Bhagirathi

After taking a dip at the holy Ganges I looked up, to the sky, tiny droplets of water kissing my already wet cheeks. Since it was the rainy season I had the whole ghat for me, the rarity of a clean river had been a concern. As it turned out the concern was short lived.

Keeping the legends apart, the river and the raindrops struck a chord with me. How thriving and bustling would have the great Magadhan empire been - the empire which even Alexandrian troops feared - I wondered. How Kashi and its awe inspiring temples grew from rubble on more occasion than one. How Mark Twain must have felt taking a dip at the Ganges in Varanasi. For him, the place was 'Older than the legends itself'. Or 5000 years ago - in the absence of maps and transportation - how Kapil Muni reached Gangasagar on his own, sadly his ashram doesn't survive anymore. Amongst all the centuries old civilization and evolution Ganges had been at the epicentre of the grand ancient India, the tale of which is now lost somewhere in the ruckus of filth and garbage throwing competitions amongst us.

As soon as I was finished with my swim, the holy dip, a man chewing tobacco spit a mouthful into the very river which I and many others consider as an equivalent to mother. The greatness and pride of my ancestors and my past were washed away within a split second. I wore my clothes and sat on the steps of the ghat looking at the red coloured tobacco spit float on the surface of the river. My mother had been insulted - I was insulted - it felt like being bitten by a deadly viper, it stung like bees unhived. I lay dejected and lost all hope of seeing my dreams of ushering in the golden age for my beloved Bharat come true. Aghast at the prevailing situation of the society, the life of a sage or hermit wandering about the Himalayas seemed much more purposeful to me.

For long I had been looking for -  enlightenment - answers to the myriad of questions which lay in my mind. Men pretending to be Gurus couldn't give me the answer which could satisfy me. For once, let's ask mother nature, let's seek enlightenment from Maa Ganga, I thought. All I had to do was sit and close my eyes to meditate.

My mind at once went to the sorry state in which our grand heritage lay in. I could see the answers right in front of me. The remedy to the nonchalant behaviour of the man, which symbolises other men too, lay in his roots. We are not connected to our roots, many do question the need of it, yet we dream of growing into a tree. Ganges - the life giver, the healer, the spiritual, the heavenly abode - sadly has been reduced to a sewage body. How many of us feel the connect to the spirit of the holy water? The connect sadly has been lost in the noisy chants and agarbattis, diyas, in the name of spiritualism and following Dharma. Or in the celebration of the biggest street festival of the world and clicking selfies in front of the puja pratimas/pandals while being unaware of the essence of Goddess Durga and it's relevance. Unfortunately, everything that yields money has become a tool to propagate religion. It will continue to be so until we seek to connect ourselves with our roots and decipher, where we have come from, the ancient civilisation and Vedic principles.

As soon as I finished meditating while seeking the right answers from the holy river I felt relieved and rekindled at the same time. In my heart filled with enthusiasm and optimism, I knew of the myriad challenges my country faced. To solve even a fraction of those problems would be worthy of my life and a cause worth living for.

The day I see my Ganges clean like the days of old, I would know that the Golden era of Bharat has ushered in. To sum up, the day with the Ganges was a subtle reminder of how much work we had to do. Yes - it's a difficult and distant dream yet worthy to embark upon - times changing slowly but surely.

And it's men and women like you that will make a difference. We still have a long way to go but hand in hand, I know we'll get there.