Ganga-ji arrived at our doorstep and entered that day. (This means that
the river flooded and moved inward onto the streets, and into the land, and
into our homes!)
We saw water rising suddenly on Sunday around 7am. It focused on the forests around the house, and the park. But mainly it filled the street that led directly to the Ganga, as though she had decided to talk a walk and come to our houses.
The walls prevented her entry beyond the street, and the houses and their compounds stayed dry. It continued into Sunday night, and by Monday morning there was water pooling in places of low ground. The cows started moving inland, which is always an indication that the water is not a small and temporary thing.
We saw water rising suddenly on Sunday around 7am. It focused on the forests around the house, and the park. But mainly it filled the street that led directly to the Ganga, as though she had decided to talk a walk and come to our houses.
The walls prevented her entry beyond the street, and the houses and their compounds stayed dry. It continued into Sunday night, and by Monday morning there was water pooling in places of low ground. The cows started moving inland, which is always an indication that the water is not a small and temporary thing.
Like a guest overstaying
an ebullient welcome, she continued to enter.
By the time I headed home from the high-grounded BHU campus on Monday evening, the water was in the streets inland but only to the top of the feet. The water was full of silt, and cool, and in the hot days of August, it was more refreshing than bothersome. By the time I got to my house, which is about 1250 feet from the Ganga, it was to my upper calf, so I hiked up my pants and got inside, where the sacred water had arrived just to the doorstep. I thought it would subside by morning, so I went inside and up, remembering my mother’s advice to always live in brick houses, and to always live on high ground.
We rise early in this part of the world, to greet the sun and our souls, and to enjoy the company of those we keep and share in this world. I saw the water had risen into the ground floor apartment. A girl walked on the street, with water to her waist. Was she walking, floating, or drifting?
By the time I headed home from the high-grounded BHU campus on Monday evening, the water was in the streets inland but only to the top of the feet. The water was full of silt, and cool, and in the hot days of August, it was more refreshing than bothersome. By the time I got to my house, which is about 1250 feet from the Ganga, it was to my upper calf, so I hiked up my pants and got inside, where the sacred water had arrived just to the doorstep. I thought it would subside by morning, so I went inside and up, remembering my mother’s advice to always live in brick houses, and to always live on high ground.
We rise early in this part of the world, to greet the sun and our souls, and to enjoy the company of those we keep and share in this world. I saw the water had risen into the ground floor apartment. A girl walked on the street, with water to her waist. Was she walking, floating, or drifting?
Morning
tea came with a request: please
evacuate before the water reaches the neck. I walked
half a mile with a bag on my shoulders. Frankly, I wanted to swim, to enjoy the
Ganga, who had come to visit me. But my laptop, phone, and book did not agree.
So I walked, and when I emerged into a place where a hundred people were
emerging, I was greeted by the hungry eyes of lascivious men, enjoying the
pasted clothes on tight hips, the outlines of female bodies rising from the
water.
By Tuesday evening, the water had filled the infertile river of Asi,
and Varuna also. These two tributaries were now pregnant. All day I
had searched for a place to stay, somewhat disturbed by the rain, and by the standing schedule of the outpatient clinic, classes, and seminars that continued without attention to the water, requiring that I attend.
At the end of the day, a colleague asked whether I had found a place. Half listening, she put me in her car and brought me to her home. In the morning we heard that the water had come to the main street of her 'colony,’ or local area.
By Tuesday evening, the water had filled the infertile river of Asi,
and Varuna also. These two tributaries were now pregnant. All day I
had searched for a place to stay, somewhat disturbed by the rain, and by the standing schedule of the outpatient clinic, classes, and seminars that continued without attention to the water, requiring that I attend.
At the end of the day, a colleague asked whether I had found a place. Half listening, she put me in her car and brought me to her home. In the morning we heard that the water had come to the main street of her 'colony,’ or local area.
We
mused on Ganga-ji, and wonder why the news is strangely unable to report real
N-E-W-S that affects everyday people. Perhaps because it does not advance any
political or sports celebrity or any media group….
After
a few days, I shifted to the International Girls’ Hostel at BHU, making good
friends with women, formerly girls, from all over the world, living out of one
backpack and one plastic bag. We did not
leave the campus, but heard that water continued to fill the streets and was
not subsiding. Somehow, people still
came to work, and there was not a lot of discussion about the water welled up
outside, making 40,000 people homeless in a city of 1.6 million.
We
remember what is vital when we have only the basics: clean water, nourishing
food, and a safe place to sit and to sleep. A fan and a pair of shoes are nice
in Varanasi, too. For one week, I lived with 2 books, 2 salwar pants, 3 shirts,
4 pieces of innerwear, a toothbrush, tongue scraper, toothpaste, lip balm, pearl
earrings to keep my pitta cool, and of course, my plastic pet frog; I felt the
luxury of living simple.
Finally, on Wednesday
evening, I got the call that the streets near my house were covered with
chlorine and cleaned earlier that day, and now the streets were dry. I rushed
home around 8:30pm on a rickshaw. Climbing up to my palace in Lanka, I was full
of gratitude for this beautiful space and for all the people who helped me
while I was nearly homeless these last 10 days.
The next morning, I
wake up to a gorgeous sunrise and realize how lucky I am to have a home.