A JOURNEY DOWN THE GANGES RIVER

Mangaldas and villagers bearing the Goddess Ganga en route from Harsil to Bhaironghati in the Indian Himalayas. The Ganges River is 1,500 miles long from  the Himalayas to the Bay of Bengal. The river's water is the lifeblood for more than 600 million people in India and Bangladesh. The Ganges River — Ganga in Hindi — is the lifeblood of more than 600 million people in India and Bangladesh. Farmers depend on the river for their crops. Millions depend on its water for washing, cooking, drinking and to carry away their waste. And many worship the Ganges as a goddess, whose waters will cleanse them of sin and help them attain moksha, or salvation, by carrying their ashes to heaven. Yet the Ganges is under great threat from pollution and a rapidly modernizing India, whose appetite for water far outstrips the river's capacity. In the first of a six-part series, independent producer Julian Crandall Hollick travels deep into the Himalayas in search of the source of the Ganges. His journey begins in the tiny village of Bhaironghati, where villagers take a two-foot high statue of the goddess Ganga and prepare to take her to her summer temple at Gangotri. That's where, Hindus believe, the river came down to Earth in a lock of hair. As the ceremony to install the goddess gets under way in Gangotri, Hollick hears the story about how Hindus believe the Ganges descended from heaven Pollution, Indifference Taint India's Sacred River A woman with a skin disease rests near offerings and trash on the banks of the Ganges in Kanpur, India. The Indian city of Kanpur is an anomaly — an industrial city that lies on the banks of a river that is revered as a goddess. Established in 1801 by the British to supply their army in India, Kanpur is the largest city in the state of Uttar Pradesh, and it sits on the higher, southern bank of the Ganges River. But Kanpur's burgeoning industry pours pollution into the sacred river, making it dirty, unappetizing and synonymous with pollution in residents' eyes. Twenty years ago, the Indian government began a massive program to clean up the river, but for many, Kanpur is proof that those efforts failed. In 1986, Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi announced a massive Ganga Action Plan to clean up the river. The basic idea made sense: Intercept and treat pollution before it is discharged into the Ganges. Politicians and engineers in Delhi designed sewage treatment plants, but they then expected states and cities to find the money to operate and maintain them. Myriad problems — from inconsistent electricity to indifferent local authorities and residents — stunted the plan. Today, the Ganges at Kanpur is besieged by pollution, including toxic chromium, from local tanneries. The local sewage treatment plant sits idle, and residents suffer from various skin ailments, among other health problems. In the nearby village of Motipur, farm harvests have plunged, and livestock like buffaloes produce half their normal yield of milk. Ganges' Most Sacred Stretch Rich with Tradition An evening offering on the banks of the river Ganges in the village of Singhberpur. For millions of Hindus, the 250-mile stretch of Ganges River between the cities of Kanpur and Varanasi is one of the most sacred parts of the northern plains of India. This stretch of the Ganges serves as the setting of the great epic The Ramayana, which tells the story of an Indian prince who becomes a god. Despite the river's massive pollution, Hindus come from all over the country to bathe, worship and honor dead relatives in the holy waters. In the third of a six-part series, independent producer Julian Crandall Hollick visits villages along the Ganges to learn about Hindu traditions. In the village of Singhberpur, Hollick takes a dip in the water, a ritual that his host says will cleanse him of his sins. In The Ramayana, Singhberpur is featured as the place where the epic's central characters — Ram, Sita and Laxman — cross the Ganges on their way into exile. At the city of Allahabad, midway between Kanpur and Varanasi, the Ganges merges with the Yamuna River and the mythical Saraswati. Together they form the Sangam. Hindus believe that if they take a dip in the Sangam or cast the ashes of dead relatives into the water, their next life can only be better. Varanasi, at the end of this portion of Hollick's journey, is where all the Hindu gods live. Much of daily life in Varanasi takes place on its 84 ghats — stone steps that descend steeply down to the river and stretch two miles northward in a gentle crescent. Hollick speaks with a civil servant and a tailor who have come to wash away their sins and seek salvation. He also finds locals who seek more immediate blessings — success in exams, better health and help kicking addiction. Mystery Factor Gives Ganges a Clean Reputation A man gathers water from the Ganges River at Har-ki-pairi ghat in Haridwar. Hindus have always believed that water from India's Ganges River has extraordinary powers. The Indian emperor Akbar called it the "water of immortality" and always traveled with a supply. The British East India Co. used only Ganges water on its ships during the three-month journey back to England, because it stayed "sweet and fresh." Indians have always claimed it prevents diseases, but are the claims wives' tales or do they have scientific