Ganga As Perceived by Some Ganga Lovers Mother Ganga's Rights Are Our Rights
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Ganga as Perceived by Some Ganga Lovers Mother Ganga’s Rights Are Our Rights Pujya Swami Chidanand Saraswati Nearly 500 million people depend every day on the Ganga and Her tributaries for life itself. Like the most loving of mothers, She has served us, nourished us and enabled us to grow as a people, without hesitation, without discrimination, without vacation for millennia. Regardless of what we have done to Her, the Ganga continues in Her steady fl ow, providing the waters that offer nourishment, livelihoods, faith and hope: the waters that represents the very life-blood of our nation. If one may think of the planet Earth as a body, its trees would be its lungs, its rivers would be its veins, and the Ganga would be its very soul. For pilgrims, Her course is a lure: From Gaumukh, where she emerges like a beacon of hope from icy glaciers, to the Prayag of Allahabad, where Mother Ganga stretches out Her glorious hands to become one with the Yamuna and Saraswati Rivers, to Ganga Sagar, where She fi nally merges with the ocean in a tender embrace. As all oceans unite together, Ganga’s reach stretches far beyond national borders. All are Her children. For perhaps a billion people, Mother Ganga is a living goddess who can elevate the soul to blissful union with the Divine. She provides benediction for infants, hope for worshipful adults, and the promise of liberation for the dying and deceased. Every year, millions come to bathe in Ganga’s waters as a holy act of worship: closing their eyes in deep prayer as they reverently enter the waters equated with Divinity itself. In their palms may be fl owers, a tiny cup, or an invisible prayer. Reaching with loving fi ngers, they capture a tiny scoop of Her fl ow. Arms stretch upwards to the sun. Ancient mantras are uttered, and an age-old ritual of the worship of nature is carried forth time and time again. At dusk, when the sky prepares to enrobe in its glorious dress of stars, worshippers congregate once more on Ganga’s shores. Seeming to emulate the cosmos, they light oil lamps small and large, which they wave while chanting affectionate hymns in adoration of the river they call, “Mother.” One cannot imagine such a vision on the shores of the Thames or Mississippi Rivers, nor on the banks of the Yangtze, Danube or Hudson. Yet, here in India, the R. Sanghi (ed.), Our National River Ganga: Lifeline of Millions, 355 DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-00530-0, © Springer International Publishing Switzerland 2014 356 Mother Ganga’s Rights Are Our Rights land of rishis, sages and saints, Her worship is seen as normal and natural. “Of course the Ganga is worshipped by so many,” a devotee may say. “When has She not been?” The Sacred Origins of the River Ganga In times of ancient lore, there was a mighty ruler named King Sagara. Proud and strong, he wished only to become even mightier. Given the protocol of the time, he arranged for a horse yajna, in which a healthy steed is set forth to freely roam. For as far as the horse may journey, the King may claim the land as his own. Potentially, he could thus become Emperor of all. It is said that the God, Indra, didn’t like this plan. Hence, he stole the horse. King Sagara, in his state of distress, dispatched all of his 60,000 sons to fi nd the animal. Having been snatched away by a heavenly being, the stallion was nowhere to be found. Yet, being dutiful sons, far and wide they searched until they reached the underworld hermitage of Sage Kapila. “Of all sages,” says Lord Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita, “I am Kapila.” Yet, the sons saw only a meditating derelict – a potentially felonious one at that. For right there, next to the sage, was tied their father’s missing horse. From the mouths of 60,000 men came tremendous shouts of insult. So loud did they raise their cries of outrage that the deeply-meditating sage opened his eyes for the fi rst time in many, many years. With one powerful glance, all sons were imme- diately reduced to heaps of smoldering black-gray ashes. Their bodies were gone, but their souls were trapped to wander without peace until the proper funeral rituals could be performed – rituals which would need a river within which their ashes could be submerged. Such a river, at this point in history, did not exist in this world. Learning of this, the King became inconsolable, as would any loving parent who loses one child, much less 60,000. His boundless sorrow was such that it crossed the generations, compelling a lineage of descendants to try