Namami Gange

By Priya Ranganathan

She flows, tempestuous and carefree, out of the womb of the Shivaliks and into the floodplains that feed millions of hungry mouths. Her headwaters are disputed, both holy and geological in nature, but she flows out from a cavern of silver ice and jagged rock. Gurgling, writhing, rolling, bubbling, she trips and tumbles in six rivulets down the mighty snow peaks, her voice echoing around these mountains. She breathes life into the minds, bodies, and souls of pilgrims and mountain folk, the city dwellers and the farmers, the tribals and the nomads, the dacoits and the sadhus. Her waters, so silvery-blue at their source, turn murky as she enters the plains, her silt load heavy with Himalayan sediment, her waters polluted by human use and misuse. Yet none fall ill from her waters; she is as pure in her impurity as a goddess on earth.

From her Himalayan source to the swamplands of her delta, the Ganga is the life source of much of northern India. Playing in her waters is a treat, as is witnessing her rushed journey down the snowy mountains. Early mornings in the Himalayas, one can hear the river singing her sweet song.

From our perch in Landour, I would climb onto the water tower (usually occupied by a rowdy family of rhesus macaques and the occasional droopy-eyed grey langur) and look down into the river valley far below where the Ganga traced a silvery path, not too far from her sister river, the Yamuna. These Himalayan rivers originated in twin glaciers – Gangotri and Yamunotri – at the base of the lofty Garhwal Himalayas. In any geologist’s assessment of Himalayan rivers comes a discussion of their glacial origins. The Gangotri Glacier has an estimated volume of over 27 cubic kilometres and measures nearly 30 kilometres long and nearly 4 kilometres wide, making it one of the largest glaciers in the Himalayas. It is surrounded by peaks including the Shivling, one of the prominent peaks and a mountaineer’s delight. At the base of this peak, along the glacier, lies Tapovan, a high-altitude/alpine meadow and popular pilgrimage site. Indeed, most spots along the Ganga are earmarked by religious tourists, and Gangotri is no exception. The true source of the Ganga is at Gomukh (“cow’s mouth”), the southern tip of the glacier, where the river appears as the spirited Bhagirathi. The route to the glacier, while heavily utilised by pilgrims and hikers, was severely damaged by the 2013 Uttarakhand floods, rendering parts of it impenetrable.

In the high Himalayas, the river is playful and like quicksilver, darting through your fingers like a fairy sprite. Those who live here will tell you of the river’s laughter and her unpredictable personality. Her waters are clear and full of life, and when the monsoon rolls in, she escapes her banks and floods with a wicked precision and childlike glee.

At Devprayag, the Alaknanda (the geological source of the river) and the Bhagirathi (the religious source) meet and mingle, joined by the mystical river Saraswati, which is thought to flow underground and create this holy confluence. The Alaknanda contributes more water to the Ganga than does the Bhagirathi and rises in the southern Himalayas at the Satopanth Glacier near the Tibetan border. This glacier has its own mystical history; it is said that the holy trinity of Hinduism – Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva – come to bathe in Satopanth Tal (lake) by the glacier on auspicious occasions. It is from these holy waters that the Alaknanda makes her bold descent to Devprayag.

Further downstream, at Hrishikesh, the Ganga fills out her broadening river valley and adopts her new role as the nurturing mother goddess of the fertile plains. She meanders here, free from the narrow confines of the Himalayas, and many religious ghats (steps) are located along her waters. Thousands come to bathe in the Ganga, and Hrishikesh and its sister town Haridwar are crowded and conspicuously filled with fervent Hindus. At Haridwar, there were so many pilgrims in the water that I felt no desire to dip in the river; while the Ganga is far purer here than in her downstream reaches, the number of bodies would undoubtedly mean high levels of pollutants. People offered flowers, oil lamps, new silk sarees, dried fruits, fresh fruits, and even money to the river goddess, placing these offerings reverently into the cool water and praying for long life and good health. It struck me as depressing that, in the name of worship, so many could turn a blind eye to the pollution they were causing to their beloved, life-giving river. No river, no matter how pure her origins, can withstand the onslaught of religious offerings and sewage entering her waters.

One memorable sighting along the Ganga will remain with me for a lifetime. It was four in the morning and my two friends and I ventured out of our rooms in Paramath Niketan, a large ashram at Hrishikesh, to experience the dawn over the Ganga’s silver waters. The ghats were mostly devoid of tourists, and only a few orange-robed sadhus sat immersed in morning prayer, their lips moving in silent appeal to the river goddess. A few holy men prayed in the shallow waters of the river, slender brown fingers clasping the 108 beads that demarked the number of names of Lord Shiva. It was times like these that reminded me that every Indian had a right upon the waters of the Ganga, and I found myself eager to dip in the river, if only for a few moments. My friends agreed, and we leapt into the river, frolicking and capering about on the shallow riverbed like puppies. We splashed the clear cool waters on each other and laughed, gaining censoring frowns from an elderly couple strolling by the ghats.

And then we saw a flash of grey just beneath the water’s surface some 100 metres away. We froze and stared at the water, willing the apparition to resurface, and sure enough, it leapt out of the water with agile ease. A Ganges river dolphin, the national aquatic animal of India and one of the rare residents of this mighty river. Ganges river dolphins were once found throughout the Ganga, Brahmaputra, and their tributaries, but much of its range has been affected by dams and diversion for irrigation. A freshwater species, this dolphin is blind and navigates using sonar. Researchers are now using acoustic sensors to study these fascinating mammals. Typically fond of freshwater pools in river systems, it was hardly surprising to find it gliding and leaping merrily out of the water in this part of the Ganga. I felt a deep sense of fondness for this creature, almost-human in its intelligence and emotions and yet so very different at first glance.

Truly, the Ganga is the mother of all rivers, giving life not only to humans but also to rare and wondrous creatures and habitats. And yet, we cannot guarantee her safety from the filth that we pour into her holy waters, both in the name of religion and development.

It is both a blessing and a curse, it would seem, to be a holy river in India.

By Priya Ranganathan