Ganga Comes Down Gently

Long ago, there lived a good and gentle king named Bhagiratha.

Bhagiratha had one big wish. He wished that Ganga, the holy river of the sky, would come down to earth. He wanted her cool, clean water to flow across the land.

So Bhagiratha went to the quiet mountains. He sat under the open sky. He closed his eyes, folded his hands, and began to pray.

He prayed in the warm sun. He prayed in the cool rain. He prayed when snow fell softly on his shoulders. Days became months. Months became years. Still Bhagiratha prayed, calm and patient, with a full heart.

At last, a soft voice came from the sky. "I will come," said Ganga. "Your patience has called me."

But Ganga was very mighty. She was a whole river from the sky, wide and strong and rushing. If she fell straight down, the soft earth could not hold her.

So Bhagiratha prayed again. This time, he prayed to Shiva ji. "Please help Ganga come down gently," he said.

Shiva ji smiled. He went to the top of a tall mountain. He stood there, calm and still. He opened his long, thick hair, like a soft, dark forest. Then he looked up and waited.

From high in the sky, Ganga began to fall. She shone silver and white. She rushed down like a thousand winds.

Shiva ji caught her in his hair, softly, softly. The great river curled into his thick locks, round and round. It was like water swirling into a soft bowl. The rushing sound grew quiet. The big waves grew small.

Then, from one small lock of Shiva ji's hair, Ganga slipped out. Slowly and gently, she came.

She trickled down the mountain, sparkling in the sun. Drip, drip, drip. Then she became a little stream. Then a happy river, singing over the stones. Slowly and gently, she came.

Bhagiratha walked ahead, and Ganga followed him. Down the hills she flowed, and across the wide plains. Wherever she went, the grass grew green. Flowers opened. Birds came to drink. Children dipped their toes in her cool water and laughed.

Bhagiratha's eyes filled with joy. His long years of patience were worth it. Ganga had come, mighty and holy, and yet so gentle.

Even today, people lovingly call her Ganga maa. They float little lamps on her water in the evening. And one of her names is Bhagirathi, after the patient king.

Slowly and gently, she came. And slowly and gently, she still flows.