substance? In the fourth installment of a six-part series, independent producer Julian Crandall Hollick searched for the "mysterious X factor" that gives Ganges water its mythical reputation. He starts his investigation looking for the water's special properties at the river's source in the Himalayas. There, wild plants, radioactive rocks, and unusually cold, fast-running water combine to form the river. But since 1854, almost all of the Ganges' water has been siphoned off for irrigation as it leaves the Himalayas. Hollick speaks with DS Bhargava, a retired professor of hydrology, who has spent a lifetime performing experiments up and down Ganges in the plains of India. In most rivers, Bhargava says, organic material usually exhausts a river's available oxygen and starts putrefying. But in the Ganges, an unknown substance, or "X factor" that Indians refer to as a "disinfectant," acts on organic materials and bacteria and kills them. Bhargava says that the Ganges' self-purifying quality leads to oxygen levels 25 times higher than any other river in the world. Hollick's search for a scientific explanation for the X factor leads him to a spiritual leader at an ashram and a biologist in Kanpur. But his best answer for the Ganges' mysterious substance comes from Jay Ramachandran, a molecular biologist and entrepreneur in Bangalore. In a short science lesson, Ramachandran explains why the Ganges doesn't spread disease among the millions of Indians who bathe in it. But he can't explain why the river alone has this extraordinary ability to retain oxygen. Ganges Dam Leaves Devastating Legacy A villager gazes at where Panchanandapur village stood. In 1970, the Indian government built a huge dam called the Farakka Barrage, on the border with Bangladesh, to control the flow of the Ganges River. But the gated dam has had widespread and devastating effects, both in the Indian state of West Bengal and neighboring Bangladesh. In the fifth installment of a six-part series, independent producer Julian Crandall Hollick travels to a village in West Bengal to see how the dam has affected life and livelihoods on the Ganges. Hollick starts his journey in Panchanandapur, a village that — on a map — appears to lie well inland from the Ganges. When he arrives at Panchanandapur however, Hollick finds the village's 5,000 residents living precariously on the banks of the river. Kalyan Rudra, a geography professor in Calcutta, explains that the dam forced the Ganges to shift almost six miles eastward over 30 years, eroding most of the village. An indigo factory, sugar mill, hospital, police station and two-story government building were all swallowed by the river, among other settlements. The Ganges' fast shift, however, made land that was once underwater reappear on the other side of the river bank. Though the villagers consider themselves part of West Bengal, the shift in geography has opened a territory question; neither West Bengal nor Bangladesh recognizes the displaced villagers. At the dam itself, Hollick explores the history and legacy of the controversial project. The Farakka barrage was built at the narrowest point on the Ganges to divert water to Calcutta to the south and flush out the silt that was clogging up its port. But scientists say the project was ill-conceived from the start: Water upstream from the dam carried massive amounts of silt, dropping it directly behind the dam. The buildup — almost 700 million tons annually — has clogged the dam's gates and raised the river bed more than 20 feet. The silt buildup has also forced the river to change its course, swallowing villages and buildings. Months after his visit to Panchanandapur, Hollick returns to the village to find it completely swept away. Tajaml Huq, a village farmer, said he was asleep in his home when someone cried that the erosion had started. Moments later, his home disappeared into the river. Where Ganges Ends, Island Teems With Pilgrims A couple rests on the beach before Makar Sankranti — the day Indians take a holy dip in the Ganges River. Kavars, or devotees of Shiva, bicycle on the beach at Sagar Island on the eve of Makar Sankranti. Every January 14, millions of Indians make their way to Sagar Island for a great bathing festival to celebrate the sun entering Capricorn. The island — where the Ganges River flows into the Bay of Bengal — turns into the Indian version of Woodstock during the celebration. There are no age restrictions, no tickets and no invitations, and celebrants get there any way they can — by train, bus or on foot. At the end of his 1,500-mile journey down the Ganges, independent producer Julian Crandall Hollick visited the island to witness Makar Sankranti — the great day when the island's visitors take a holy dip. Makar Sankranti comes from Hindus' belief that the Ganges descended from heaven. Hindus believe that 60,000 sons of King Sagar disturbed a hermit while he was meditating. The hermit reduced the men to ashes, but King Sagar's grandson begged the gods to send down the Ganges to bring the men back to life. The Ganges came down from the Himalayas to Sagar Island, where it washed over the ashes and liberated the men's souls so they could go to heaven. The millions of pilgrims who come to Sagar Island each year celebrate the release of the men's souls, and they take a dip in the water to seek their own mukti, or freedom.

