The darkness that we had all been waiting for, fell suddenly. With it came an uneasy calm. The pink and orange hues of the setting sun were no longer reflecting off the fast flowing waters of the Ganga, or Maa Ganga as they call her up in the hills. With its daytime sparkle gone; the river appeared dark and brooding as it lashed restlessly against the steps of the deserted ghat. The flower seller, sitting within a half circle of leaf cups filled with flowers and a diya (Rs 10 each); who had drawn me earlier with her gentle eyes and luminescent I’ve-found-god smile; had gone too. In the half hour wait for the aarti, much had changed. The most ominous were the rain clouds that had silently crept across the sky, making it many shades darker than it usually is at 6.30 pm on a summer evening. My son and I were in a group of devout waiting for the Ganga Aarti on Triveni ghat, Rishikesh.
We were sitting on stone steps leading up from the river, waiting for the sun to set so that the diyas could be lit. Around us were about 60 others – mostly families with folded hands – men with angochas hanging on their shoulders, women with sari pallus covering their heads, children with shiny eyes; and some white skinned foreigners in Om printed kurtas, tilaks and chappals. Just as the priests started chanting mantras and lighting the large ceremonial brass lamps; the sky broke with a loud roar. A fierce downpour splattered over the shed; and outside, snuffing out not just the diyas but also the lights, it seemed. The river bank was plunged in pitch darkness. Outside the shed, rain lashed the angry river. Inside, there was a rush of people pushing to get a roof over their heads. Son and I held hands tightly and just kept moving wherever the crowd shoved us. After a while there was stillness and a cold fear started putting its icy fingers on us. “Will the rain stop?” my son whispered fearfully.
“Of course,” I whispered back, trying to sound confident. Many more minutes passed but the storm did not abate. I felt something wet licking my toes and realized that muddy water was now lapping our feet. In panic I turned to an old priest standing beside me. He smiled gently and said: “Dariye mat, yeh Ganga ka paani nahin hai, sadak se aa raha hai. Kuch nahi hoga”. Someone asked for kapur and the priest handed it over in the dark. There was the sound of a match being struck and a small flame leapt up. The lamps were being lit again. The yellow glow started casting shadows around and someone started singing “Jai Gange mata”. Slowly, everyone had joined in. Son was standing with his palms together, eyes tightly shut, even as the rain sprayed us with errant drops and water engulfed our feet. I tried to close my eyes too but after more than a decade of non believing it was impossible for me to convince myself that a god would save us. Around me there were faces that appeared calm and collected; unified by their divine faith. In my mind there was just a crass acceptance of human insignificance before the might of nature.
Atheism had come to me over a few years; science and Richard Dawkins having played a major role in the indoctrination. But I kept it to myself, preferring that son form his own beliefs as he grew older. I remembered how some years back he had startled me by saying: I don’t think there is a god living in the sky, there are only planets there. I looked at him as he tried to mumble words from the aarti he did not know. Some of his terrible fear was gone, if only for those moments. At that time he was a believer and it gave him strength when he needed it the most. I regretted I wasn’t one because believers have advantages in life that non believers don’t.
Epilogue: You don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that the river did not breach its bank and we survived. When the rain stemmed a bit, we rushed into the darkness and clambered up the steps of the ghat where our autorickshaw driver was waiting for us faithfully, soaked to the skin but smilingly holding out a plastic bottle of Ganga water. “Ghar mein rakhne se sab accha hota hai,” he said, handing it over to me.
The river Ganga is considered sacred by Hindus and worshipped as a goddess. It is believed that a dip in its waters can wash away your sins and grant you access to heaven. It is ranked as one of the five most polluted rivers in the world. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ganges
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Rachna Bisht-Rawat is a journalist and writer but mostly she is mom to an 11 year old and gypsy wife to an Army officer whose work takes the Rawats across the length and width of India. She blogs at http://www.rachnabisht.com/
When we think of death or when death stands in front of us we become believer of god n soul.We cannot accept that this life which is so important, so significant will disappear. So we start believing out of HOPE that there must be something which lies beyond death which is immortal. There must be a soul, an atma which lies inside our body which is immortal and there must be a God. Almost the entire humanity believes in god ‘coz we don’t have answers to mystery that surrounds life n death. And since we r born in a crowd of theists we become theist.
I wonder what different wd u do if it is proved beyond doubt, with certainty that god-is or god-is- not.
But i fail to understand the working of this complex almighty thing called nature. Is life a arbitrary phenomenon, happened accidentally or there is some driving force guiding it? Just look at functioning of of our body. Million of body cells are born and die everyday. There is a continuous battle going on between antigens n antibodies every second. The thousand of other things happening own their own, heart is beating, we r breathing, hair r growing, complex reproductive system, the digestive system which is converting food into living cells. It is so miraculous but this miracle is happening in such an abundance that we cease to consider it as a miracle. It seems that at some point it is god that transcends into nature OR it is nature that transcends into god.