GANGES AND ITS SAVIOURS

Varanasi- the holiest of all the sapt puri or the seven holy cities of India. Where it is said that lord Shiva himself described it his dearest place from all the 3 loks . A place where diversity sets its best example , at one ghat “mundan” ceremony of the new born are done and at the same tick of the clock at some other ghat a corpse is cremated with a belief that salvation there would free them from the loop of life and death(moksha). A holy land where at night you might be mesmerised by Hindu priests performing “ganga arti” and the very night you would find Aghoris(extreme devotees of lord Shiva) smoking marijuana and feeding on human flesh.

Not only Hinduism but for religions like Buddhism and Jainism , the place has great religious importance. Mahatma Buddha gave his first sermon in Varanasi. Many great musicians and philosophers of time belonged to Banaras and is also said that Tulsidas wrote “Ramcharitmanas” on this holy land. Situated at the bank of ganges, Varanasi is a magic in itself. On a day thousands, of lamps are lit and are left floating in ganges , looking like reflection of thousands of stars, floating with prayers and belief of devotees.

Standing on Assi ghat , outside the temple , discussing business with someone “ok then Mr. Shankar I would like 30 units of those cartons” I said.

“where deliver ? You name” in a fractured English said Dev Shankar a man with a huge paunch and roughly 6 foot tall ,teeth as red as any train from indian railway ,bearded and with a falling hairline looked next to any of asuras wandering in pataal lok.

Putting my hand in back pocket of trouser I took out my wallet. I handed a visiting card to him, with his gigantic hands he took it. Looking at it he read “Raghuvansh Sharma”. He looked at me as if my name was engraved on my forehead , stressing his eyes again he read further “Varanasi Post” and with a grin he kept it in his breast pocket. With loads of flesh on him it could definitely be called a “breast” pocket.

Narrowing his eyes on me he said ”U that same fellow?”, before he could say anything in my honour(the other way round) I jumped in and said “oh yes ,the same guy”.

His grin got more wicked flashing his red teeth he said “ho jayega”.

He left . Waiting for my wife to return from the arti ,taking out a brand new packet of ciggerate I peeled its plastic.

**

“AS LEGAL ACTION , YOUR LICENSE FOR RUNNING YOUR DAILY NEWSPAPER AND MONTHLY MAGAZINE HAS BEEN CANCELLED BY MINISTRY OF MEDIA AND INFORMATION”

Crushing the last ciggerate in the ash tray I folded the paper and kept it on table. At the ash tray I looked, the ciggerate was crushed and bent but still a small part of it was still burning, it was not a mirror, but it looked similar to me . This is my story. My name is Raghuvansh Sharma. I used to own a daily newspaper. The reason why I said “used to” is clear above. with a legal notice, I now, have nothing in hands, The only English newspaper in Varanasi was owned by me and as a result it had a monopoly. With increasing literacy rate my newspaper filled my wallet and also an increase in number of tourists always helped. As a year passed away my newspaper gifted me a bungalow a sedan and most importantly a beautiful wife. With decent amount of money and staff of 50 people everything went quite well. But it is said “When you have everything, you have a feeling to get extra”. I was never told that some “extras “ were to be marked “extremely dangerous”.

My curiosity and hunger of taking the newspaper to a level above landed me to a whirlpool which just had one end,” dead end ”.

It happened when corruption and the scams of present government was in its puberty they grew outrageously . scams and scandals has always been a treat for media. Aiming down on big politicians and businessmen became a trend. Everyone was checked on with their bank balances and their balance sheets. While most of the newspapers and news channel covered on big fishes , we got a lead on a local business man and MLA Uslaan Qureshi. Uslaan on paper had a construction firm. He got tenders for many local government projects around Varanasi. By taking them on it was clear, he filled his pits with loads of money. But his plate wasn’t just filled with a construction firm , he was a sand mafia. The ganges, bay of Bengal and all other river beds were their play ground. The sand mafias were so feared that no one dared to stop them. A young inspector some years ago went to Uslaan Qureshi’s digging site. The headlines for the next day was “Young Inspector killed by being over run by a tractor” , there was dead silence and fear. That time I decided to take down on Uslaan.

