We are walking to the Ganga, following a grassy path marked with the silent dust of devotion—each step like a pulse carrying us forward, going with the flow.

Gurudeva, a holy man of great spirit, leads us, and as we go, people pause, bow, offer their pranaams. In cars, on foot, pilgrims of every path, they all pause, moved by the sight of sanctity.

This is India, where a holy man gathers pranaams along his way, as naturally as leaves gather under a tree. We are going with the flow!

In the realm of Ganga, one must think of Ganga, feel her, bathe in her embrace, let her current carry every thought. Sitaramdas Omkarnath taught that even if you live far, far from her shores, just chanting her name, “Ganga Ganga Ganga…” can cleanse, can bless, can free the soul.

Going with the flow!

Maatar Gange, O Mother Ganga! This is how Sitaramdas Omkarnath would greet her, this is how Vitthal Maharaj greets her, each word a petal upon her waters, a breath going with the flow.

What does it mean, this going with the flow?

There’s so much talk of it, theories and ideals about “flow”, but only a purified soul, one bathed in God-consciousness, truly knows.

To go with the flow is to let the individual soul, jivatma, merge with the universal soul, paramatma; to let one’s consciousness flow into the greater ocean of the divine.

So we walk to Ganga, letting her call shape our path. Going with the flow!

A sign appears—“Dogs are not allowed on Janaki Setu”. Vitthal Maharaj, the Saint, smiles, saying, “Dogs may be banned, but the God who lives within the dog is always allowed.”

With laughter in our hearts, we walk on, stepping naturally into a private ghat. No one stops us. That’s going with the divine flow!

No one would halt the holy man; divinity flows where it will, unstoppable as the river herself.

As we reach the ghat, a person from a nearby resort hurries forward, offering a chair for Maharaj. It’s effortless, a gesture as spontaneous as breath, a reverence woven into the culture. Going with the Sanatana flow!

Maharaj sits, gazing at a poor fakir fast asleep on the ghat, his only possession, a blanket rolled like a pillow under his head, limbs relaxed, face softened in the cradle of Ganga’s shore. “Even in his own home, he wouldn’t sleep so soundly,” Maharaj muses, “This is the lap of Ganga Ma, where the deepest rest finds us.”

We look out over the Ganga, where at first only a few birds fly. Then, in an instant, a vast flock appears, their wings painting circles in the sky, each arc as fluid as the river beneath them. The birds swoop down, dipping their heads into the Ganga, bathing with a graceful joy. Seagulls and cranes take their seats on the rocks, like meditators lost in some divine trance.

Across the river, we can see Hanuman’s hand-painted form on the ashram wall, a reminder that Janaki Setu leads us to this very place, where Hanuman’s spirit watches over Ganga’s flow.

The birds swoop low, almost brushing us as if greeting us in flight. Their dance stirs something deep within, words fall away, leaving only their silence as they wheel in graceful rounds over the river. Then, as if called, the flock aligns, wingtip to wingtip, and moves in formation toward where Maharaj sits. They fly so close it feels like a blessing, before sweeping away in unison.

One disciple nearby remarks, “Maharaj, they came to offer you pranaam.” Maharaj smiles, watching as each bird takes its turn diving into the waters, headlong in communion with the river. He chuckles, “No, they didn’t come to offer me pranaam. They came to take their shikaar, machali.”

Going with the flow, always going with the flow!

And we watch them, the birds who know the rhythm of this river better than any of us, coming home to her as we, too, are learning to do.

One of the disciples walks down the ghat, steps into Maa Ganga, bends down, and offers his pranaam. He cups his hands, sips a little Gangajal, and gently runs his palm over his head, a gesture of self-cleansing and reverence. Then, after washing his hands clean, he fills his anjali – cupped hands – with Gangajal and walks up to Maharaj, presenting it to him.

Maharaj’s face lights up, deeply touched by the disciple’s spontaneous offering. “ये बहुत अच्छा किया, मैं भी यही सोच रहा था ( Ye bahut accha kiya, mai bhi yahi soch raha tha - You did very well; I was thinking the same),” he says warmly.

He lifts the Gangajal, offers his own pranaam, places it on his head, and then, with a smile, sprinkles the remaining drops on all the disciples as a blessing.

The best part arrives now, Vitthal Maharaj is silently gazing at the river, his eyes fixed upon Ganga’s eternal flow. We, too, fall silent, lulled into a shared meditative state by the rhythm of her waters. Ganga’s voice is in her flow, and in this moment, we are her listeners, quietly attuned to something sacred.

After a time, Maharaj begins to speak. “An enlightened master once told Guruji, Sitaramdas Omkarnath…Sit at the river’s edge. Let the flowing water of Ganga become your focus, your object of meditation. Fix your gaze on her ceaseless flow, and do not blink. Keep looking, unwavering, until tears fill your eyes. This is like trataka—meditation on flowing water. This jala darshan can lead to samadhi. It calms the mind, offers inner surrender that purifies the chitta, cleanses the vrittis, and draws you into deep meditation.”

With that, Maharaj grows silent again, and we take up his instruction. Fixing our gaze on Ganga, we practice the flow meditation as he described, eyes unwavering until tears begin to form, spilling down, mingling with the emotion that rises from within. In those tears, we feel a blessing, a triple blessing—of being here at the feet of a holy man, of being on the sacred banks of Ganga, and of receiving a timeless, living technique for stilling the mind.

Going with the flow, we become the flow, swept into a current of silence that binds us to her waters and to each other.

We walk back, a gentle silence wrapping around us. Some poor children approach, eagerly insisting we buy flowers. We’re inclined to ignore them, moving aside to make way for Maharaj, brushing them away softly. But Maharaj stops, smiling at the children, and tells us, “उनको कुछ देना पड़ेगा (Unko kuch dena padega - We must give them something).”

We begin reaching into our pockets, finding small notes, and hand each child ten rupees. Maharaj’s face lights up, his joy shining through. He says, “ये सोच के दो कि भगवान ही हाथ बढ़ाकर मांग रहा है (Ye soch ke do ki Bhagwan hi haath badhakar maang raha hai - Give with the thought that it is God himself extending his hand to ask)!”

Going with the flow!

May Ganga bless us to go with the flow!

~ Raj Supe (Kinkar Vishwashreyananda)
Editor, The Mother