Rafting the Ganges

             “There is an 80% chance that the boat will flip today. Does everyone know how to swim?” Sin Jay, the raft guide asked.

 Hours before my Swedish friend, Carolina, and I waited at the “Divine Advanture” cyber café and tourist office (I have found many businesses never consulted dictionaries before making their signs). A truck pulled up with people piled inside and a raft guide sitting in the back. The only place for us was on top of the lifejackets in the bed of the vehicle.

We drove up the winding road that follows the Ganges River to the put-in spot at Shivpuri. The driver sped around corners and honked the horn, but I was less fearful of the ride through the mountains than I had been before. Maybe it was the fact that I couldn’t see where we were going that helped keep my nerves down.

We arrived at the river and the raft had to be inflated. I had never been rafting quite like this before. We sat by the water as Sin Jay and Nandi, his helper, filled the boat with air and then we all put on life jackets and helmets.

Sin Jay gave his speech on rafting safety and described the conditions of the river. It had risen a few feet since the day before so everyone would have to pay attention at all times and paddle hard when needed.

“We go through six minor rapids and three major rapids on this part of the river,” Sin Jay said.

I was curious as to what “major” and “minor” meant in India and began to feel a little nervous about our 16 kilometer journey. I looked at the other passengers and realized that I could probably out swim most of them; at least I wouldn’t be the first to die.

Rafting down the Ganges River in March is a common tourist activity. The water is cold, but the spring runoff has not fully begun so it is still safe. Three Indian tourists, a Canadian man, Carolina and myself, piled into the eight-person raft. Sin Jay and Nandi pushed us into the water and hopped in.

The first rapid was called “Roller Coaster,” one of the major raids we were to face. We were instructed not to speak while in rapids so that the guide could be heard.

 Thousands of gallons of water rushed around us as we were lifted and dropped by the river. Someone let out a shout of excitement and everyone in the raft relaxed a little. As we floated down the river, we sang songs and laughed. Monkeys swung in the trees along the banks.

Another major rapid approached and we watched as a boat with fifteen men disappeared for a few seconds as it dropped nearly two meters. The boat reappeared and we paddled into the current. With my feet braced below the seat, I was nearly tossed from the raft, but caught my balance and continued on the journey.

“If you want you can jump out of the boat on the next rapid and float through it,” Sin Jay said. Carolina and I leaned all of our weight backwards and fell into the water. It was a moment too soon and Carolina was sucked under the boat.

“The life jacket was pushing me up and I really had to struggle to get out,” she told me later. “It was the first time I have ever been afraid on a river.”

Her pale face and terror stricken eyes told me more than I wanted to know. We floated in the water for a while and some of the others joined us in the current. It was strange, asking people where they were from and what they did for a living as we bobbed up and down in lifejackets.

When we got back into the boat I was talking to the Canadian about cliff jumping in Blue Mesa. He couldn’t believe that people jump into cold water from high places for fun (he was a city boy from Toronto).  As we came around the next bend of the river we paddled the raft to shore and Sin Jay showed me a large rock I could jump from. Immediately I set off, but it was strange cliff jumping with a lifejacket and helmet on, the drop was only a few meters.

In the next rapid we hit a log with the bottom of the raft. It began to deflate so, once again, we paddled to shore. Sin Jay and Nandi flipped it over and found a piece of wood sticking out of the rubber bottom. There were no extra patches to fix the hole; we continued on the journey with the hiss of deflation in our ears.

We passed Ramana’s Garden and I pointed out the area that the children wash their clothes twice a week. Carolina and I were dropped off down the river, under the Ram Jhula Bridge. We sat on some stairs in the sunshine to dry off before our walk home, but Nandi informed us that many men with “bad thinking” were watching us. Like two drowned rats, we walked home. It truly was a “Divine Advanture.”