Once upon a time there was a king named Sarga, in the ancient great city of Ayodya, who had no children. Finally a great yogi told Sarga's two wives that they would have children - one of them would have a very great son, and one would have many.
Queen Sumati desired to have the many, and so she gave birth to a gourd. The gourd burst open, and 60,000 princes sprung from within. 60,000 sons!
They were all strong and brave and although the king probably did not know all of their names (in India it is not rare for a father to forget his kids' names, even if he only has three of them) he certainly loved them all.
One day, the king's best horse was found missing, right when he wanted to do a special ceremony and needed his horse.
The king dispatched his beloved 60,000 sons to find the horse and bring him home.
After ages of intense searching, the horse (who had been kidnapped by a demon) was found near the hermitage of a great sage, a yogi of great fame, who was at the time, and as usual, deep in meditation.
Some of the princes, quite wrongly, felt suspicious of the yogi. And as they stood
there planning to confront him, their weapons drawn and their princely shoulders taught and erect, the yogi felt their presence and opened his eyes.
Great yogis, it should be mentioned, do not like to be falsely accused of wrongdoings.
Even less do they like being disturbed while they are deep in their yoga meditation. This particular yogi still had some work to do on controlling his emotions, and when he opened his eyes the force of his displeasure burned the fine princes, within seconds, into a large heap of gray ash.
60,000 princes, gone.
You can imagine the scene back at the great palace that evening. The sounds of shocked wailing filled the kingdom; the future was suddenly over.
Messengers were sent to implore of the great yogi to return the boys to life but the yogi informed them that only Ganga, the heavenly river which was the water body of The Mother, could fix what had been done.
The princes, who had not been laid to rest in the proper way but rather burned alive, were doomed to live between the worlds - their souls could not go forward because they had not been released from their former sins before they had been burned.
Only Ganga could cleanse their ashes - but she was in heaven, she was not earthly, and no one knew how to bring her down.
This formally boisterous kingdom became a barren place, a ghost town, and time dragged on. The remaining son, the son of the queen who chose to have only one, famous son, had a son, who had a son, and seven generations were born.
And so, in the seventh generation, the young price Bagirath, five years old, was trying to sleep one night in his lonely chamber when he noticed something strange in the sky above the palace gardens.
It was spooky, it was overwhelmingly sad somehow, the boy's heart filled with compassion and he wanted to go outside but he felt a shiver and called out to his mother.
"What is out there? Who is that?" and his mother, knowing she could not lie to this child but wishing that she could, told him about his great great uncles, their souls without peace, hovering forever over and around the palace and the town.
Bagirath's young heart was moved. ‘How can I help, mom?' he demanded, day after day, until she broke down and told him that only Ganga could change the fate of the damned souls, but that she could not come down to earth.
"Why not?" he asked. "Because her force is so strong the earth would shatter. Because she is too good for us. Because she is too high," answered the queen.
"I'm going," announced the young prince.
"Where to?" questioned his horrified parents.
"I'm going to the jungle," said the five year old, "and I will not come back until I meet Shiva. He can catch Ganga in his hair, and let her down slowly. Do not try to change my mind," he told his family.
And off he went into the forest, and he sat down, crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and started calling for Shiva. His concentration was exceptional and it grew stronger very day. And he sat.
Thirty six years passed.
And then Shiva, well pleased, appeared and asked the man what he wanted as a reward. "I want my mother," he said, "your wife. I want Queen Ganga."
And it was agreed, and she came down into Shiva's dreadlocks where she wondered, trapped, until some of her divine confidence (haughtiness, perhaps) was checked. And then Shiva released her. The sight was glorious, say those who were there - water and rainbows filled the heavens; dolphins and porpoises and sea turtles flew in the air.
And slowly she descended, and split into seven: three holy rivers each to the west and the east, and she herself followed Bagirath.
"If you do not look back, I will stay in the form of a lovely woman. Do not look back," she commanded, but he could not resist, and he turned around, and she turned into the River Ganga.
She followed him all the way out to the ocean, flowing where no water had been, purifying all on her path, releasing the princes at last and offering holiness to all in her path. And Bagirath loved her with all of his heart, and of their love we will tell another day.
Jai Ganga Mahamai, jel roop mataji, Jai.