But my enthusiasm made me blind, I was no “Krishna” from Mahabharata. Uslaan had contacts everywhere and nobody messed with him or his business. He made huge contributions to party funds which made him inevitable. The assignment for covering Uslaan was undertaken by me and a Junior journalist Rakesh. Rakesh was a fresher . He persued his mass media and jouranalism from Delhi university. Quite a smart chap just needed a bit of experience and I believed he would do good. We began one morning from Bengal. On the bay we went and we tried to ask some of the labourers working there but our enthusiasm was soon taken away when we knew the labourers had country made revolvers. They were scary and scared were we.But Rakesh and I had something else in mind. The legal work took place in day time while the illegal sand digging took place at nights generally. We ,one night disguised as labourers went in for covering the digging site. Rakesh carried his camera under his gamcha .

The photos clicked there were quite astonishing they clearly showed how the sand from the bay of river bed was digged illegaly. After clicking tons of photos we headed towards Varanasi . After a week’s work touch ups we finally made an article filling up the front page on Uslaan Qureshi’s illegal sand digging. That day our paper noticed a record sale of 5,00,000 copies. From morning only my phone was flooded with calls my email inbox had mails from all over the country. I felt like a rock star.

I liked physics but I almost forgot laws of motion and particularly the last one . a lame man states it like ”every action has an equal and opposite reaction”.

At 10.30 my phone displayed an unknown incoming call I answered it “hello”
“hello Raghuvansh“ a very heavy and composed voice replied
“ may I know your good name please “
“You newspaper wala bahinchod . Some people are made never to be messed with and that’s me. If you really wanted some fame and money you would have told me. Some bugs in your ass I see. Don’t worry it wont last for many days”he said..

I hung up. I didn’t have the courage of speaking up to him. I called in my manager. And told him everything. He said that its not a problem until he takes us to the court for false allegations.

”false allegations?? Are you insane? That man there has 1000 acres of land and he is digging millions of tons of sand illegally. Isn’t that enough of a crime.” I said.

“sir nothing can be done until there is a case stronger than illegal sand digging. Uslaan has very strong contacts in the central ministry even the CBI wouldn’t be able to do anything “ said my manager.

I got a notice from the court next day and none of the lawyers were ready to take my case as no one wanted to mess with Qureshi. By force I my self had to defend my self. And as already known his power was flawless. The court slapped me a heavy fine for false allegation . But I couldn’t digest it. A country with such a strong system on paper can’t do anything to a man who was certainly illegal.

Days passed away and the paper business was going okay .

Many of the reporters from BBC were in India to cover some of the famous fairs in India which included the “Kumbh Mela” which is believed to be one of the biggest gatherings in the world. The day for Amavasya or no moon day where almost 3 million people gather in Varanasi for bath in ganges . But the next day the news was a young lady reporter who was British went missing . As we got the lead first we reached the hotel where she stayed. But they could only tell that she left last night with someone. But no one was ready to tell with whom she left. They feared of someone very similar as they feared of Uslaan . One of my reporters told me about Uslaan being a womanizer. The CCTV footage was already taken away by the police. There was no scope that anyone else could even get a glimpse. We the very next day published the news about the reporter who was last seen with Uslaan and was not seen after that.I was waiting for Uslaan’s call .

and he did “main bola tha nai karna..kha liya firang ko main…aur tujhe b chapne ka shauk hai na…ab dekhta hu kaha chapega.” .

A case was again registered on the name of “Varanasi Post”. While the mean time things got worsened as police cleared off Uslaan and gave him a clean chit. I knew fighting this would never be easy and this time Uslaan was outrageous. His threat calls were now a routine for me. I…was hoping for the best and preparing for the worst…
Tragic thing was , the worst happened and I wasn’t prepared to face its consequences. My license was cancelled for running the daily newspaper and the quarterly magazine. I felt sacked.

**

I sat on the ghat . feeling my own beard , unshaven from 2 weeks , my hair were rough. I did not have a clue what was going on. My eyes were fixed blankly on the river it had a flow giving me a feel of mobility. A rock in the middle I could see, the water did flow from its side, it looked like they have learnt how to live together with harmony. The rock was massive ,the river was fearless ,they together existed.