Origin of Ganga and stories behind its inception

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Origin of Ganga

The origin of river Ganges lies at the height of 13,800 feet in the mountain ranges of Himalayas, in Tehri Garhwal, near Gangotri. It begins high in the Himalayas as a pair of head streams. It begins in an ice cave in the mountains about 10,300 feet above sea level. Gangotri is known as the place of origin of the revered Ganges river, known as Ganga in India it is also consider one of the holy place in chota char dham . The holiest of the Indian rivers, is the longest river in India and the greatest waterway in India. The river has been declared as India's National River. Ganges is the source of sustainment of life in the great Indian plains and it is at Gangotri that the journey of Ganga begins. River Ganges gets water from the melting snow of Nanda devi, Gurla, Mandhata, Dhaulagiri, Gesaisthan, Kanchenjunga and Mount Everest. Many small and big rivers merge with the Ganges in the Himalayan region. The Ganges river flows through Bangladesh, but the greater part of it flows through India. The river flows across the northern corner of India. The Ganges flows across India and Bangladesh until it empties out into the Bay of Bengal. The great river provides water to many places, and many places rely on it.

Ganga Origin-Story of Bhagiratha

a) This is the most popular story regarding the origin of river Ganga. It is said that King Sagar magically acquired sixty thousand sons. Once, King Sagar organized Ashwamedh Yagna, a ritual of worship for the benefit of the kingdom. Jealous Indra planned a mischief and stole one horse from the place. King Sagar sent all his sons all over the earth to look for the horse. They found the horse in the nether-world standing next to Kapila Muni, a sage who was meditating. The youths, were disrespectful disturbed the sage during his meditation hours. The sage in anger for the misbehavior done reduced the youths to ashes with his withering look.

The souls of these young men wandered as ghosts as their final rites had not been done. The sixty thousand sons of Sagar came searching for the horse to the hermitage of Sage Kapila. They started to create nuisance, sage Kapila cursed them and they burnt to ashes. Anshuman another son of king Sagar came searching for his sixty thousand brothers, to Kapila's hermitage. When he came to know about the whole story he requested him to tell about the means by which his brothers could attain salvation. Kapila said that his brothers would attain salvation, if the water of Ganga were sprinkled on them.

Following the instructions of Kapila, Anshuman started doing penance on the Himalaya. But he was not successful in his attempt to bring Ganga to earth. His son Dilip too tried, but in vain. Atlast,  Bhagiratha, the son of Dileep was successful in getting a boon from Lord Brahma, as a result of which 'Ganga' descended down to earth. The force of the current was so great that there was a fear of her entering the nether world, unless she was stopped on the earth. Bhagiratha pleased Lord Shiva and requested him to hold her in his locks (hairs). Lord Shiva accepted it and did the same as requested and saved the earth from devastation. He released Ganga on the earth, as a result of which Ganga was subdivided into seven streams
1) Dwadini, 2) Pavani and 3) Nalini flew towards the east 4) Vakshu, 5) Sita, 6) Sindhu flew towards the west and the seventh stream followed the route, as instructed by Bhagiratha, and hence was called 7) Bhagirathi. Ultimately all the sixty thousand sons of Sagar were liberated by the sprinkle of the water of the Ganga. Since then Ganga is sanctifying the mankind with her divine waters.

