The Ganga Dream
One of my long standing dreams has been to swim in the Ganges.
I have been along the Ganga in various stages of her flow. When she is a youthful energetic self – agile and swift when coming down from the high mountains in Garhwal, below the snow line where she is colored turquoise in the wooded country and meanders through the mountains – much softer but still quick and seemingly in search of the plains, in Rishikesh where she widens her path and looks to stray from her channel that has remained narrow so far, and in Haridwar where she still retains her energy and purity as she cleanses thousands of pilgrims in the bathing ghats.
Map: Course of Ganga
She remains charming as ever all along and each time I step close to the bank, I am driven by an irresistible urge to jump in, swim along her course for a few miles and feel like the river myself. It has been a dream for many years now, since the first time I set sight on her in Rishikesh.
Ganga at Rishikesh
The dream has remained unfulfilled, there was always something that held me back. She is a wild torrent and the water is frigid up in the mountains. She looks deep and just nice enough to float along with her in the mountains upstream of Rishikesh, but still flows fast and appears hostile. Ganga’s river bed has been reduced to a trickle in Haridwar by a dam and the swift currents in the narrow canals are not meant for swimming.
Ganga at Varanasi
I had my hopes on Varanasi. I knew she would be mild here and take her time to push through the plains to the ocean. I knew she would be deep enough that the river bed never runs dry in these parts. I had heard of its polluted waters but hoped it would be fit enough at least for a swim. I was eager to see the Ganga on my first visit to Varanasi.
But when I went there, the sight of Varanasi’s ghats was depressing. The river was not just unclean, but looked no different from a sewer. It was dark, nearly opaque and was filled with floating organic mass along the bank. At Assi ghat where the river makes a slight bend into the west bank, disposed trash made a thick layer that completely covered the surface. Forget swimming, even touching the water seemed unthinkable.
But pious pilgrims who arrive here seem to be unmindful, which surprises me. Their faith must be a really strong to be able to callously step into the murky river and be at ease during the ritual bath.
A friend who was recently in Varanasi was taken aback by the response when she asked someone if they are not troubled by the pollution in the river.
“Ganga is intrinsically pure,” she was told, “there is no way it can be polluted, no matter what gets mixed into it.”
‘Ganga Ma’ was loved as is, no matter what state her waters were in. But I had met a few people who were more concerned. A man I was speaking to who was on a pilgrimage was deeply concerned. “You must be feeling sad about all that is happening to the Ganga,” he told me, “see what we are doing to our mother.”
Despite seeing hundreds of people taking a dip or go swimming in the river, I did not have the courage to jump. When I returned from there, my wish remained unfulfilled. I shall be going back to Rishikesh some day, and when I do, I shall go rafting and drift down the river and hopefully get to swim in it’s friendly stretches.