The River Goddess - Pooja Joshi

I was smoking a joint under one of the sprawling banyans on a hot summer afternoon when I saw the woman walk out of the river. The fascinating thing was that she didn’t seem wet at all – in fact, her clothes billowed in a wind that existed nowhere but around her, as if its only purpose were to enhance her beauty. She wore a saree like the ones I had seen draped around statues of goddesses in the temple, silky red with wispy golden threads. I thought I might have been dreaming, or perhaps I was simply hallucinating, but then she came towards me and spoke.

Take me to your village, she said in a tone that could only be described as holier-than- thou. I suppose that made sense, because whoever – whatever – she was, she was indeed holier than me.

I had no interest in incurring the wrath of this river goddess, so I immediately stood to attention and led her towards my village. She spoke nothing further as she followed me with a gait that could be described as more of a float than a walk. I wished I could dispel the drugs from my system, because I had no idea how to explain this phenomenon to the villagers.

People began to gather as soon as we reached the path that waded between the houses. Everyone could sense it – something divine radiated around her. I didn’t know where exactly she wanted to go, so I figured we would make our way towards the main square. The children huddled together, wide-eyed and whispering excitedly to each other. A river goddess. A miracle in our little village where nothing ever happened.

When we reached the square, a sizable crowd had gathered. The river goddess surveyed us all with neither hostility nor love, but utter indifference, her lip curling as she looked around at the muddy dhotis of the laborers and the sweaty brown sarees of the housewives.

Though few of you ever remember me, I am the patron deity of this village, she began, crossing her arms. We shuffled in shame. Indeed, compared to the temples of gold and bronze the big cities had built for their gods and goddesses, we had not done much for her. Nonetheless, protecting all of you is my duty. Therefore, heed my warning: in ten days time, the mountain that lies dormant just beyond the forest will rumble to life. Fire will spill forth from its summit, destroying everything in its path. You will have to leave this village behind and come to the river, where my waters will protect you. With that, she promptly turned to mist and disappeared into the wind.

We were stunned at this pronouncement. How could the silent green mountain pose such a danger? The villagers immediately began to shout amongst themselves.

Tricks and illusions! She is no river goddess – she is a charlatan! The mountain will do no such thing! This is a charade to force us to leave our village so a neighboring kingdom might conquer us! What utter, foolish nonsense!

The village elders held a council that evening to assess the river goddess’ warning. They questioned me for over an hour about the circumstances of her appearance. I insisted I had seen her emerge from the waters as if she was made of them, but of course, I was indeed inebriated. Of course he has no idea what he actually saw. This is just a magician playing with our minds. Divinity? Bah! What utter, foolish nonsense!

Thus it was decided that as a precaution, the engineers would build walls of iron at the far end of the village should the mountain erupt. They will hold against the lava and redirect it towards the far-off fields. They spoke smugly of their capabilities, and got to work immediately. People laughed off the river goddess and her machinations. We could protect ourselves just fine.

On the ninth day, the levees were completed. The mountain remained calm, and the birds continued to flit about in the trees at its summit. Surely there was no danger lurking beneath the ground.

I was not so confident. After all, I had seen the river goddess appear from within the waters. So, without the knowledge of the others, I snuck away to the banyans at the banks, and I called out to her, my hands folded in prayer. Something shifted in the air, and she appeared to me instantly, simply walking out of the gentle current.

Is it only you? I nodded to her, explaining that the engineers were confident they could protect the village. She shook her head, as if she thought us all idiots, but then held out her arms to me.

Come along, then. I waded into the waters and she gathered me up like a mother does a child. I felt the river collapse around me, surrounding me with a protective shield of water. And then the two of us remained like that as the night passed, waiting to see what would happen the next day.

The sun rose to the east, as it always did, streaks of light spreading through the valley as it climbed above the mountain. The sounds of morning began to echo throughout the village. Mothers crowing at their children to take a bath. Rickshaw pullers oiling their wheels. The milkman making rounds on his creaking bicycle. The mountain remains as it always had! A giggle. A cackle. The river goddess shook her head and wrapped her watery arms around me tightly.

