Beside the Living River
Ram Krishna Hari!...... their voices merged in chorus.
She led a group of many women, holding a metallic pot in her hand while she walked on the sands of the river Brahmaputra. Her way was defined by a mat woven out of coconut strings entwined in long sections of bamboo, to save her feet from plunging into the fine sand. A treasure, which the river collected on its banks in thousands of years of its existence.
“Brahmaputra is the only river which symbolises a male”: I intriguingly listened, while an enlightened lady poured generations of knowledge on me. “Therefore this river flows uncontrolled, changing its course, and actual stream is now eight kilometers towards the north”, she concluded.
I realized, that I actually stood on a small stream branching out of that river. A mighty river which turns into a vast sandy landscape during winters, distributed into innumerable small streams of water, flowing endlessly. The group turned to the river, while I gazed around gaping at the sheer vastness of that landscape. She wanted to take some water for a ritual to be performed for her daughter’s wedding. The river was careless, unperturbed by human existence, making calm flowing sounds.
bistirno parore okhonkhya jonore, hahakar hunio nihkhobde nirobe,
burha luit tumi, burha luit buwa kiyo?*
Your expanse is vast, you hear the frightened voices of millions and yet,
Oh mighty Brahmaputra, why do you flow silently?......
Mr. Bhupen Hazarika did not leave us alone. It was Assam, and his presence was a must. He sang through a cellular phone ringtone, those classic lyrics which question the free flowing Brahmaputra (Luit in Assamese) deviating from ‘his’ duties. Making the human connection to the river more poignant, his subtle voice shaped a broader background. She created a mound of sand, and decorated it with a betel nut leaf and a few betel nuts. The enlightened one passed a knife to her. She then created few cross marks in water.
The enlightened one pleaded the river for permission to fetch some water, repeating the humble request many times. The river silently permitted, and she slowly moved towards the middle of the river stream with himalayan foothills in the background. She slowly lowered the vessel, and river filled her vessel. She happily turned back and walked towards the bank. The river kept flowing unconcerned. The temporary mound was then demolished by her, the betel nuts and leaves were carried away by the stream. She slowly started going back, and the group followed her. Bhupenda’s voice vanished into the silence.
“You know!, you will not find this river so dry in summers. It reaches up till this level.” The enlightened one pointed out to the few houses on the riverside while driving. I looked at a poor hutment ready to get washed away next year, and then I looked back at the river. It seemed like a storm wearing a mysterious mask of calmness. Is it the river’s way to end inequity?
tumiye jodi brohmare putro, hei pitritbo tene naam matro.
nohole prerona nidiya kiyo?*
I was neither sure of the answer,nor of the expectations from a river drawn into a serious debate of poverty and oppression. I left Brahma’s son alone, busy in shaping a landscape. The work which was best suited for him.
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| Moving towards water (Photo: Debasis Gogoi), Dibrugarh, Assam |
* If someone is interested to listen to the full Assamese masterpiece by the great composer Bhupen Hazarika, please press the play in the player embedded just below the blog title.
Calm, soothing, enlightening and beautiful....Now I really wish I had stories to write about this.....Thanks for the song....was literally transported to that location and I could hear the stream... :)
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