The train journey was uneventful in the Jana Shatabdi. It was
amusing to see many people travelling ticketless standing in the doorway on
this fast train to Dehra Dun. In the South, it’s pretty hard to get into a
Shatabdi unless you have a ticket. Here the TTC only asked for tickets from
people who were in seats. The corridorwallas and stepwallas (people standing on
the corridors and sitting on the steps of the train) were not even given a
cursory glance.
As I make my way through the crowds of ochre coloured sadhus
in Haridwar, I am at ease again. I’m back home again by the Ganges, in the
foothills of the Himalayas. I remember my first encounter with Gangaji. In
Trivandrum of all places! As a teenager, in a movie hall enjoying a Malayalam
film, I was caught unawares by the opening scene and song of the movie. The
protagonist walks in Calcutta (not Kolkatta then!) by the banks of the Ganga
searching for a long lost friend and there’s a song about the river in the
background. My hair stood on end and an incredible feeling coursed through my
entire being. This strange reaction was all but forgotten in the intervening
years until I finally had my first real life darshan of her. My eyes thrilled by
her sight welled up with illogical tears and again that strange elation
coursing through the body. It was definitely love at first sight.
I have since been her companion in the mountains and seen her
various moods. She is never the same ever. Her moods change every day and all
along her course she constantly surprises you with her infinite hues. I’ve
plunged into her icy waters at 4 in winter mornings chilled to the bones taking
the ritualistic 3 dips before scampering back out for dear life! I’ve swam in
her welcome cool embrace in the scorching summer never wanting to leave her.
It’s not that I’ve not been with other rivers. Many have been bigger, wider and
more beautiful but there’s something about the Ganga that always draws me back.
Not surprisingly I’m not her only lover.
.
.
Twice I had the audacity to raft on her waters. At the second
outing, on the most dangerous rapid on
the river, the boat did a mini flip and I was thrown overboard. The last thing
I saw before going down was the look on the raft guide’s face: pure
unadulterated panic! I was dunked under
the water repeatedly by the huge screaming waves all around me. All I could see
was water; all I could hear was water. I liked the way she played with me. When
I went under, I held my breath, strangely thinking that there couldn’t be a
better way to die than in her arms. I was OK with that. The raging waters took
me way ahead of the raft. Later on her banks, dripping wet and recollecting the
experience, I was surprised by my calmness. People usually drown in a rapid even
with a life jacket because they drink too much water when the dunking happens.
Not a single drop entered my mouth. A true miracle and relief all around
especially the guide who looked like it was he who got the 2nd life.
For 3 years she has been my constant companion. The first
thing I hear on waking up is her gentle murmur or roar depending on the season.
I sit by her at night gazing at the stars. Under the full moon her beauty
transcends the mind. Sitting by her side gazing into her waters is meditation.
I’ve swam, dipped, played and almost drowned in her. She’s beautiful when she
flows gently over the rocks murmuring sweet nothings. She’s majestic like a
queen when she tears through the land in her floods.
 |
| Ganga dazzling under the full moon |
I was there right by
her side when the floods came earlier this year. As with many other people, we
were cool because Gangaji has never flooded in June. When the levels kept on rising,
we hurried with shifting things. But again I felt no sense of panic but just
immense wonder at how a shy demure little thing suddenly turned into an angry
vengeful woman. The room I was staying in was flooded for a day. When she went
back she left a present, around 5 feet of Himalayan mud in the room! How that
was cleaned is another story.
Like some women Gangaji has a peculiar beauty when she’s in
one of her angry moods. I remember standing on the ghats in deserted Rishikesh
during the floods and watching her make huge waves after waves. It seemed that
the sea had come down to the land of the rishis! Oh what a performance it was!
She carried with her everything from chairs, beds gas cylinders to humungous
trees that defy description. The sound of her roaring waters still rings in my
ears. The way we are abusing her and the mountains, I think, that this show was
just the curtain raiser.
The only evidence of
her fury now is the enormous piles of sand and the scattered logs on either
side of her banks. Uttarakhand is
deserted, one scolding from the Mother and all the bhaktas seem to have taken
to their heels. Rishikesh resembles the town I’ve read about in the old travel
chronicles and what I’ve heard from the sadhus who have been here for ages. I
like it this way, especially because I have to endure less competition for her
attention. And she’s back to her
inviting shy demure self again. My love affair with her continues…
Gangaji ki jai ho !
