It had been
an interesting fortnight where i found myself attempting to get back to
teaching only to be rebuffed by purportedly my senior colleagues who claimed
that i was intolerably ‘cynical’ if not incompetent, surprising even my
previous dean. I was reminded of Sayre’s Law that “academic politics are vicious
and bitter simply because the stakes are so low”. My mother insisted we close that chapter and that we go to the
Godavari Kumbh that commenced on 14th July 2015 and perform the
obsequies for my father. This article traces the idea of the Godavari and why
it stands as a symbol of the blending of disparate traditions within the Hindu
fold. It is a rather lengthy and demanding read as it tries to gather the several strands of
history and myth to weave a coherent narrative. The central thesis of the essay is the assimilation into the Vedic fold the Agamic traditions which were considered as beyond the pale of Aryan influence, The Godavari and Gautama one of the seven rivers and rishis has been used to anchor this pivotal moment that changed the course of Hindu faith.
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| Ramkund, Nashik, Banks of the Godavari |
The rain beat down with some insistence, bathing me after a dip into the brown
waters of the Godavari, muddy littered with flower offerings and possibly
ashes, despite the proximity to its source. We were bathing in the rains at
Ramkund on the banks of the river to fulfil my mother’s earnest desire to
perform my father’s ‘shradh’ or
propitiation to his spirit after his passing away at the time of the last Kumbh
in 2003. Though the Kumbh 2015 had commenced, there were not the worryingly stampede
inducing crowds at Nashik. The priest commenced his chants as i sat quaking
like a leaf, bare except a small white cloth around my waist in the rain
staring at the seat made of grass stalks for my ancestors, filled with
sweetened rice balls colourfully in contrast with the grey day and worn
flagstones decorated with flowers, turmeric, vermilion, sandal, black sesame,
unhusked rice, swirling incense, and a sputtered lamp in that ancient ground. I
was to make those offerings to the triads of paternal and maternal great grandparents
ending with my father’s generation in a patriarchal sequence, and finally
immerse them much to my relief in the swirling waters of the Godavari that had
blessed my lands for generations of farmers lower down at the delta at Andhra
Pradesh. My mother despite her arthritic pains had stood beside at the
recitations, umbrella in hand drenched and solemn, breaking into tears.
