Water ways

Mumbai has been, over the past few days, rocked with sensational news. The waters around what could be one of the most polluted regions of the coastline, the Mahim Creek, were late one evening found to be sweet. Which does not mean that they tasted like sugar water or lemonade or sherbet, but that the salt levels were so low due to heavy rain that the water was sweet in contrast. Now if you saw that water, you would probably keel over with six kinds of gastro-problems. It is a melange of a particular dirty yellow-brown hue, with ‘things’ afloat in it. What ‘things? Don’t even ask. That section of the creek, just where it enters the sea, is about as polluted as the word will define. It contains waters from the tanneries close by, along with animal carcasses, blood, debris and assorted associated products of the business. It is mixed with vari-coloured chemical sludge from factories in the area, and further clouded by inflow from the infamous Mithi river, known for its non-water content and as a headline-maker for its overflow and silting that was partially accounted as contributing to the unprecedented flooding of the city in July 2005.

So, with this as the background, it was not surprising that people went crazy as soon as word came in, reportedly from a little girl, that the water tasted good. They ran to the sea in droves, sort of like penguins or, from another point of view, lemmings. And they dived in, all ready to drink their mouthful of heaven, albeit a very strangely coloured one. They came in hordes, with wives, husbands, in-laws, grandchildren and neighbours, all clutching bottles to fill to take back home, all joyous with the euphoria of a miracle. But was it one? While the city’s mayor certainly seemed to think so, local scientists and the BMC didn’t. They warned the enthusiastic swiggers of slush to beware, to be watchful, to wait. But, no, everyone wanted some manna, even though it looked rather suspicious. And, to be extra cautious and pre-empt a possible problem, the BMC got a whole lot of beds ready at nearby hospitals, preparing for the epidemic that would surely follow.

But, so far, nothing untoward has happened. For which the Lord – of whatever persuasion – will be given credit in due time. The sea has gone back to its normal level of salinity and everyone is back to behaving as they did before the ‘miracle’. And homes across the country, from Mumbai to Madanapalle, have a little bit of the magic water tucked away for when a bit of extra blessing is needed.

It is not new, this kind of phenomenon and response. It has happened for years with the waters of the Ganges, called the holiest river in the world by believers. And to believe, it had to be seen. Crystal clean, cold and clipping along at good speed in Hrishikesh, it is a river that earns its name as being the purifier of all, worthy of being enshrined in little copper vessels in shrines and home-altars all over the world. But it soon becomes a nastily turbid stretch of sluggish water, finally widening to its massive proportions by the time it gets to Benares, the city of a millions temples. There, at the ghats, partially burned bodies are tipped into the waters, to join myriad debris of puja and purification, leaving the mother river little more than a gutter full of ordure. Attempts to clean the watercourse were, in part, successful, with everything from water hyacinth and lotus plants used to suck up the muck with their persistent roots to flesh-eating turtles to vacuum the water clear of body parts. The last time I was in Benares, the Ganges was getting closer to being clear and pure, but had a way to travel before it could be fitting with the title ‘holy’.

But, all the while, Ganges water was drunk, bathed in and revered, as embodying the godly spirit and personifying all that was good. It cured, it healed, it soothed, it calmed. And it was taken home in bottles, sold in markets, given status as a mother in Indian tradition would be.

Like all water accessible to the public should be.