Bistirno duparer
Ashonkho manusher
Hahakar shunye-o
Nishobdo nirobey
O Gonga tumi,
Gonga boyechho kyano
In the lyrics and music inspired by Paul Robeson's version of "Ol' Man River", Bhupen Hazarika addresses the Ganga as the mighty one that flows on and on, disregarding the misery of millions along its banks. Originally sung in Assamiya and referring to the Luit, the song would allow rivers some agency, harking back to the powerful watercourse of Southasian myth and history.
But how these rivers have changed, in most parts of the Subcontinent. Having gorged on the monsoonal rains, they do get to strut for three or four months every year, but even then they are blamed for what they do naturally – ie, flood during the summer. At other times, many of our rivers are little more than sewers, and the holiness associated with the ghats and sacred 'Ganga jal' is not enough to motivate the environmental and cultural activists to save them.
The Bagmati of Kathmandu is by now an open sewer, and only the most fundamentally minded will discount the coliform bacteria count in the Ganga at Benaras. The Ravi, by Lahore, is down to a trickle. Kabul River, like the Bagmati, is a cesspool. In Ahmedabad, the Sabarmati is sickly. The Jamuna has hardly a current any longer as it passes by Delhi, and pictures of the Taj Mahal from the riverside can be a farce.