As the sun continued its journey through the sky, I felt a rumble run through the earth. The ground shuddered around us, but the water remained cool and safe around my body. With a screech and a moan, the mountain’s summit splintered, and a great plume of smoke blasted into the air. There were screams in the village, but no one came to the river. The river goddess sighed. Only a moment later, balls of fire began to rain down from the sky. My ears thudded as the mountain sucked itself inward and then belched like a wastrel father. Lava began to flow down its side, racing towards the iron walls. Still, no one appeared at the river banks.

The lava reached the iron walls, and stunningly, I saw them hold! I looked back at the river goddess, who said nothing, but watched silently, her eyes glistening with tears. Or perhaps there were no tears, but simply the water that surrounds her always. I turned back around to look at the walls, which had begun to hiss with steam. Only moments later, they collapsed, and the lava entered the village. I could do nothing but squeeze my body against the reassuring arms of the river goddess as the rooftops began to fall, and distress filled the air.

The river goddess cursed, and I felt a swell of water grow around me, bulging as she willed all the waters from her source in the Himalayas to her end in the sea to come to this place. With a great heave, we spilled over the banks, a great wave inundating the ground as we raced towards the village. Over the path we had taken ten days prior, through the trees, until we reached the houses again. There was chaos in the streets as people clambered over each other, trying to escape the angry fire sent by the mountain. I watched bones bend and crack, eyes roll backwards, limbs strewn about. I saw trees torn from their roots, houses torn from their foundations, babies torn from their mothers. The fire of the mountain was as fair as it was relentless – no one could escape its hunger for flesh, blood, and everything else that dared stand in its path. The engineers were nowhere to be seen. I remained safe in my cocoon of water, and I felt the goddess expand her embrace to envelop the other villagers. Soon, my bubble grew and others joined me. First, the children, their soot-stained faces wiped clean by the gentle waves. Then the elderly, their arthritic bones given a moment’s rest. Then the rest. Until we were all floating in the cool wetness, watching our home burn as the goddess battled the flames.

At the end of it all, the mountain quieted once more, its anger quelled and hunger satiated. The river goddess, her silver face now lined with the soreness of saving the world, pulled back her waters, depositing us all on the banks and receding into the gentle flow once more. We walked towards the wreckage and cried out in great sorrow. The fire had taken everything from us. We lamented the loss of our homes, our businesses, our gardens and our squares.

She could have done more. The cross-looking grocer was the one who said it first. There were murmurs of agreement. Everything is destroyed. All our livelihoods. We’ll have to start from scratch. I couldn’t understand it. Had it not been for her, they would all be dead. I listened with disbelief as they decided not to rebuild the river goddess’ temple out of spite.

I ran back to the banks of the river, where she was again in her mortal form, sitting under the banyan where I had first seen her. She sat on the grass, leaning back on her arms as she considered the blissfully ignorant clouds lazily floated through the sky. It was as though she was waiting for me.

What happens now? I lowered my head, ashamed of Humanity.

She sighed, saying nothing for a moment. Then she clicked her tongue.

Do you have another joint?

I settled down next to her, leaning against her cold, watery-but-not-wet shoulder, and felt the love of a forgotten mother. I lit another joint and offered it to her, and we both smoked until we forgot everything, because what else was there to do?

Originally published by The William & Mary Review 2023

Pooja Joshi is a Desi writer from North Carolina. She is currently based in Boston, where she is pursuing an MBA and MPP at the Harvard Business School and the Harvard Kennedy School of Government. Previously, she has worked in health tech strategy and management consulting. Her work has been published in several outlets, including The Bombay Review, The Ilanot Review, and The William & Mary Review. You can find her at www.pdjoshi.com or on X/Twitter @poojajoshitalks.