Shiva with his hair open; ready to receive the Bhagirathi that fell in from the heavens according to Hindu mythology
The darkness that we had all been waiting for, fell suddenly. With it came an uneasy calm. The pink and orange hues of the setting sun were no longer reflecting off the fast flowing waters of the Ganga, or Maa Ganga as they call her up in the hills. With its daytime sparkle gone; the river appeared dark and brooding as it lashed restlessly against the steps of the deserted ghat. The flower seller, sitting within a half circle of leaf cups filled with flowers and a diya (Rs 10 each); who had drawn me earlier with her gentle eyes and luminescent i’ve-found-god smile; had gone too. In the half hour wait for the arati, much had changed. The most ominous were the rain clouds that had silently crept across the sky, making it many shades darker than it usually is at 6.30 pm on a summer evening.
Saransh and I were in a group of devout waiting for the Ganga Aarti on Triveni ghat, Rishikesh. We were sitting on stone steps leading up from the river, waiting for the sun to set so that the diyas could be lit. Around us were about 60 others – mostly families with folded hands - men with angochas hanging on their shoulders, women with sari pallus covering their heads, children with shiny eyes; and some white skinned foreigners in Om print kurtas, tilaks and chappals. Just as the priests started chanting mantras and lighting the large ceremonial brass lamps; the sky broke with a loud roar. A fierce downpour splattered over the shed; and outside, snuffing out not just the diyas but also the lights, it seemed. The river bank was plunged in pitch darkness.
Outside the shed, rain lashed the angry river. Inside, there was a rush of people pushing to get a roof over their heads. Saransh and I held hands tightly and just kept moving wherever the crowd shoved us. After a while there was stillness and a cold fear started putting its icy fingers on us. “Will the rain stop?” Saransh whispered fearfully. “Of course,” I whispered back, trying to sound confident. Many more minutes passed but the storm did not abate. I felt something wet licking my toes and realized that muddy water was now lapping our feet. In panic I turned to an old priest standing beside me. He smiled gently and said: "Dariye mat, yeh Ganga ka paani nahin hai, sadak se aa raha hai. Kuch nahi hoga”.
Someone asked for kapur and the priest handed it over in the dark. There was the sound of a match being struck and a small flame leapt up. The lamps were being lit again. The yellow glow started casting shadows around and someone started singing “Jai Gange mata”. Slowly, everyone had joined in. Saransh was standing with his palms together, eyes tightly shut, even as the rain sprayed us with errant drops and water engulfed our feet. I tried to close my eyes too but after more than a decade of non believing it was impossible for me to convince myself that a god would save us. Around me there were faces that appeared calm and collected; unified by their divine faith. In my mind there was just a crass acceptance of human insignificance before the might of nature.
Atheism had come to me over a few years; science and Richard Dawkins having played a major role in the indoctrination. But I kept it to myself, preferring that Saransh form his own beliefs as he grew older. I remembered how some years back he had startled me by saying: I don’t think there is a god living in the sky, there are only planets there. I looked at him as he tried to mumble words from the arati he did not know. Some of his terrible fear was gone, if only for those moments. At that time he was a believer and it gave him strength when he needed it the most. I regretted I wasn't one because believers have advantages in life that non believers don’t.
Epilogue: You don't need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that the river did not breach its bank and we survived. When the rain stemmed a bit, we rushed into the darkness and clambered up the steps of the ghat where our autorickshaw driver was waiting for us faithfully, soaked to the skin but smilingly holding out a plastic bottle of Ganga water. "Ghar mein rakhne se sab accha hota hai," he said, handing it over to me.
Dariye mat, yeh Ganga ka paani nahin hai, sadak se aa raha hai. Kuch nahi hoga: Don't be scared, the river has not breached its bank; Ghar mein rakhne se sab accha hota hai: all shall be well if you keep it in the house
The river Ganga is considered sacred by Hindus and worshipped as a goddess. It is believed that a dip in its waters can wash away your sins and grant you access to heaven.
It is ranked as one of the five most polluted rivers in the world. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ganges
Saransh and I were in a group of devout waiting for the Ganga Aarti on Triveni ghat, Rishikesh. We were sitting on stone steps leading up from the river, waiting for the sun to set so that the diyas could be lit. Around us were about 60 others – mostly families with folded hands - men with angochas hanging on their shoulders, women with sari pallus covering their heads, children with shiny eyes; and some white skinned foreigners in Om print kurtas, tilaks and chappals. Just as the priests started chanting mantras and lighting the large ceremonial brass lamps; the sky broke with a loud roar. A fierce downpour splattered over the shed; and outside, snuffing out not just the diyas but also the lights, it seemed. The river bank was plunged in pitch darkness.
Outside the shed, rain lashed the angry river. Inside, there was a rush of people pushing to get a roof over their heads. Saransh and I held hands tightly and just kept moving wherever the crowd shoved us. After a while there was stillness and a cold fear started putting its icy fingers on us. “Will the rain stop?” Saransh whispered fearfully. “Of course,” I whispered back, trying to sound confident. Many more minutes passed but the storm did not abate. I felt something wet licking my toes and realized that muddy water was now lapping our feet. In panic I turned to an old priest standing beside me. He smiled gently and said: "Dariye mat, yeh Ganga ka paani nahin hai, sadak se aa raha hai. Kuch nahi hoga”.
Someone asked for kapur and the priest handed it over in the dark. There was the sound of a match being struck and a small flame leapt up. The lamps were being lit again. The yellow glow started casting shadows around and someone started singing “Jai Gange mata”. Slowly, everyone had joined in. Saransh was standing with his palms together, eyes tightly shut, even as the rain sprayed us with errant drops and water engulfed our feet. I tried to close my eyes too but after more than a decade of non believing it was impossible for me to convince myself that a god would save us. Around me there were faces that appeared calm and collected; unified by their divine faith. In my mind there was just a crass acceptance of human insignificance before the might of nature.
Atheism had come to me over a few years; science and Richard Dawkins having played a major role in the indoctrination. But I kept it to myself, preferring that Saransh form his own beliefs as he grew older. I remembered how some years back he had startled me by saying: I don’t think there is a god living in the sky, there are only planets there. I looked at him as he tried to mumble words from the arati he did not know. Some of his terrible fear was gone, if only for those moments. At that time he was a believer and it gave him strength when he needed it the most. I regretted I wasn't one because believers have advantages in life that non believers don’t.
Epilogue: You don't need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that the river did not breach its bank and we survived. When the rain stemmed a bit, we rushed into the darkness and clambered up the steps of the ghat where our autorickshaw driver was waiting for us faithfully, soaked to the skin but smilingly holding out a plastic bottle of Ganga water. "Ghar mein rakhne se sab accha hota hai," he said, handing it over to me.
Dariye mat, yeh Ganga ka paani nahin hai, sadak se aa raha hai. Kuch nahi hoga: Don't be scared, the river has not breached its bank; Ghar mein rakhne se sab accha hota hai: all shall be well if you keep it in the house
The river Ganga is considered sacred by Hindus and worshipped as a goddess. It is believed that a dip in its waters can wash away your sins and grant you access to heaven.
It is ranked as one of the five most polluted rivers in the world. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ganges
The power of faith. Ganga arati at Rishikesh
The angry river
Arati and diyas in the water
Pilgrim drying his dhoti on the river bank
The flower seller with a I've-seen-god smile
A riverside sage
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