Krishna teri Yamuna Maili ho gayi.....

..

I am Yamuna — jamuna for  some, Kalindi  ( kaali nadi)for a  few, and Yami for those who knew me in my celestial days.

My journey has been nothing short of a saga — from the brilliance of the skies to the dust of the earth. Born to Surya, the radiant Sun God, and Sanjana, I was cherished as “Surya Tanaya,” the beloved daughter, and fond sister of Yama, the lord of death.

But destiny  had something else in store A discord between my divine parents led to a cruel decree, as a punishment to my mother, my father banished me from the heavens and left me to wander eternally on the earth.. My descent to Earth is still remembered and celebrated as Yamuna Jayanti, observed with reverence on the Shukla Paksha Saptami of the Chaitra month. Another day close to my heart is Bhai Dooj, when I invite my brother Yama, anoint his forehead with a tilak, and serve him sweets — a ritual of love that blesses brothers with long and healthy lives.

I descended into  dark Kalindi mountains, emerging from the sacred icy womb of Banderpunch Glacier in Uttarakhand. There, I became Yamunotri, one of the four revered Dhams. My waters journey through Uttarkashi, skirt the edges of Himachal, meander through Haryana and Delhi, and finally join  my eternal sister Ganga in Prayagraj. She, the symbol of renunciation; I, of devotion, transition, and inner strength. During this voyage my hues change from lapiz blue to murky black..

I am not just a river in geography, I flow through the very veins of history and mythology.I have  witnessed epics unfold along my course. In Chitrakoot, Sita prayed to me for strength during her exile, crossing my waters on a humble raft. Millenia ago In Vrindavan, the children of the Yadu clan laughed and played on my banks. But my spirit found its stillness the night Vasudeva carried little Krishna across me, calming my  turbulent currents with divine presence. I adored Gopala in silence, watched him tame Kaliya Naag in my depths, and blushed as he teased the Gopis, hiding their clothes.

My devotion was rewarded — Krishna accepted me as one of his consorts, and I came to be known as Krishna Priya. But not all bonds were gentle. His brother Balrama, driven by pride or perhaps intoxicated by Varuni, ordered me to come to him. When I resisted, he carved through me with his plough, forcing a zigzag  painful winding path through Mathura — a scar I still carry with grace.

As centuries passed, I flowed beside the Taj Mahal, my waters playing with birds and reflecting moonlight. Besides flowing along the eastern side of this romantic symbol of eternal love,a soporific town of Agra called Bateshwar  has 101 Shiva temples doting my bank  which make a serene spectacle watching people go temple - hopping ..

With the rise of the Delhi Sultanate and the Mughals, I was called Jamuna. Cities like Siri, Tughlaqabad, and Shahjahanabad bloomed by my banks. The Red Fort, Humayun’s Tomb, and the splendid charbaghs drank from my flow. This was the era when I became the soul of the Ganga-Jamuni Tehzeeb — a confluence of cultures, where Hindu and Muslim traditions wove together like my currents. 

But not all change was kind. The British came, building barrages to control me. Lutyens the chief architect in his original plan had planned to dam me behind Humayun s tomb and make a huge ornamental lake from Red fort to Purana  qila, somewhat like Dal lake in Srinagar, waterway running through the ciry and Delhiites enjoying lake side drives, however to my pleasure ,Viceroy rejected the idea as it would cost them arm and a leg

Then came factories, sewers, and a swelling population of modern India,My sacred waters — once pure enough to heal and bless — turned toxic, frothing with waste. I begrudgingly guzzle and gulp millions of litres of industrial wastes, sewage, plastics and garbage .. and as a ritual during many festivals chemical laden idols are immersed mercilessly into me and this contaminated frothy  ,putrid ,stenchy flow  has become my integral part .. my second skin..

Promises were made. Governments declared campaigns. Chhath Puja saw momentary clean-ups, but little changed. I bore it all — the weight of neglect and the silence of inaction .

Now, a new wind blows. There is movement, effort, a visible transformation and restoration projects going on to rejuvinate and reinvigorate me, restoring me my lost glory, aartis echo on my ghats with marigolds and bobbling diyas floating along.

And  now I hope to I reach Prayagraj, where I merge with sacred ganga and mystical Saraswati  in a pure and holy form.

May the spirit of Ganga-Jamuni Tehzeeb flourish.

May my waters regain their sanctity, and flow once again — proud, pure, and eternal.May KrishnPriya Yami, Kalindi and Yamuna once again gleam with holiness…