By The Ganges.
In driving down the winding mud road,
An endless yellow carpet, as if, I strode;
Sun glistened on me through tall trees,
Lining the slim avenues I crisscrossed.
Here cattle grazed, wiry men with spades ambled,
Their tanned women drew water from earthen wells;
As bare bodied children played in happy abandon-
Inside of the bare brick houses I curiously gazed.
The yellow carpet swayed in the soft warm breeze:
Bountiful, ripe mustard plantations it was made of;
Though life seemed peaceful and picturesque here,
Yet, tailors, grocers, bazaars, all here there were.
The red patches visible over saffron expanses,
Were rose plantations amidst the mustard fields;
Tall trees above them, as gallant soldiers stood-
Shielding roses, as their ladies, from rain and sun.
Just as in this village, one’s life is so well guarded,
From the complexities of the stealthy human mind;
Food, clothe, shelter, and love, the only wants here,
Were interwoven, even if crudely, into life and time.
Sprawling water bodies, amidst thatched huts here,
Are fed by the Ganges flowing quietly peacefully by;
It’s five kilometres away from Kanpur I’ve driven,
To the quaint ‘Dhori Ghat’ – village, by the Ganges.
The loud gong of a bell now goes off in the distance,
Pronouncing the river temple must be somewhat near;
The monkeys clamouring over trees that abounded –
As I stood by the river, notified me their feed was near.
The temple priest performed the daily elaborate rituals,
As I bowed in complete obeisance with the local people;
The simple folk looked at me with assertive side glances:
As dressed different, was I also amongst God’s people?
Staring into the Ganges later I solemnly wondered,
Why wasn’t city life as peaceful and simple as here?
Everything we need, we have aplenty and still more,
Yet do we sleep sound, as do simple people here?