Silence of the Rivers……Allahabad
The cool trickling sand between my toes, the muddy Ganges tentative steps towards the twirling frisky Yamuna, the orange-robed Sun take its evening dip in the serene, muddy waters of the Ganges, to disappear into the horizon. Scenes photocopied over time as I stood ankle deep at the confluence of the three holy rivers of India, the Ganges, Yamuna and the mythical Saraswati.
I was born and brought up in Allahabad and the rivers were part of growing up. School vacations meant early morning drives to the banks of the Yamuna River guarded by the fort, built by Mughal Emperor Akbar, and a flotilla of boats and their owners. We had a personal boat, hired on monthly basis, one that had a cover as there were no changing rooms. It was an al- fresco experience of stripping of wet clothes for dry ones. The boat was cocooned with sheets all around and the women would self consciously shed of wet clothes. The men had no such inhibitions and would change alongside the boat.
Occasionally friends joined us for early morning swims that ended in dunking and dipping in the waters that were clearer and cleaner (1960s) than what it is today. With passing years the early morning dips gave way to solitary visits, especially in the evenings, when the only ‘noise’ for miles were the temple bells and the swish of oars of returning boatmen. It was difficult to visualize the unruffled, irenic Ganges as the same carefree stream gurgling down the snow capped Himalayas, oblivious to the tribulations ahead changing contour on its journey through mountains and plains, cities, towns and villages collecting their garbage, joys and sorrows before meeting with the Yamuna and the mythical Saraswati at Allahabad or ancient Prayag. One wonders what notes the rivers must be exchanging before collectively surging through Varanasi and finally emptying in the Bay of Bengal.
Once in twelve (12) years the rivers play host to the great bathing festival or the Kumbh Mela. Along with Allahabad, the other cities are Hardwar, Ujjain and Nasik. The story goes that the gods and the devils had fought over the urn of nectar churned from the earth and to prevent the Devils from drinking the immortal nectar, Indra, the God of Rain and Thunder, had decamped with the urn and in process four drops of nectar spilled on these four places purifying the waters and the cities. I remember accompanying my parents for one Kumbh Mela (fair) attracted more by the trinkets and street food than by religious sentiments.
I got married and moved on living in other cities and countries losing touch with my inner self till I visited my hometown, after a gap of twenty years, for the 2013 Kumbh Mela. It was as if entire humanity had congregated on the slice of the meeting point of the rivers where the young, old, rich, poor, disabled and healthy queued for that one dunk or moksha (freedom) in the waters.
Amidst all the mayhem the rivers flowed unruffled and serene oblivious to trampling feet and noisy ablutions. I stayed on till evening when the pilgrims and tourists were confined in their tents and the Sun make the most of having the waters to itself.
I turned back fortified for more life journeys.
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