The Neugal khud is not just  the Beas river’s important tributary

                 Though enfeebled now, it is our lifeline; rich in legend and history

                 This week a small little personal incident about it I recall

                 Read it as you hear the welcome sounds of season’s rainfall

The Neugal khud now, and then-when I nearly drowned

           

                                    Photo, courtesy: R G Sud

The Neugal khud nowadays is no more the khud of the 60’s and 70’s. Dammed near its origin ( for power generation), it is now a feeble and frail tributary snaking its way to join the Beas near Tira Sujanpur. Along its entire course, for sand and boulder, it has been mined and mined no end to render it almost comatose and gasping for dear life. The ever swelling crowds of summer tourists have fouled its banks and waters with plastic and litter. The growing and urbanizing towns have polluted it with waste of all descriptions.  That it still flows and gives the visiting tourist a dip of a lifetime in its icy cool waters is but a tribute to its innate resilience and the Dhauladhar’s eternal benevolence.

Half a century ago and before, it rippled with power and energy. It looked bubbly and youthful- full of joy and exuberance. I was then a young toddler in a village school. Summers there were hot…very hot indeed. Therefore (in summers) the schools started early and closed at 1.30. After the school, what better way could there be to cool parched bodies than to take a plunge in the Neugal’s sparkling, gurgling waters? Barely 2 kilometers away from our village, reached by a downhill trot on a cobbled track – its stones hot in the afternoon sun almost singeing our feet – it always seemed to beckon us  holding an irresistible attraction.

So while the elders retired for their siesta to stave off those lazy, drowsy, soporific hours under the sun’s unrelenting fury, I, in the company of neighbourhood lads, sneaked out to the khud. My friends were older than me and all of them expert swimmers- unlike me. We would frolic about on the Neugal’s sandy banks making little castles and homes or run around or play other silly little games. We would also try our hands at catching small little fish that lurked in the narrow crevices of boulders where water was shallow. Some of my pals had deft fingers and did catch some at times; I never could. Later, on our way back, we would drop anchor under the shade of a tree, make small fire with dry twigs, roast the fish and share the prized catch in small bits and pieces!

I never strayed into the Neugal’s deeper waters and just hung around the river’s edge, content with splashing water over the body or taking a short dip.  But my companions would, often one by one, stand on a high rock on the khud’s bank and in a daring sortie, plunge into its roaring waters. They would either swim across to the opposite bank with masterful strokes of hands and feet; or clenching their nostrils with the thumb and finger, go down into the watery depths to emerge moments later and then swim off to either shore. After a little rest on the rocky outcrops or over the sand, their swimming sprees and antics would resume. I felt very jealous and dearly wished to emulate them. To that end I began to learn swimming on my own. Gingerly, I began to venture a little deeper where water was about waist high. From there I would try to beat my arms and legs wildly about and make it back to the shore. After sustained efforts lasting some days, I got it into my head that I knew how to swim. I was now ready to try, qualify the test and join the swimmers’ elite band. So one day, I too stood on the rock, tensed my body up for the plunge and hit the waters. And to my horror, the mighty, gushing, sinewy waves swallowed me up like a hungry beast. As I was going down and drowning, one of the older fellows who happened to be swimming very close by, might have noticed this. Quickly, he got his arms under me, hoisted me up, made me buoyant again and then heaved me along to the safety of the bank. Thus was my life saved from meeting a watery grave. I never tried swimming seriously again and when I recall that incident, it sends shivers down my spine.

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