On the bank of the Ganga
my feet soaked in its
waters,
After a day of going around crematoria
Watching the lifeless await their turn on the pyre.
In the twilight
my boat sailed through the Ganges,
while I stared at carcasses
a dog, then a buffalo,
And then of a newborn.
I don’t know from where I summoned tranquility,
as my path felt closer
This apathy, this muteness
this filth that floats in the Ganges.
I ask the river: how do you take all this?
Where do I find you?
She points: at the Himalayas.
Was this why the sadhus traveled to the himas
for life was never sacred in Banaras,
as it was utterly contradictory,
hosting ghost and gods at the same place,
—Venus Upadhyaya
(Venus Upadhyaya is a Washington and Delhi-based poet)
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