Biryani on the Ganga. Whom does the ancient river belong to?

Fourteen Muslim youths who broke the Ramzan fast on a boat on the Ganga in Varanasi have been arrested. What could have invited a reprimand to the boys for being careless in their conduct was allowed to escalate into an outrage and a charge of “hurting religious sentiments” was slapped against the youngmen. They spent this Eid in prison, away from their dear ones.

As the boys who held a “chicken biryani feast” on the boat and allegedly threw the leftovers in the revered river cool their heels in jail, a question arises: Whom does the ancient Ganga belong to? Does it belong to Hindus alone, especially those Hindu brethren who regard the river as a deity? Or does the benevolent Ganga belong to all, to everyone who settled at its bank and benefited and continue to benefit from it?

Many may question the Muslim claim on the Ganga. Yes, Islam forbids idol worship and Muslims do not keep pantheons of gods near the pulpit at their mosques or when they roll out musallah or prayer mat anywhere on the planet. But ask any devout Indian Muslim. He has great regard for the river.

This respect to Ganga finds resonance in poetry and prose. It was the poet Allama Iqbal who acknowledged Ganga’s indebtedness to Muslims so eloquently in an Urdu couplet.

Iqbal asked: “Aye abrood–e-Ganga, woh din hai yaad tujhko/
Utra tere kinare jab karwan hamara
(Oh river Ganga, do you remember the day when our caravan descended at your banks).”

Only a poet with a great sense of history, the march of human civilisation could have paid tribute to a river in such beautiful, profound verse. But even Iqbal who gave us the much-praised patriotic song “Sare Jahan Se Achcha” is a villain, a pariah, to many people. Just see how a committee has recommended to drop him from an MA course at the Jammu University. But then that deserves a separate essay and let us leave it for another day.

I have a personal relationship with Ganga. For close to five years in the 1990s, I stayed at its bank at a place called Kurji in Patna. My younger brother (he is now a senior manager in a bank) and I would use Ganga’s water practically for all purposes except drinking. For drinking, we fetched a bucket of water from the lone tubewell in the mohalla.

To bathe and to wash utensils and clothes, we used the river. We took dips and we swam. Nobody ever raised a finger. The ghat was commonly used by people of all faiths.

During the summer, the Ganga would shrink, go afar, forcing us to walk a kilometre on the hot sand before we touch its water. During monsoon, its surging waters would lap our doorstep. We must have seen many dead humans and animals floating in the river. Despite the temporary revulsion such sights created, we returned to the river because, for many, life without the Ganga could not and cannot be imagined.

Like the beloved mother, the Ganga loves everyone, watering fields and farms of Hindus and Muslims, Sikhs, Parsis and Christians. Those who are religious and even nastik (agnostic).

When we were growing up, nobody told us that the Ganga belonged to people of one faith alone. My father’s many Brahmin friends would tell him stories from their pilgrimage to Mansarovar, Kailash and Gangotri, Haridwar, Prayagraj (yes, it was Allahabad then and the name had nothing to do with Allah as Mughal emperor Akbar is believed to have named the city after his syncretic Deen-e-Ilahi) and Banaras or Varanasi. They would bring water from their pilgrimage. I also remember my baniya villager Dhrup chacha returning from his kanvar yatra. Nobody feared the caravans of the kanvarias who walked in foot for miles to fill their kanwar with the sacred water. No kanwar said they would not buy food from Muslim vendors on the path of their pilgrimage. We lived in an innocent era.

Banaras reminds me of two great figures in our history: poet Mirza Ghalib and Shahnaee maestro Bismillah Khan. Ghalib, on his way to Calcutta, spent months in Banaras. Charmed by its beauty and the sacredness the city held, Ghalib called Kashi the “Kaaba” of Hindustan. He wrote Chiragh-i-Dair (Lamp at the Temple), a long Persian poem praising the scenic, cultural, and spiritual essence of Banaras.

Bismillah Khan lived and died in Banaras. Though the “shahenshah of shehanee” globe-trotted charming the connoisseur, from Dallas to Delhi, Mumbai to Miami, he felt at home in Banaras. When asked why he declined offers to live abroad, in opulence and more comfort, Bismillah Khan would reply: “Lekin meri Ganga kahan se laoge (where will you bring my Ganga there?”.

In their efforts to demonise and “otherise” Muslims and to expand the arc of Hindutva hegemony (it is not Hindu hegemony because Hinduism I know is inherently inclusive, tolerant, non-violent), a section wants to have exclusive claims on the Ganga, the Himalayas and other many natural sources of boundless bounties.

You may send some people to Incarceration for eating biryani on the Ganga. You cannot take the river out of our collective Indian consciousness. Ganga is witness to currents of history. It has seen ups and downs and never discriminated against anyone who came to its lap. Any attempt to spread poison in the name of preserving its purity will be washed away.

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