I stood in awe of the exquisitely elegant Ganges,
on stone steps leading to Dashashwamedh Ghat:
she flowed unperturbed by immense veneration,
with orchestrated sights, sounds ushering sunset.
.
Her soft waves caught the glow of flickering lights
dotting Varanasi’s ghats – yet she gently cascaded,
detached to the incense, sandalwood, and flowers –
with a synchronised flailing of layered brass lamps.
Throngs gathered by the ramp to watch the show,
that every evening – placed Ganga on the Catwalk:
As propelling her delicate steps bhajans were sung,
with dumroos keeping rhythm – as tabla to her taal.
Broad-chested men – strikingly agile super models
in Akhara-fit bodies, chiseled with yogic persistence –
deftly flailing the brass aratis they held, with devotion
to Ganga’s movements – as of a show stopper model.
Viewers from all over the world jostled in the crowd,
as midstream – boats full of people watched up-close:
the intricacies of Ganga’s form showcased in devotion –
as if from the green room or back stage of a carnival.
With her poise, Ganga was an epitome of femininity,
not losing her reserved elegance even in heroic glory:
As she generously gives of herself, in loving empathy –
even to those who pollute but worship her as divinity.
Every woman can flow with compassionate concern,
after cleansing her soul of the refuses of her past life –
as she also has the power to withstand being defiled,
by nurturing her soul in service to God and mankind.