b) There are many versions of stories regarding the origin of Ganges. In another story the sage Valmiki of Ramayana, Ganges was the daughter of 'Himalaya' and 'Maina'. The deities abducted her and took her to heaven and from then onwards, 'Ganga' started living inside the 'Karmandala' (a spout shaped vessel). According to Kritivas Ramayana the deities had taken 'Ganga' to Lord Shiva to get her married with him. When 'Maina' did not find her in the house, she cursed to attain the form of water. Here is Story of Mother Ganga with HD Video

c) Along the banks on Ganga there are many cities but among them two are famous and these are Haridwar and Allahabad. teh reason bhind this is they host worlds largest festival known as Kumbh Mela. Ganga has far more importance than just a sources of water for millions of people around the world who worship her as a mother who provides salvation from this world and cleans reaction of their past misdeeds. She is not a river she is our beloved mother who take care of our basic needs

Sunderbans mangrove trees losing capacity to absorb CO2: study

Migratory birds at Kumarmari in the Hingalgang area of the Sunderbans. Photo: Sushanta Patronobish

The vast mangrove forest in the Sunderbans is fast losing its capacity to absorb carbon dioxide, one of the main greenhouse gases, from the atmosphere due to rise in the salinity of water, rampant deforestation and pollution, a study has found.

The mangrove forest, marsh grass, phytoplanktons, molluscus and other coastal vegetation in the world’s largest delta are the natural absorbers of carbon dioxide (CO2), according to the study.

The stored carbon in the plants is known as “Blue Carbons”. The absorption of CO2 is a process which contributes to reduction of the warming of the earth and other ill effects of climate change.

The research study, “Blue Carbon Estimation in Coastal Zone of Eastern India — Sunderbans”, was financed by the Union government and headed by noted marine scientist Abhijit Mitra.

The report took three years to prepare and it was submitted to the government last year.

The scientists involved in the study have sounded an alarm bell, especially in the central Sunderbans, one of the three zones into which the forest was divided for the study, the other two being western and eastern.

“The situation is quite alarming, especially in the central part. The capacity of the mangrove forest, especially the Byne species, to absorb carbon dioxide has eroded to a large extent. This will affect the entire ecosystem of the area,” Sufia Zaman, a senior marine biologist who was a part of the team, told PTI.

According to Mitra, the study was conducted mainly on the Byne species of mangrove. There are 34 other species of mangroves found in the forest including Keora and Genwa.

In the central part of Sunderbans near Matla, the capability of Byne trees to absorb carbon was 22 tonnes per hectare, whereas the scenario is a bit different in the eastern Sunderbans where the capacity of Byne to absorb carbons is near about 35 tonnes per hectare,” Mitra said.

Mitra felt that the situation was fraught with danger because less absorption of CO2 from the atmosphere meant higher proportion of CO2 in the atmosphere which traps heat.

Comparing the situation with mangrove forests in Indonesia and Vietnam, Mitra said, “In Indonesia, the absorption capacity of carbons is 114 tonnes/hectare whereas in Vietnam the quantity is 80—90/tonnes per hectare.”

Going into the reasons for the scenario in the Sunderbans, a UNESCO world heritage site, Mitra said, “One of the main reasons is a sharp rise in the salinity of water in Matla river.”

“The mangroves grow on fresh water, but because of lack of fresh water the height of mangroves has come down substantially, reducing its capacity to absorb carbons,” he said.

He points out that as fresh water is available in eastern Sunderabans, the trees there are taller.

Owing to deposition of silt at the confluence of the Vidyadhari and Matla rivers, fresh water is unable to enter the Matla river, giving rise to its salinity, he says.

“The other reasons are shrimp farming, mushrooming of brick kiln industry and deforestation which together have added to the reduced growth of Byne mangroves,” Mitra said.

He explained that the situation was better in the eastern Sunderbans where there was less human incursion as well as in the western part which was fed by a regular supply of fresh water from the Hooghly river.

According to Mitra, if steps are not taken to remove the silt deposits at the meeting point of the Vidyadhari and Malta rivers, the situation may get worse. He suggested dredging of the channel and afforestation besides checking shrimp farming.

Peacocks at Sunset

The world’s most spectacular border ceremony takes place every day before dusk at Wagah. Roughly halfway between Lahore in Pakistan and Amritsar in India, Wagah is where the Grand Trunk Road [1] intersects with the so-called Radcliffe Line, dividing the Punjabi town between the two countries. The only official road link [2] across the highly contentious and fairly recently fought-over Indo-Pakistan border passes through the town’s monumental border gate.

