The first time I saw her was from the window of a train. Chugging
along at 150 kmph in the midst of nowhere in Gujarat. Coetzee’s Disgrace lay
forgotten on my lap and music played into the ears, ignored. Distractions. I
had my head on the glass window and the world outside flew by in a blur. Fumes
from the IRCTC tea cup swirled and fumed and shouted to be consumed. Loud, colourful Gujarati’s
chatted in tongues unknown. My deep thought face was glued on firmly as I zoned
in and out of semi-consciousness. And then suddenly, there she was. She was like
this thin, fragile girl reading a book and sipping a cup of coffee. Alone. Hand
on chin. Engrossed. Thin. Fragile. Calm. Short hair sliding and covering her
eyes. Slide-Fall-Tuck in-Slide-Fall... But there was something about her. You
know when she looks up and shakes her hair and you get a look at her kohl lined
wild eyes. Her magnetic, powerful eyes. Her coaxing, inviting, daring you to
make a move eyes. Her breathtaking eyes. My wide, admiring, hopelessly lost
eyes. The train rushed through a bridge swinging and swaying and I couldn’t
take my eyes off her. A few metres past the bridge, half hidden in bushes half
showing, was a yellow board with her name on it. River Narmada it announced. I turned around and our eyes met again. “Would
you?” she seemed to ask, daring me. Oh, I was hopelessly in love already.
What I wouldn’t give to jump off a bridge and be lost in her
at that moment!
The second time. I walked shirtless and shoe-less onto the ghat and there she was again. Flowing.
Rushing by without a bother. Untamed. The brutal March Sun bore down on me and
red hot cement burned my feet. The Maharaj
thrust a metal pot in my hand and asked me to fill it up with water. I
walked alone towards her. Little children begged for money as their mothers
waited and watched from afar. Hawkers sold coconuts wrapped in sequined red
cloths. Maharajs preyed on men
offering to help them pray. Women washed clothes at one end of the ghat. Sadhus prayed to the Sun God and
chanted sacred mantras half immersed in water. Cows walked along. “Zyada gehre paani mein mat jaana. Tairne
jaane waala nadi nahi hai!” The
Maharaj’s voice echoed in my head. Do not venture too deep, it is not a
river you can swim in. I looked at her and looked up at the Maharaj, head covered in scarf,
flustered. “Jaldi”. Faster. I pulled
my white dhoti up to my knees and stepped in. First step. Cold. She wasn’t
ignoring me anymore. Second step. Cold, fast, shimmering waters played above my
ankles. Cajoling, playfully dragging me along. Third step. Knees. Pulling you
away. Oh. Irresistible. Fourth step. Wet dhoti. “One more step and I will take you away” she whispered. Her playful
kohl eyed eyes. Magnetic, powerful kohl eyed eyes. My tired and weary and teary eyes. I
splashed her on my face and filled the pot. “Another time.” I whispered
and meant it with all my heart. And she knew I did.
“A bath in Ganga
purifies you. A drop of Yamuna’s water washes away all your sins. The sight of
Narmada purifies you.” The Maharaj
had informed me, full of surety. This
I would like to believe.
The third time. Crank-Crank-Crank. The diesel engine on the
make shift motorboat spluttered to life. Coughing and panting and struggling to
shake off the inertia. The wizened old boat man smiled a toothless smile at me
as the engine got up and running and settled to its loud machine gun ratatatat
sound routine. And off we went on our quest to get lost in her. Ratatatatat. Finally. “Kahan jaaenge? Kya irada hai?” he
enquired. Where to? What intentions? I didn’t know. “Thoda ghumao. Phir nahane layak koi accha jagah jaenge?” I offered.
Let us go for a spin and then take me to a place where I can take a bath. He
nodded knowingly and started singing loud Gujarati songs. His face was a dried
river bed. His beard flowed conically into a beautiful sharp end. His haunting
voice rose above her splish splash and the boat’s ratatat.
This is the sangam he pointed out in between. Narmada, Orsung and Gupt Saraswati… We
were deep inside her and I was lost. At the Sangam
water whirled and whirled and made pretty dimples on her face. Dangerous,
inviting dimples. We spluttered to a stop and he dropped the makeshift anchor
of the makeshift motorboat and took out his beedi roll. “Ye acchi jagah hai. Main dekh lunga. Aap tair lo.” This is a good place for a swim. I will watch
out for you. “Dhik hai kaka!” Okay,
uncle. The toothless grin again. The dry riverbed in his face drying a little
more. Deep drags from the beedi. The riverbed turning into whirlpools in his
cheeks from the effort. Puffs of smoke. The riverbed reappears. Loud singing. I
was down to my trunks now. Ready for her. Finally. She smiled and winked and
swirled and danced by and our eyes met. Her kohl lined powerful eyes. My
smiling excited eyes. I took a deep breath and dived into her.
“I have you now!” she
laughed loudly as she swept me away. “Yes
you do! And there is no one happier than me about it!” I laughed with her.
She pushed and pulled and tugged and tossed. Playfully. Effortlessly. I let
her. Her cold embrace ran through me. I could see and touch her river bed.
Colourful. Pretty little pebbles littered in a beautiful random pattern. I was
breathless. And we laughed together. Euphoria. Breathless euphoria. I emerged
far away from the boat and swam back. I had her now. And she had me. Narmada.
Feisty. Powerful. Lovely.
This love affair is not over. Definitely not.