Dirty, Sacred Rivers

I wanted to see the source of what we in the West call the Ganges. Here in South Asia people call it Mother Ganga, Gangaji, the Great Ganga. At the edge of the icy river that flows from the Gangotri glacier I scooped Gangajal—Ganges water—into plastic soft drink bottles. I planned to take some of this water to friends in Kathmandu, practicing Hindus for whom the drops of glacial melt would have spiritual meaning. Along with its tremendous religious and ritual value, the water of the Ganga has been shown to be both antimicrobial and richer in oxygen than that of other rivers. Revered beyond all others, this river is now abused in equal measure: harnessed for hydropower near its holy mountain source, polluted with every imaginable waste as it runs its course for more than 1,500 miles across the widest part of the Indian subcontinent. One of the Ganga’s main and equally sacred tributaries, the Yamuna, flows through Delhi. Delhi, a city of more than fifteen million, owes its existence to this river, which is now dead at its doorstep. Industrial effluents pour in upriver, then Delhi adds its sewage. During my first trip to Delhi in January 2007, I went down to the edge of the Yamuna. I wanted to see just how bad the river’s reputed pollution might be. First I saw the barren ground along the riverside, strewn with rubble from the construction of a nearby bridge. There was little to tell me that this area was also the site of regular religious practice where people come to do puja, take a little of the water to splash on their heads, throw some flowers into the river. Bunching up in the eddies under the bridge pylons were stray bits of colored plastic and plastic shopping bags bloated with garbage, floating like sagging baloons half filled with air. They mingled with broken yellow marigolds scattered in the water and bright red flowers set afloat in little cups by those who had come to worship by the river.