Return to Mother Ganga

Serene, ethereal, awe-inspiring, she descends majestically from her home in the magnificent Himalayas, the abode of Shiva, the playground of the gods. The sun glints off her as she wends her way past river bank settlements and centuries old temples that dot the landscape in what the natives call 'Dev Bhoomi'- The land of the gods. Her facets are many. Somewhere a gentle, soothing giver of life, elsewhere a playful, gurgling child; a raging torrent who brooks no stopping, an angry mother who has been wronged. And how she gives voice to her many moods. From the gentle murmur as she glides along, to her rippling laughter in the rapids or her husky rumble as she skims the rocks and her mighty roar as she thunders down deep gorges. And what of her timeless beauty, her life sustaining benevolence or the eternal joy she bestows on all who seek her? As I lie with my head on her lap, at this darkest of hours for India, I wonder what must be going through her mind. On the surface she seems all calm, but she must grieve that this blessed land has been drenched by the blood of her innocent children, yet again. She must grieve that her brave sons gave their lives fighting to protect their motherland. She must grieve that the giants of intellect and righteousness who ruled this once proud land have given way to mere men of straw. As she changes from aquamarine green to a murky brown and then to a brooding grey, I can sense her sorrow, the unspeakable grief of a mother who has nurtured life from the beginning of time, a mother who has seen thousands of her valiant children die on distant battlefields, only for their mortal remains to be brought back to her. She grieves as only a mother can. And yet, she must carry on. For she is the eternal giver of life, the timeless symbol of hope. She alone can wash away the blood stains from our hearts and souls; she alone can wipe away the tears of a grieving nation. Mother Ganga, she flows ever on.