I was lost amidst and suddenly I heard “they have learnt to live together” in a flick I turned around. A saint I believe, his eyes reminded me of the water flowing behind clear and fearless ,steady . I couldn’t take my eyes off , he spoke my heart , the beard on his face was almost a yard long , white as snow and his hair even longer. I would rather say he defined “white” colour as “peace” rather than white itself. A strong built he had yet he looked so gentle standing taller than 6 foot and a small stick in his hand. An atheist by choice and being living in Varanasi since 40 years I visited temple just once or twice and that too by force because my father would have taken me. I didn’t know what was going inside me but the next moment I found my hands joint , paying respect to the saint.

“Pardon me do I know you”I said.

“No you don’t but would that make a difference, am i disturbing you”? he said in such a manner that even if he did no one could ever say a no.

“no baba..”

“come with me”said the saint

I followed him like a calf follows his mother , I was hypnotised, I didn’t knew where was he taking me I just followed, the fact that my newspaper’s license was cancelled was out from my mind , I forgot I was sad. We walked a few hundred metres. Reaching a huge banyan tree, it looked like the saint, huge , kind , but its roots touched the ground. “sit here” he said . I some what came into my senses.

“what happened with you” he asked concernly but unbiased.

“Nothing .i am fine”I tried to cover.

“ I have seen people looking at ganges , but you looked with a different gaze , looming at the stone and the river together questioning how do they coexist in such harmony , you are not fine son ,what bothers you is you being right and still being suppressed” he said in a breath.

My eyes raised up in shock my mouth was wide open , a chill went down my spine. I tried to hide how much awestruck I was as I didn’t want to share anything with him. “I should go” although I didn’t want to. I started pacing away almost running slowly.

“You can come here tomorrow if you want” I heard him saying that from behind. I didn’t reply I kept walking till I reached home.

“At least shave your beard ,you look so messed up” my wife said , I didn’t utter a word. We were lying on the bed. The lights were off but I knew she was looking at me. Taking my hands she kept it on her waist , even silk isn’t so soft I thought . I took my hands away gently, I was cold, feeling nothing. Turning to the other side I pulled up the blanket. She sighed a heavy breath and tried to sleep. I wasn’t doing this purposely but I felt have lost my purpose , my path. Sleepless I got up from the bed and opened my Facebook page. I saw a friend request . As I opened it a very familiar face I saw in a cop’s uniform appeared. My school buddy it was Rakesh Shrinivasan. Although we were not in contact after we passed out from school . it was good to see him. he appeared may be on right time. He was posted as ACP . I messaged him my number and address. I slept.

A thought kept bogging in my mind from the morning, the saint was hard to be avoided. I shaved and had a nice hot water bath .

“Baba..”

He opened his eyes. Sitting firm on the ground he lifted his eyes , looked at me and told me to sit. “ how are you?” he asked.

I took a while to speak up collecting myself I started ”I had a newspaper , a local newspaper. I tried to take down a big man but instead I was nailed. There was nothing wrong from my side. But still I lost everything. Alas I have nothing in my hands. Though being right I am supressed , my newspaper is gone . I am still okay if I don’t have any of these things but now the thing which now makes me feel even more weaker . I don’t know which path to follow..” I stopped , my head was down and I looked at the ground.

The saint was still . His expressions didn’t change even once. He kept a hand on my head, his hands were soft as feather and warm. It gave me a breath of relief . A tear dropped down from my eyes. Too feared of showing my emotions I got up slowly and I walked away wiping a fresh tear. As I reached my home I found a police jeep parked outside my house, I was scared to death thinking that was might have happened ? I ran in and what I saw was rather relieving and made me happy. Rakesh sat on the sofa having tea. He looked at me and smiled. We hugged each other. After greetings we talked in general about the old times and about the stuff we did in school. After couple of hours we were over with the good old time talks.

He leaned forward and said ” hey, I am sorry about what government did with you”.

