Wednesday, August 10, 2016
The River is Everywhere
“The River is Everywhere.”
― Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha
CC at Ganges in Banaras
For long, long hour rain writes the story on the breast of the river. In different moods. Fast and slow, mild and fierce, stroke after strokes. Clouds feed the ink. Thunder claps, lightening cries. The story is tragic. The story is a comedy. The story is the story of life.
Rain stops writing. River is always flowing indifferently. Rain has writer's block. The boredom of repeating the words, which have no meaning. As purposeless as life. River has swelled. Like desires. She looked so thin and cute. She has crossed margins. Wayward flow of life.
River is older than civilization. Richer than Kings. More thoughtful than sages. She is also like an ignorant peasant youthful girl. It has reflections. The trees, cattle drinking water, or taking a bath, children ready to jump, blue sky, birds, clouds, the bridge everything is recorded on the breast of the river. But nothing remains forever. Every moment a new story is drafted with different characters. Continuity of flow causes stress. Every moment is a pull and push. The future becomes present and past at that single moment.
River has problems with ungrateful people. Those who take her for granted. Those who render her feel dirty and ugly. She silently seeks to teach them. They have inflated ego and swollen pride. They do not understand. Then river retorts. It is not an easy decision. She finds another path, her course. New terrain, new people. They welcome her with open arms. The abandoned path becomes barren. People beg for mercy. She does not listen. She can’t.
No other part of nature is dynamic like her. Nor so omnipresent. For the theist, she is symbolic of God, for an atheist, a friend. She prefers being friend rather than God. Friends do care. Theists have destroyed her. They are the enemy of civilization.
She sings beautiful songs, with blissful abundance. The rainbow plays the tune; birds chirp and wind create sound with the rustling of leaves. The symphony played in the orchestra of nature.
The river splits the world apart. On one end, are sensual on the other end, abstemious. Denial and acceptance are same for the river. River has bridges. Root bridges are hereby replaced by concrete bridges. The other side always is more enchanting. Bridges facilitate swift transformation, swimming across the river is a miracle.
Look at the face of the river. The turbulence is merely apparent. Deep down, she has reflection of your soul. It has many stories to share. She has ancient and modern stories in her treasure. You should have patience. Listen to them.
"I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers."
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© Vipin Behari Goyal