The teashop in the middle of the river

THE TEASHOP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RIVER
Indrani Ganguly


We’d been rowing down the Ganges River at Benares for about an hour. The sun was hot but the river breezes were cool, far more refreshing than the chill of the air-conditioned rooms and cars that we’d been hopping in and out of. The monsoons were still around shedding their watery load onto the land and into the waterways, so the river was at its deepest and most majestic. The waters rippled and splashed against the boat carrying us forward. My son leant over to trail his fingers in the water and was promptly asked by the boat owner not to do so.

‘It’s fifty metres deep here in the middle’, he said. ‘It would be hard to pull you out if you fell in. The waters can go up to 80 metres in bad flood years.’ He pointed to markings on the walls of the buildings that lined the riverbanks where the local municipality had recorded the year and the height of the floodwaters.

‘This year Mother Ganga has been in a good mood. Lots of water, lots of fish…,’ one of the other boatmen remarked.

The children had chosen a traditional rowing boat with rowers rather than a more modern one with an outboard motor.

‘Makes less noise,’ the owner said nodding approvingly. ‘You can enjoy the ambience better.’

Ambience there certainly was as we travelled down the river. Bathers were washing off their sins and sweat and cautioning the little boys leaping off the ramparts of buildings into the waters just for fun as little boys do everywhere in the world. Colourful palaces lined the banks, built by the wealthy from many provinces to house themselves and other pilgrims. Shops and temples with their heady mix of colours all strove to entice the pilgrims from all over India, many wearing the distinctive clothes of their regions.

Experience rather than ambience was what my son had had in mind though. Soon after we set off he asked the owner if he could have a turn at the oars.

‘Me too,’ piped in my daughter, never one to be outdone.

‘On the way back,’ said the owner, ‘we’re going against the current and it’ll be too strong for you.’ And with that, they had to be content.

We rowed along seeing more pilgrims, palaces and temples. Above us the dark and graceful kites that dot Indian skies everywhere swooped around, sharp eyes and sharp claws ever ready to divest the unwary humans of a tasty snack. Occasionally there was a brilliant flash of blue as a kingfisher dived in to capture a small fish and then raced away with its prize. The cormorants were less visible, their discreet grays and browns blending in with the wooden posts on which they perched.

‘I’m hungry!’ said my son.

‘I’m thirsty!’ said my daughter.

Neither looked madly enthusiastic about the fruit and water we had put in their backpacks. ‘I want some chips,’ my daughter began to whine.

My husband groaned. ‘Don’t start that.’

‘I want a cold drink,’ chanted my son.

‘And how do you expect me to get chips and Coke in the middle of the river?’ I began when I spotted a little makeshift construction on a sandbank about 100 metres to our right. It couldn’t be…yes it was a tea-stall!


The rowers who had been listening to us amused perked up at our offer of some refreshments and rowed even harder. Before long, they were mooring the boat and helping us to hop off and wade through the shallows onto the sandy beach. The stall owner, a small man with a large moustache welcomed us and quickly produced chips and biscuits for the children. There was no Coca-cola but, their hunger attended to, our son and daughter said they would be happy with the water.

The snacks devoured they raced off to chase the crows and herons that were hopping around, looking for some tasty titbits. We adults sipped the strong and refreshing tea the owner had quickly brewed for us.

‘Lucky for us you’re here,’ I remarked to the tea owner.

‘Very lucky indeed, madam,’ he replied. ‘We won’t be here tomorrow. The waters are rising and we’ll be moving things out tonight. That’s why there are no cold drinks.’

‘Do you come every year?’

‘Every year, madam,’ he said. ‘My wife had a dream that the river goddess wanted a place for the travellers to rest and recover as they travelled in her heart. She noticed this stretch when she was taking our son to school and said I should build this shop. I thought she was crazy but she persisted. My wife is a very strong-willed woman, as strong as these river currents and I gave in. It was a wise decision. We make a reasonable amount that helps us in the lean months when there is not a lot of work in the fields and I have met many travellers from all over world and heard their tales.’

‘Is your wife here?’ I asked looking around.

‘No madam, she passed away last year with the shaking fever. But I have kept the shop.’

We finished our tea in silence then made our journey back. This time we were going with the current and the children had their much-wanted go at the oars for a few minutes. Both admitted that it was much harder than they had thought it would be but would like to carry on.



The boat owner laughed at their enthusiasm but refused saying they were too young and he did not wish them to damage their young muscles.

That evening we returned to the banks of the Ganges to view the evening ceremonies. Young boys ran up to us offering for sale little paper lamps to set afloat in the river in memory of loved ones. I lit one for the woman who had been the inspiration behind the tea stall and hoped her spirit still shone as brightly as the candle that floated away to join its comrades in the waters and add to the magic of the night.
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