The Bath in The Ganga

Sabour is a little known place.

Close to Bhagalpur in Bihar – a province of India, it has a station, an Agriculture College and not much else.

I became acquainted with the place because my Mama (my mother’s brother) used to stay there being employed in the College as a Geologist. Nearly cut off from the world, the place had retained its old world charm and slow pace of life while the world was in a hurry to become modern and gain speed.

The college had beautiful large grounds where cricket was played in winters, football in summer, flower-beds adorned it around the fringes and it was home to the very first sundial that I ever saw.

The grounds would be thronging with the kids of Sabour by four in the afternoon and often at dusk, when it was too dark to play cricket, there would be friendly wrestling bouts.

The place had an old world charm that we miss so much nowadays. The men folk would walk or cycle to work, play bridge in the evenings and almost never discussed politics except during election time.

The women, having finished their daily chores and having seen off their men and children would, in a group, call unannounced on somebody or the other and spend a couple of hours gossiping over cups of tea.

For the girls, a birthday party or an upcoming marriage would be a major event and the they would spend time planning the dresses to be worn. There was no hurry and time seemed limitless.

The colony was separated from the college by the state highway and the railway tracks that cut across Sabour. The colony had two types of housing quarters – the little yellow ones, more numerous than the large red brick ones.

The houses, all single storied, had a patch of garden with it and an “aangan” (courtyard). The grounds of the red bungalows were huge and each had numerous trees, some of which were quite old. The rest of the garden was divided into beds where the residents would grow all sorts of vegetables and the path leading up to the house from the wicket gate would usually be lined with flowering plants.

While the smaller houses were constructed in the typical manner of government quarters found all over India (with very little imagination!) the red ones were built in colonial style on a raised platform, with four large rooms, high ceilings, French windows and a porch with wood railing.

It was a beautiful patch of green in hot and dusty Bihar. The playground was basic with a couple of swings, a see-saw, and not much else. There was a farm belonging to the College which provided milk, eggs, poultry, juices, some vegetables and a variety of sauces to the resident at very nominal prices (one had to take the fruit or vegetable to the farm and they would prepare the juice or sauce charging just one Rupee for two bottles!).

There was a beautiful horticultural garden (because it was an Agricultural College) which, to my young mind, contained millions of trees. It was huge and we often used to play in it making believe that we were lost in a dense jungle. The trees were so densely packed that hardly any sunshine crept through.

The largest gathering that the garden saw was on New Year’s Day when the entire population of Sabour divided into three groups (the elderly or grown- ups, the boys and the girls) to converge on it for the annual picnic.

The picnic was an all day affair and people would start arriving at seven in the morning to prepare for the day, what with digging for the “chulha” (oven), clearing the spot , raking the leaves, getting “durries” (mats), utensils, wood for the fire, setting up music and so many other things. People in charge of the vegetables, chicken, mutton, milk, curd would have started even earlier.

Each group would organize its own stuff and members from each group would often visit the others during the day to see how they were getting along. While there would be a constant supply of tea, coffee, soft drinks (mainly fresh and not the aerated ones), pakoras, samosas, jalebis, lunch would usually be around four in the afternoon. The members of the particular group would take care of the entire organization and cooking without the services of the professionals and this would add to the fun!

It was after one such picnic that we had retired to the college grounds and were enjoying the cold evening with friends of Amar, my cousin, when the topic of a bath in the Ganga (the river Ganges) on “Sankranti” came up.

Sankranti or Makar Sankranti is a festival in India in which people traditionally take a dip in the Ganges to rid themselves of all the sins. Usually held on January 14 every year we decided that we would go in a group for the bath. There were no real sins to be washed off but it would be fun. However, the cold winter cast doubts on the adventure, as even the thought of cold water early in the morning was enough to send shivers through our bodies.

Shirish, the oldest in the group (probably most experienced too, having seen more winters than us) came up with a piece of wisdom which renewed our enthusiasm for the river bath. He informed us that the water of the Ganga was warm before sunrise but once the sun rose it started becoming colder. So if one took a bath before sunrise it was a wonderful experience but one had to be sure to dry up and cover up before sunrise.

Since there was no logic to this, we were a little skeptical.

However, he persisted. - “Why do you think the older people in the village take a bath before sunrise? Because they know this secret and do not want to share it with others! When I came to know from my Grandfather last year, at first I did not believe him. But he took me once with him and I found it was true!”

This was irrefutable logic or so it seemed at nine years of age! We had all seen old people in the village taking bath at the well (though not in the river) much before sunrise. And if Shirish had done it, it must be true. With this piece of knowledge, our resolve became stronger.

The Ganga, in its lower reaches, meanders and this had taken the river further away from Sabour. One had to travel a good four kilometres now to reach it, though people say earlier it was less than half a kilometre away. Over the next few days we had formed a foolproof plan. If my Mama found out about us going to the Ganga so early in the morning, he would certainly not allow it. So we had to quietly slip out without anyone knowing.

Before we could slip out, we had to resolve the problem of getting up so early! We could not set alarms as this might wake others up. We decided that we would pretend to be asleep, but would not actually sleep. And we could not walk the four kilometres; it would take too much time. We had to have the bicycle outside at night without anyone knowing.

Enough warm clothes would also have to be ready. The water would be warm, but the air would be chilly during the ride to the river and after the bath. The final hurdle would be getting out of the house without making any noise. The door bolts were sure to give us away and the plan therefore was to manipulate events so that we could sleep in the outer room and unbolt the main door, before going to bed so that we could silently step out and be off, without anyone being any the wiser!

We were eagerly waiting for the day to arrive. All this meticulous planning could not be allowed to come to naught. The day came and the plan went off without a hitch.

Almost!

The one small detail that we missed was keeping a couple of towels to dry off after the bath. No matter! We would make do.

Once out in the dark night at about half past three, the cold hit us. The call of the warm water was too difficult to resist. We were both on the same cycle, I riding on the bar, and with our jaws set we were determined to have the dip well before the sun came up.

As we came to the river we saw a few of the regulars already there, mainly old folk and the fishermen. There were scattered fires going at various places and some men huddled close to the fire for warmth. We thought it would be a good idea to take off our clothes near the fires so that the cold would not hit us so bad before we got into the water.

We undressed near a fire. We were shivering in spite of the proximity to the fire. Gathering our courage (which was failing, and fast!) we ran into the water. It was waist deep and we wanted to go in further.

However, our legs refused to move.

The water was freezing, and we were unable to move, unable to speak, unable to think! The only thought was for Shirish; the abuses came thick and fast, but only in our mind! Our teeth were chattering and we were so paralyzed with the cold, we were unable to even call for help.

Then, an old man who was bathing nearby, probably understood our plight. He called out to someone and the two of them together actually dragged us out of the water. They took us to the nearest fire, covered us in blankets, and sat us down. They fed more wood into the fire till it was going really strong. Our bodies were numb and there was no feeling in our limbs. All we could do was try and get closer to the fire, maybe within the fire itself, but we were unable to move.

It would have been an hour, maybe two, before sensation returned to our bodies. The kindly old man smiled and passed us a glass of something. It was tasteless but soon generated some warmth in our insides. We later found out it was “neera” from the palm tree which ferments into toddy as the sun rises.

Sometime later, we were warm enough to dress and cycle back home after thanking the old man.

Never, we vowed, never would we allow experience to rule over common sense!