Three parts of a River - Beginning

How can one learn to gaze at the mountains? To sit by the river listening to its ripples? To look at nature, by oneself without any reason for or to? To allow it to fill your heart and engulf you in its vastness and splendour?

You have to learn and just be.

The couple of days that I spent in Rishikesh taught me that you can sit by yourself in silence and allow the world to happen to you in a myriad ways.

Dawn.

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It was a an everlasting stretch to the riverbank. As I huffed and panted on the descent, I wondered how much tougher the return was going to be. A group of tourists dressed in dripping wet clothes jostled nearby, laughing as they struggled to climb uphill. A pair of rugged jeeps rushed past us on the heavily trodden road leaving a cloud of dust behind. Rubber rafts were tied to the roofs of both, ready to entertain the next bunch of tourists on the mighty Ganga.

We didn't know where the road was going to lead us. We were not here for adventure. We wanted to be led to the lap of the river.

To escape the torrid heat of Delhi, Saurabh and I had a hitched a plan at the last second to book our tickets to Rishikesh. We were staying at a humble hostel equipped with a foosball table and some board games. Our dorm had around six bunk beds tucked into the corners with cosy blankets. Our plan for the weekend looked like this. No plans.

I had a few looming deadlines over the next week - a mixed media website for a public art installation, brainstorming for a tech report and a short story pitch to a media lab. To procrastinate from all of them on a weekend that included my birthday, I reluctantly packed my laptop and all my belongings in a tough reliable suitcase that I had been carrying around on my trip to Delhi all summer which I spent staying at multiple friends' houses who graciously offered their spaces to crash in.

After checking in to our hostel at ten in the morning, we had a couple of hours to while away as our beds would be available only by 12. I couldn't bring myself to sit still and watch the mountains for more than an hour. Saurabh seemed very comfortable however. I pestered him that we should take a walk and explore the city. Reluctantly agreeing, he ended up making me walk longer than I wished to.

View from the balcony of the hostel. The mountains, and the winding river in the distance.

We decided to take an arduous walk to the Ram Jhula which was a couple kilometres away. Our hostel was situated in Upper Tapovan, the non religious bit of the city of Rishikesh. Upper Tapovan was also home to the Lakshman Jhula, the other twin bridge which was currently under construction. The famous Beatles ashram was just a few kms away on the other bank of the river. Since we were only staying for the weekend, we decided not to rent a motorcycle.

We spent some time ambling along the streets in the city, spotting quaint little temples on the way. A small shrine of Sita looked inviting. We stepped into the space that was silent except for the rustling of branches and the occasional hum of insects. The weather had become cloudy. Colourful painted walls with a statue of two female dwarapalakas holding a lamp greeted us as they stood guard to the deity at the centre. On the side, a small courtyard with a ginormous tree stood with creepers crawling around its bark. Small stone statues of Nagas were housed in a corner of the courtyard with bells strung at the entrance. The sound of the bells pitter- pattered like the first few raindrops of a new monsoon and the fresh air enhanced by moss laden walls made me feel like I was breathing well again.

Ram Jhula was doubly busy as tourists stood with their phone cameras hustling to get a picture. Scooters waited in queue amongst swathes of people honking the entire way by pushing and nudging them with their headlights. The suspension bridge rattled under the weight of metal and human flesh. Down below, the Ganga flowed in all its glory. Crossing the Ram Jhula led to the main temple - a sight of both splendour and sacrilege. The orange building stood atop the other bank with a pointy flag waving across the tip. We weren't enticed to enter the crowded sanctum amidst the tomfoolery around. We would rather spend our time on the humble ghat steps; where believers washed away their sins in the sacred river.

The gurgling Ganga was akin to a sleeping baby who might throw a tantrum at any second if woken up. Witnessing the humble roar of the water washing itself along the rocks, was soothing for the soul. Most of our trip passed away in silence with the flowing river being the only symphony for the ear. Saurabh once interrupted the silence and asked if I was bored. No - I nodded my head in disagreement. After a while had passed we made our way back to the hostel. I almost gave up on the return journey, as a dusty road lined with a string of slow moving trucks and cars made the walk unpleasant. It reminded me oddly of the streets of Darjeeling; only here, the steam train sputtering grey smoke was absent. I tried to hail an auto rickshaw but to no success. Whining continuously, I followed my friend who tried to make up by buying me a lime soda so that I would stop crying about being tired.

(to be continued)