As large crowds gather on either side of the gate, claps and cheers of “Pakistan Zindabad!” and “Jai Hind!” [3] charge the air with anticipation, as if before a sports game. What follows the closing of the gate is indeed a contest between two teams. The khaki-clad ones are the Indian Border Security Forces; the Pakistan Rangers are resplendent in black. Each of the players is over six feet tall, sports fearful facial hair and carries impressive turban-cum-coxcomb headgear.

The apparent intent of the synchronized ceremony is to lower the flag of both nations before sunset. But as the sentries from either side dance their aggressive no-touch tango, the real object of the ceremony becomes clear: to act as a vent, right here on the geopolitical fault line, for the deep hostility and mutual resentment between India and Pakistan. In an unintentional side effect, the ceremony also exposes the mutual resemblance between both sides.

It’s been called “carefully choreographed contempt” [4]: the soldiers mirror each other’s goose-steps, thumb-thumps, martial cries and intimidating stares. This curious hybrid of battle and ballet may last up to an hour. When both flags have been hauled down, the only physical contact between both sides occurs: a curt handshake between officials, which signals that the ceremonial border gate is officially shut.

And all this for a trickle of traffic. Apart from a few border-crossing tourists, the number of locals going back and forth is no more than a few dozen each day. Such lack of interest in each other’s affairs reeks of the contempt bred by familiarity. Pakistan and India share truckloads of history, but in their relationship, that heritage counts as “baggage.” The half dozen wars and skirmishes fought between this South-Asian version of Cain and Abel can all be related to the moment of their conjoined birth in 1947, when they were severed by the Radcliffe Line — a hastily drawn up border that remains an open wound, even if dressed in the colorful bandage of Wagah’s daily flag-lowering ceremony.

Joe Burgess/The New York Times

At the end of World War II, a victorious but weakened Britain realized it could no longer hold on to India, the jewel in its imperial crown [5]. That was due in no small part to the non-violent resistance pioneered by Mahatma Gandhi, which revolutionized revolution itself. Sadly, Gandhi’s vision of a peaceful, non-communal India didn’t survive the British Raj [6][7]; other leaders of the Indian independence movement pushed for territorial separation based on religion, notably Muhammad Ali Jinnah’s Muslim League, which feared becoming a minority in a Hindu-majority nation.

One could argue that this split in the pro-independence camp was not only to London’s tactical advantage, but also at least partly of its making. When, in the first decade of the 20th century, the Indian electoral franchise was widened to include more locals, it was partitioned along confessional lines. Perhaps out of concern not to marginalize certain groups; but perhaps also with a mind toward that age-old adage, “divide et impera” [8]. If so, only the first part of the policy was a success. The post-war Labour government of Clement Attlee wanted to get rid of India in a hurry, the only sticking point being how not to get blamed for the intensifying communal conflict.

In early 1947, Lord Louis Mountbatten, the last British viceroy of India [9], set the deadline for independence for Aug. 15. On July 8, the British lawyer Sir Cyril Radcliffe arrived in Indian with a brief for a line on the map that would divide Hindu-majority lands from Muslim-majority ones in as equitable a manner as possible. Radcliffe was a brilliant legal mind, but he had no border-making experience, nor had he ever been to India — though such “impartiality” was judged to be an advantage by all parties involved.

With barely five weeks between start and finish, Radcliffe had to chair not one but two boundary commissions: one for Bengal in the east, another for the Punjab in the west [10]. Each Radcliffe Border Commission was composed of four judges, two from the Muslim League, two from the (secular, but mainly Hindu) Congress Party. The resulting deadlock left all the major decisions to Radcliffe himself. The goal of both commissions was to establish contiguous zones containing comfortable majorities of either side’s co-religionists — but Radcliffe was allowed to take vague “other factors” into account, including (but possibly not limited to) infrastructural and economic considerations.

Mountbatten instructed Radcliffe not to mind the military angle — the artificial borders would be indefensible anyway. Radcliffe followed existing subdivisions, generally but not precisely following the course of a few rivers, creating a very convoluted border indeed.

