The scene now opens on the right bank of the Ganges. We quitted the
Bhagruttī (a branch of the sacred river) at Sooty, and have now entered
upon the main stream, at a point where it is of amazing breadth, the
view of it only terminating with the horizon: the waves roar, and roll,
and foam like those at sea; whilst a _tūfān_ (one of the heavy storms of
India) is blowing fiercely, accompanied by thunder, lightning, heavy
rain, and utter darkness. The impetuous stream, rushing with the force
of a torrent, undermines the banks of the river, and tears up forest
trees by their roots. A voyage at this time is particularly dangerous;
native vessels are swept along with amazing velocity, and when a _tūfān_
is encountered, like the one now blowing, they are frequently wrecked.
Three _dāndīs_ (native boatmen) have been swept by the violence of the
waves from the mast of their sinking vessel; they are striving to regain
their hold: the rest of the crew have sunk to rise no more. These men
are admirable swimmers; they may possibly be carried along by the
current and rescued on some turn of the river, unless from the violence
of the storm they are carried out into the middle of the stream, and
swept onwards, until, overcome by exhaustion, they sink beneath the
waves.
During some periods of the year, a voyage on the Ganges is attended with
great risk. The natives quote the Persian saying as a consolation under
misfortune, “‘What is the use of taking precautions, since what has been
ordained must happen.’ Truly saith the proverb, ‘If the diver were to
think of the jaws of the crocodile, he would never gather precious
pearls.’”