Will you call yourself Bhagirathi
If I dare bring you down to the plains?
Are you ready to offer the privilege of the Namesake,
If I deign to dance to the music of our souls?
It is this folly that tells me I am not human enough to decipher the scrolls alone –
The roadblocks, laws mystical and those of basic science –
In order to decode the mighty Himalayas.
Thus, like an ancient civil engineer at play,
I should turn your tide a degree or two to manoeuvre
Your dire motives as you rush along,
Emancipated by the will of gravity and the strength of my call.
My ancestors you must redeem at last of Kapila’s words,
Let peace be unto them.
I bring you down to fulfill a promise to my kingdom –
To end the years of accumulating sins
Plaguing my rotten Kosala.
No Elsinore revenge shall bring it peace but I –
Who would bring you to us and begin anew
The process of neural regeneration.
As impossible a task as it would be,
I would undoubtedly be cornered by doubt –
The drought conjures nightmares for
The thirsty souls to behold – obliterating the
Memories of struggle,
Through generations; centuries of effort
So the droplets –
The princes of King Sagar return to the sea –
Your icy shackles they won’t budge without
The piercing warmth of a splintered ore
Which will drive you insane.
You will scare those that stand below,
Fearful and uncertain, no stranger to the
Aeons of wrath in your core.
It is then, O Ganga,
It is then that I will turn to the Lord,
The Lord of the living and the dead,
Of creation and destruction itself,
Who will gift you the riddle
Of a deadlock
To pause –
So you set aside your rage –
And wonder at the crystals of life:
The births, the sugar granules,
The diamonds, the hearts,
The ashes; a singular snowflake.
It is only then that life can continue apace
As we were meant to.
The sixty thousand sons of King Sagar
Will return to the sea of light
To begin their journey outwards anew:
Rains on the green shawl you drape by the quaint riverside,
During a Shravan evening.