Understandably, Radcliffe’s final proposals met with howls of disapproval from both sides. Even before he had completed his work, mutual suspicion and rumors about the eventual course of the border led to deadly violence on the ground. To create perceptual distance between the independence of India and Pakistan and the accompanying riots — and especially to deflect blame for the latter from Britain — Mountbatten postponed publication of the Radcliffe Border Commissions’ findings to two days after Aug. 15.

For those two days, India and Pakistan were like conjoined twins. With long stretches of the border undefined on Independence Day, some towns raised both the Indian and Pakistani flags. Following the release of the border scheme, called the Radcliffe Award, violence escalated to horrendous levels. When all was over, pogroms and ethnic cleansing had left up to 1 million dead and forced 12 million to move one way or the other across the new border.

Disgusted and horrified, Radcliffe burned all his papers and refused the fee of 40,000 rupees for his work. He left on Independence Day and never returned.

His border may have been hastily and arbitrarily drawn, but it is hard to see how any new, religion-based borderline across relatively integrated lands would not have led to chaos, violence and bloodshed. Yet the speed with which Britain wanted to leave India, and the internal dynamics of Indian politics, necessitated such a border. Radcliffe’s commissions achieved one goal: they gave all parties involved cover — everybody was able to blame the border, and its bloody consequences, on everyone but themselves.

Joe Burgess/The New York Times

The term “Radcliffe Line” is sometimes applied as a pars pro toto to the entire Indo-Pakistani border. But to be precise, we need to distinguish between the two Radcliffe Lines [11] drawn up by either of the Radcliffe Border Commissions: the current Indo-Bangladeshi border, and the Indo-Pakistani border as it runs through the Punjab. This second Radcliffe Line forms part of the so-called International Border, which courses down to the Arabian Sea, dividing the Pakistani provinces of Punjab and Sindh from the Indian states of Punjab, Rajasthan and Gujarat. This is the least-contested part of the line dividing both countries [12], running through the thinly populated Thaar Desert and the Great Rann of Kutch, an enormous seasonal salt marsh.

The tricky part of the 1,800-mile line dividing Pakistan and India lies north of Punjab. This used to be the princely state of Kashmir, the ruler of which had to decide after independence whether to accede to India or Pakistan. Because of the state’s Muslim majority and its contiguity with Pakistan, this should have been a no-brainer. The state’s Hindu ruler had other plans. But while the maharajah was maneuvering to keep Kashmir neutral and independent from both — a sort of Himalayan Switzerland — a pro-Pakistan rebellion forced him to ask for Indian assistance, which was granted only after Kashmir agreed to join India. War broke out between Pakistan and India, and the two newborn countries fought to a standstill over Kashmir in 1948, and again in 1965 — and again in 1999.

Most of Kashmir is Indian-held, while the Pakistani hold a crescent-shaped eastern bit. The line dividing both is not an international border, determined by a commission, a reassuringly full line on the map, but a “line of control,” the result of an armistice, represented cartographically by the much more ephemeral dotted line.

To further complicate matters, there’s also a “line of actual control” in the subcontinent’s High North, dividing territory held by India but claimed by Pakistan from territory held by China but claimed by India (got that?). This area, called Aksai Chin, was occupied by China during the brief Sino-Indian War of 1962 [13]. And while India and Pakistan agreed to respect the line of control by the Simla Agreement in 1972, that document left out the Siachen Glacier, subsequently occupied by India in 1984 and occasionally skirmished over (although sub-zero temperatures and avalanches claim more lives than the actual fighting).

Sixty-five years after the acrimonious divorce between India and Pakistan, the border remains a throbbing wound of separation — yet a wound elemental to both nations’ psyche. So is there no hope for lasting peace? There is, if you believe that small steps matter: in 2010, the commander in charge of the Pakistani Rangers announced that the aggressive nature of the Wagah ceremony would be toned down to reflect the desire for improved relationship between both countries. No details are available on the specifics. Did the sentries have their moustaches clipped? Or does that curt handshake last just a bit longer nowadays?Radcliffe’s arbitration, and the subsequent subdivision of the subcontinent, has had many unintended consequences, the most important being the elevation of the British Raj’s inter communal conflict to that of an international fault line. A chilling addition to the ever-looming risk of war occurred in May 1998, when first India, then Pakistan conducted successful test explosions of atomic bombs, raising the specter of fratricide by nuclear war.