Rise Again
Mumbia, India
2021, Junior, Poetry & Spoken Word
You, your essence, your spirit, your water,
Courses through my veins,
Rolls over in my tears, my sweat.
Your ripples, your currents define my identity,
You are Niranjana, colourless, crystal, clear,
Nitya Sudha, pristine, eternal, pure
You are tender, fierce; you whisper, you roar,
You are Ganga, the goddess who flows.
You are a Nurturer, Nourisher, Protector, Provider; A Mother,
I stand beside you today, my head hanging in shame,
I see your holy, pristine garbs soiled beyond recognition.
You, the crossing point between heaven and Earth,
Are in a condition worse than hell.
I kneel down to feel your warm touch,
But you turn away violently in anger and rage.
I understand, my brethren’s and my actions are unpardonable,
You, made from the most sacred of waters, are today a toxic poisonous brew,
Your fertile womb lies barren, ripped of life,
Your power to wash of all sins and lead to Moksha,
Lies powerless in the face of the onslaught of man’s reckless actions.
As if this extent of humiliation and insult was not enough,
We did the unthinkable,
Dumping dead bodies during the current pandemic into your waters,
Decomposed corpses floating on your surface,
We turned a mother into a mortuary.
At birth, a priest had sprinkled on my shrivelled body,
Your pristine water,
The divine water that seeped through my skin to reach my soul.
You and I are eternally bonded.
A world where you are left to perish, is not a world I choose for me.
To your death and destruction, a mute spectator I can no longer be.
Oh, forgiving mother, let me feel your tender embrace,
With your hand in mine, this daughter promises you,
That I will do all I can to restore your lost glory, your lost honour,
I will not rest till I restore the sanctity of your every vibration,
Oh, Mother Ganga, the revered goddess,
Who descended to Earth for us mortal beings,
I promise you that you will rise again,
Not in fury but in joy and peace,
You will be cleansed, you will be healed,
It is your daughter’s vow that you will rise again,
Resplendent, sacred, celestial and magnificent.
Reflection
Reflection
As a newly born infant, a priest had sprinkled water from the River Ganga on my body. It was to purify and protect me. Such is the reverence that every Hindu holds for Ganga. No religious ceremony is complete without everyone being showered by Ganga Jal—water from this holy river. Ganga is actually worshipped as a Goddess, and is referred to as a mother. I have highlighted this in my poem by using two Sanskrit names for the river—Niranjana and Nitya Sudha. I was shaken by the irony that the same river that is considered heavenly and that is the principlel source of fresh water for millions has so casually been used as a dumping ground for years, with human waste, sewage, and industrial waste casually thrown into the river. Ganga's water today reeks of Coliform bacteria, chromium, lead, and other toxins. While the knowledge of Ganga's pollution disturbed me, I was shaken to the core when I saw pictures of dead bodies floating in it—bodies of those believed to have died from Covid-19 had been dumped into the river. How can we treat our country's principal water body—the one that has cradled civilisation, one that is supposed to have descended from the heavens, and the one who silently supports us even after centuries of neglect and mistreatment—in such a digusting manner?! This anger and shame drove me to write this poem. Ganga is more than a river—it is a part of my culture, my heritage, and an integral part of who I am. I cannot just sit and watch it rot. Yes, the government has made plans to clean it, but I have pledged to work towards saving this holy river. If Ganga perishes, so will we. We need her, our oceans need her,—it's time we all come together to save her.