era after era to bring down a river from the heavens, so that their ancestors could fi nally rest in peace. Centuries later, King Bhagiratha ascended the throne. By now, his land was tor- mented by natural disasters that were attributed to the fact that his ancestral uncles yet roamed as tormented ghosts. Abdicating his royal post, he set forth to the Himalayas, where he practiced ground-shaking spiritual practices for 1,000 years. At the conclusion of the millennia, Lord Brahma, the creator, appeared before the king to offer any boon. “My Lord, my only request is that you bring the River Ganga down to Earth,” said the saintly king, “so that my ancestors can fi nally be free, and our world can become safe once more from the disasters that plague it.” Touched by his sincerity, Lord Brahma said his request would of course be granted, but fi rst, the king would need to please Lord Shiva. Lord Shiva was the only one who could slow down the descent of Mother Ganga’s heavenly waters, so that She wouldn’t inadvertently fl ood and destroy our planet at the same time. Mother Ganga’s Rights Are Our Rights 357 Living only on air, King Bhagiratha performed more penance until he attracted the loving glimpse of Lord Shiva, who agreed to cushion Mother Ganga’s descent in His free-fl owing hair. Thus, Ganga came to this Earth. Called forth by Lord Brahma, She became a creator in Her own right. Cushioned by the hair of Lord Shiva, She became an emancipator. With love knowing no bounds, She freed the princes’ souls. She fed the lands. She became our Mother. The Wisdom of the Sages As Mother Ganga steadily fl owed, lovingly nurturing planes, valleys and mountain sides, ancient teachers of ancient times saw Her intrinsic importance to the lives and well-being of all. As they sat alongside Her peaceful shores, wondrous visions would unfold, bringing them to blissful admiration of the Divine. With eyes held shut, they saw. And they realized the Godly bonds that forever fused together nature and humanity as one. Where there is nature, they realized, and they wrote, there is God. Where there is humanity, there is Divinity. A man. A fl ower. The wind. The sun. All are the same: all are glorious embodiments of the one loving, nurturing God who creates and pervades everything. Understanding this, they implored the masses to see nature as a holy gift from and of God. Rituals thus were developed entailing the worship of plants, rivers, the sun, the wind. Everything of nature was seen for its holiness and meditated upon for its grace. Even today, one can witness remnants of such ancient traditions: in the Tulsi plants that are worshipped every morning in millions of courtyards; as the threads of prayer that are tied to holy trees; as the lamps that are illuminated and then fl oated on the Ganga for Her nightly embrace. Such love for nature established a pattern in life. In Vedic times, only what was needed was taken. What was taken was replaced. Thus, without realizing it, the ancients established a sustainable lifestyle that resulted in plentiful yields of crops and sparkling, ever-present waters. In such a culture, famines and water-borne diseases would have been rare indeed. Nature which is revered is not simultaneously exploited. Sadly, history changed. Mother Ganga and nature didn’t. The Changing Times and the Paradox of Today The population grew, and in its haste for development, ancient ways were discarded. Factories, in their enthusiasm to manufacture, poured foul toxins into our waters. Tiny creatures, such as insects and indigenous plants, became pests to be destroyed by chemical warfare. Forests and mountain tops were leveled by mighty machines so that building materials and fuel could be harvested. Our lives became more and more isolated, as open doors were replaced with walls of glass and steel. 358 Mother Ganga’s Rights Are Our Rights Thus, our natural resources began to sicken and disappear, so slowly at fi rst that it was barely perceptible. Then suddenly, history sped up, and people started to die in enormous numbers. Every day, about a billion liters of chemicals are poured into the Ganga alone. Some substances, which issue forth from industry, are so toxic that they can cause convolutions, shock and death. Agricultural run-off furthermore carries the pesti- cides and chemical fertilizers of numerous farms and fi elds into our sacred River. Just recently, a study determined that those living alongside portions of the Ganga are some of the most prone in the world to contracting certain cancers. Much of this is simply due to the chemicals that are used by humanity to make the items we believe will make our lives better.