I preferred silence , knowing it was going somewhere. I stood up and said “lets have a drink and you are eating here only” . He accepted it happily.

Almost 2 pegs down we started talking “ so you say this reporter foreign girl was last seen with Uslaan and after that she wasn’t seen again?” said Rakesh.

“yes , we also published an article about it and as a proof we also had a still image of the CCTV footage from the hotel. I know that we can’t do much about the sand digging case as he has a strong back up there. The only thing where we could nail him down would be the case of this girl , god grace poor girl was just 23.”

Rakesh was definitely marking everything I said .”I am into it , lets get some lead for this girl case” he said. But that didn’t relieve me a lot. A lead for the reporter girl case was a pain in the ass. Every clue was destroyed. Again a sleepless night , it was getting difficult for me.

I lit up my ciggerate and was walking down the ghat. My mind was stuck like a tape. Everything in my mind went like a flashback. Thinking about every clue picking up every stick I was tired. I felt someone was looking at me. And I saw the saint. I walked towards him.

“You look tired.”

I didn’t say anything and just kept listening what would he say. “you know for everyone there is a teacher there is a GURU in their life. A guru who just forms a base. Showing them a light when there is a blackhole. Who doesn’t need a guru. Some find them in a human and some may follow a religion. I have this river. “THE GANGES” ..i found my guru in this river. What it taught me? It taught me the same thing you saw that day , the river flowed and the rock stood at its way . Ganges doesn’t complain but it flows by the side of the rock. People worship the ganges and not the rock. “ he said

I kneeled down folding my hands and said ”please..tell me what should I do..” in tears I was helpless.

He kept his hand on my head and tears were as continuous as ganges. He closed his eyes and said” FLOW WITH THE GANGES ”.

He left. I called him but he didn’t turn back but he said back “I told you what to do . the journey is yours”

Wiping tears I felt light after crying I went home and slept . After almost 7 hours I woke up and looked at the clock. It declared 10 in the night. Making a drink for myself I took out the old files of the sites Uslaan had for land digging. I was looking at the files and turned its pages , but in my mind I had the words imprinted “FOLLOW THE GANGES..” .

At a moment I opened the map for ganga and simultaneously looked on for the digging sites . And bingo there was one inactive site where digging was at a halt. The place was Mirzapur , nearly 200 kilometres from Varanasi . Looking at the clock it was 1. I called up Rakesh.

“what happened ? is everything alright” he asked in a sleepy yet concerned voice.

I told him the thing I figured out. ”ok I am coming”. Said rakesh.

**

At 4 am we touched Mirzapur. The site appeared to be haunting and there it was dead silence. Rakesh had brought a stole which belonged to the reporter and was kept as an evidence. He called up the dog squad. After almost 3 hour of search and digging almost 15 feet a half rotten body was found .

I sat there on the sand. I cried ..i cried because I suffered and everyday was a failure. What I found was no treasure but a rotten body of a young girl who came India with a dream and now was put to sleep. I put my hands in the sand. The river was flowing from the side , the sound of the water flowing made a whisper in my ear “follow the Ganges”. I thought about the saint. “Rakesh I am going back see you in Varanasi. can you arrange a car” I asked.

“sure, will get back” he said.

Way back the only thing I had in mind was the saint. Who was the saint? why did he do it. The thing which took away all the purpose of living away from me was now over. While the news of Uslaan’s arrest was everywhere.

I reached to the spot where the saint sat. There was no one.I asked the flower vendors around . they had no clue of whom I was talking about .

I looked at the ganges flowing.

Everything went quite well. In the evening me and my wife were at the ghat. After the prayer my wife offered a lamp to the river. I helped her.i saw the lamp flowing with the river and prayed for the dead girl’s soul.

I am an “atheist” by choice. There never existed a god for me . But now I believe in this river. People like Uslaan have made it dirty. I believe now that with the “evil” is a “good” counterpart born always. That saint didn’t knew my name , he came and cleaned the ganges. And why not he flew..he did have the flow like ganges . He didn’t wait there even for a thanks in return . I wish the lamp I left reaches where it should..to the “saviours of ganges”..

__END__