyone quietly steps outside. The ground quivers, then settles, and life resumes as if nothing happened. Yet behind that calm return lies a collective unease, a quiet understanding that the land we love is never entirely still.

Assam’s beauty has always carried a subtle warning. Beneath its gentle hills, the endless green of its valleys, and the broad stretch of the Brahmaputra lies one of the most restless regions on Earth. The state sits in Seismic Zone V, the highest risk category in India, perched on the collision line between the Indian and Eurasian tectonic plates. Far below the paddy fields and tea gardens, the Indian plate continues to push northward, grinding slowly but relentlessly against the landmass above. This invisible pressure builds for years, and when it finally releases, the earth trembles, sometimes gently, sometimes with devastating force.

That trembling has shaped Assam’s history in ways few other regions know. The memory of the great 1897 Shillong earthquake still lingers, passed down through generations. It was a disaster that changed the very face of the land, toppling stone churches, cracking the ground, and leaving thousands homeless. Half a century later, in 1950, another catastrophe struck: the massive Assam–Tibet earthquake, one of the largest in recorded history. It was said that the Brahmaputra turned brown overnight, choked with silt from collapsing mountains. Rivers shifted course, entire villages disappeared, and even after the shaking stopped, the land continued to move for days. Those who lived through it still speak of the fear that hung in the air, a reminder that nature, in all its generosity, can also be terrifyingly indifferent.

More than seventy years later, that restlessness hasn’t faded. Assam continues to shudder, not always violently, but often enough to unsettle its people. In February 2025, a magnitude 5.0 quake shook Morigaon. A few months later, in August, another quake of 4.3 magnitude rippled through Nagaon. By mid-September, the National Centre for Seismology had recorded more than twenty tremors in just forty-five days, the strongest of which was a 5.8 magnitude quake centered in Udalguri that jolted homes across the state. Most of these were mild, causing no visible damage, but their frequency has made people wary. In Guwahati and Tezpur, even the faintest vibration of a glass or the swing of a curtain rod is enough to send people outdoors for a few tense seconds. Over time, fear has turned into something quieter, a resigned companionship with uncertainty.

To its credit, Assam has begun to face this reality with greater seriousness. The government has completed seismic microzonation of Guwahati, identifying which parts of the city are most vulnerable to earthquakes and how urban expansion should proceed. The Assam State Disaster Management Authority has made commendable efforts, conducting drills in schools, training masons in earthquake-resistant construction, and creating awareness at the local level. The State Disaster Response Force has also been better equipped and trained for emergencies, and seismological monitoring has improved with real-time updates and data sharing.

But for all these positive steps, much of Assam’s infrastructure remains worryingly fragile. A large number of homes and commercial buildings were built long before seismic safety codes became mandatory, and many of the new ones still disregard them. Rules exist, but enforcement often falters in the face of convenience, cost-cutting, or simple neglect.

Urban sprawl is another issue most cities in Assam face, one the government urgently needs to tackle.

Yet the real line of defence doesn’t begin in government offices; it begins inside homes and communities. Every family can take simple but crucial precautions. Buildings should be checked for structural safety, and older houses can be strengthened with proper reinforcement. Heavy furniture should be anchored, and emergency kits with basic necessities should be easily accessible. Schools and workplaces must practice regular earthquake drills so that panic doesn’t replace reason when the ground shakes. In rural areas, where awareness is lower and structures are weaker, community preparedness can make all the difference. In the first few minutes after a quake, it’s often neighbours, not officials, who save lives.

But the question remains: how can a land as seismically restless as Assam truly live in safety?
The answer lies not in fear, but in foresight.

Urban planning must begin to respect science, not override it. Guwahati, which has grown rapidly and haphazardly, needs to align its future expansion with geological reality. Critical infrastructure like bridges, hospitals, and schools must be audited and retrofitted wherever needed. Building codes should not be treated as optional but as the first promise of public safety.

Technology, too, has a role to play. Early warning systems, mobile alerts, and community sirens can offer vital seconds of preparation. These are not luxuries; they are necessities in a land that lives above moving plates.

Preparedness must also become cultural. Earthquake education should be a part of what schools teach and what the media reminds us about, not just during disasters, but in everyday conversation. Awareness, after all, is the only way to replace helplessness with readiness. And readiness, in turn, is the only way to live without fear.

In the end, though, it is not policy or technology that defines Assam’s strength; it is its people. Those who have lived with floods, erosion, and tremors for generations carry an instinctive resilience, a patience with nature’s moods. They rebuild quietly after every loss, adapting, adjusting, and continuing. Perhaps that is Assam’s greatest asset: not unshakable ground, but unshakable spirit.

Earthquakes will come again. The land will tremble; walls will sway; hearts will race. But if Assam listens closely to science, to experience, and to the murmurs of its own soil, it will be better prepared each time. Because in the end, earthquakes don’t just shake buildings, they test our relationship with the earth itself.

And if there’s one thing Assam has learned through centuries of living with a moving world, it is this: survival is not about standing firm, but about learning how to move wisely when the ground beneath you shifts.

Siddharth Roy can be reached at: siddharth001.roy@gmail.com