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By the banks of the Bagmati
AUG 27 -
Having lived for years within walking distance of the Pashupatinath Temple, an evening stroll by the banks of the Bagmati isn’t something unusual for me. Like many others, I too sit and observe the evening aarati and try to make sense of exactly what I seek out of the experience.
The Bagmati holds significance for Hindus and Buddhists alike. It is not just the fact that Hindus are cremated on the banks of this river and Kirats are buried in the hills by its side; the river is much more than just that. Hal Boyle has said, “What makes a river so restful to people is that it doesn’t have any doubt—it is sure to get where it is going, and it doesn’t want to go anywhere else.” Does the same thing apply when we think of our Bagmati? Whenever I sit and think about the river, several instances pop up in my mind.
I was once walking down the road in Shankhamul when suddenly one of my friends let out a chuckle. She pointed at a white board across which were splashed the words ‘Riverside Café’. We looked down from the bridge where we stood and, as we all know, the contents flowing below hardly constituted a river—it was a black, filthy mess. The Bagmati, the holy, mighty river, today stands defenceless in face of the pollution that cripples her and promises to rob her of her true identity much sooner than we all might want to think.
I have an old map of Kathmandu and on it runs a black snake-like line representing the Bagmati. In a couple of places, fish have been drawn—each of them gasping for a bit of fresh air and even donning oxygen masks.
Every year, the Bagmati River festival is organised to help promote the river. On one such occasion, a school-level art competition was organised and in one of the paintings, Mother Bagmati was turning the pages of time with tears in her eyes, reminiscing about the way she once was.
It is not that I only remember the negative. When I was a child, the river sure looked different, much better than what it is today. The root cause of the change isn’t because nothing is being done. In fact a lot has been done—there have been clean-up campaigns, awareness has been raised and a lot of effort has been put in—but even as a simple layman, I do not fail to notice that in spite of all the efforts, the situation is worsening. Instead of getting better, it is moving from bad to worse.
The glitz of this city greedily attracts people to its bosom—people who aim to be liberated from all paralysing prejudices of class and calling, environment and tradition through work in order to make their dreams come true. Everyone here is fighting for a meaningful existence; those who don’t already have one want to accumulate more, and those who don’t have anything want to become somebody and acquire things they can call their own. Amid this violent contrast of dazzling riches and loathsome poverty, Mother Nature suffers in silent agony. The haves and the have-nots have an equal share when it comes polluting the river—the garbage, the sewage, the seeping chemicals and what not.
Going back to where I started, as my friend and I walked by the banks of the Bagmati, like any other concerned citizen, we spoke about its condition. Being a student of environmental science, he sees different aspects, while my social science background brings its own set of thought patterns. The one thing we both agree on is that something needs to be done beyond a couple of signature campaigns. Perhaps a more concentrated approach, similar to the civic society response to clean up the Thames, is what we need to bring about that change. Maybe showing concern and talking about it is a way to start. Let us not let the guilt of passivity kill us; instead, let’s start healthy discussions—it is the least we can do. My friend and I have started over a cup of tea by the banks of the river, with a wish that one day this otherwise sewage-laden body will be flowing as it should: instead of the filthy mess, we will see a restful river.
Posted on: 2010-08-28 08:53
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