This isn’t just an old tale – it’s a story from just a few years ago when, in the innocent days of childhood, near the banks of the Hindon River, sacks of carrots were kept next to the Shivala temple for us to eagerly await their theft. The broken pieces of earthen pots were turned into slingshots in Hindon, and the small piece (dala) of the pot would skip across the water, becoming a cause for competition among friends.
I’ve spent my entire childhood in its shadow, and countless memories will be buried if Hindon is no more. Always, upon seeing Hindon, the scar on my forehead refreshes the wound of childhood, when we, as children, used to lead our domestic cows and buffaloes to graze near the Hindon River.
Domestic animals, excitedly viewing the life-sustaining water of the Hindon River from a distance, used to run towards it, and my hand got entangled in its rope. I was dragged into the river, leaving a scar on my forehead. The mark of the injury may be on my forehead, but the impact on the heart today is significant.
In the pages of Mahabharata, this historical river “Hindon” is not seen in its current state. In history, Hindon nurtured many civilizations, but today it has become a source of life consumption. I apologize; we have polluted it, treated it like a drain, and turned its nectar-like water into poison. Cancer and other diseases are common in the villages and towns along its banks, making it difficult to escape. The pain is not just in a blocked nose, but it resides in the heart when one departs from it.
Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s efforts to rejuvenate rivers, like the Sabarmati River, to keep them safe and clean, are commendable. I am neither a leader nor an actor with any personal gain in this appeal. I am a Muslim, living in the best of times today, and I wish to express my support and blessings for the reconstruction of the life-giving Hindon River, with the assistance of Prime Minister Narendra Modi in preserving our country’s historical heritage.