River Rafting in Rishikesh Riding Raging Rapids

Electricity. It was running in my veins. “Can someone please tell me why in the world am I feeling so crazy since the past week?!” Every next person that walked past me or was sitting in the same room as I was attacked by this question of mine by me. I kept pacing up and down. I sat on the edge of a chair as if I would suddenly spring up and start running. I needed this teeming energy in me to take over.

Adventure sports. Yep. Just the apt activity for this unfaltering flow of energy to rush and wash over me. The town of Rishikesh in Uttarakhand, India had caught my eye on the internet’s list of ‘best places of adventure sports in India’. It offered river rafting, rappelling, hiking and even more heart-stopping activities like cliff jumping. Yeah! That sounded wild! Even today, the idea of falling off a cliff with nothing but a nylon-cased rubber band tied to my ankle makes my skin crawl. They gave it a very harmless name- bungee jumping. Know more what things to do in Rishikesh

Anyways, river-rafting was what I was going to do.

River rafting is one of the most popular adventure sport in India. The mightiest rivers serve the purpose by providing indignant rapids, daring the rafters to conquer them. And I was all set to defeat all water warriors that dared to cross my path.

The ride to Rishikesh turned out to be an appetizer for what lay ahead of me. When I rolled down the window, a medley of events occurred. Persistent currents of wind whipped my hair backwards. The force against my face forced my lips apart into my best Colgate smile. As cool air rushed into my nostrils, it gushed with a gentle force in my lungs that revitalized every cell of my respiratory tract. The car zipped straight upon the black highways, unintermittedly.

We directly reached the office where we would be getting our rides further to the bank of river Ganges. In fifteen minutes, we boarded a mini-van with a bright yellow raft waiting to brave the raging rapids.

After half an hour we reached Shivpuri, the place from where our rafting journey would commence. My mind was spinning with all kinds of possibilities of rafting disasters. Nevertheless, my legs were quivering with anticipation and the adrenaline surging through my body. I almost imagined my body bursting because of excess adrenaline charge at the time of rafting!
At last, we reached the start point of our journey, Shivpuri. Our instructor kept assuring all the pessimistic people that they would go back home in one piece.

Finally, we were all set to move. Like every stupid person on the raft (which included everyone), I expected us to get drenched in water the moment we had started. Nope, calm waters welcomed us, illustrating the sanctity of the river Ganges. The pacified flow of water explained the serene allegory of the goddess Ganga. As we rowed on, a sense of devoutness and that of being blessed surfaced our minds. It was beautiful.

We had the best instructor one could ever have. He ardently wanted us to experience the might of the river water to the fullest. After all, our raft was surging through the divine Ganga itself. It was being guided by the gentle, but steady current. The ice-cold water landed on my arm as the raft sloshed about aimlessly when we halted. As my breath was taken away for a split second, my arm stung sharply.

Next, what our instructor said made me think that too much time spent by him rafting in these frigid waters had frozen his brain. He asked us to get off the raft. Yay. Straight fifteen minutes in the bone-chilling, algid and holy waters. For the first five seconds, I completely forgot that there was an activity which was supposed to be done by me all the time– breathing. Okay, I’m gasping for air, which refused to enter my now dysfunctional lungs; and I’m finally feeling the cold of the water acting as a counterforce to calm down my electrified nerves. After a minute or two, my legs were aching. What kept me in the water for fifteen minutes was that annoying but gratifying electricity. After surging through my body with full force, it had finally curbed. But hey, I didn’t mean it was over. Then there were the rapids.

We spotted them at a distance first. It looked like the water was being churned lightly by an unseen force. Froth that was formed by the same floated on the waters for a few moments before melting away. As we came closer, I started to feel the water moving agitatedly below the raft. It felt as if it was getting exasperated; as though it was caged and was willing to set itself free. The calm and serene scenery around me started to bob up and down as the turbulence increased. My adrenaline charged painfully through my body. Then came the first blast of water. Before we could recover from the shock, another one greeted us from the side. It was as though we were face-to-face with a loose cannon. The berserk and barbaric waves of water crashed down on us mercilessly. And finally, all the electricity flowed out as I rowed, struggling to keep up with the others. Oh, the experience was purely ecstatic.

Victorious. That’s what I felt when I stepped off the raft, drenched. I could do this a thousand times over and not get bored. Every muscle in my body ached as we walked back to the minivan. As we headed back to the hotel, I realized that maybe I was too rough with the description of the rapids. It was as though they were trying to give a message through their loud ways. It was as though I had connected with the river spirit. Then I remembered something that Emma Smith had precisely said: “Life is like the river, sometimes it sweeps you gently along and sometimes the rapids come out of nowhere.”

I’ll be coming back, sweet river. You’ll know when I do.

Parishka Gupta is an amateur travel writer from Delhi, India. She is seventeen years old and has been passionate about writing as well as travelling since the age of seven. As she grew up, she fused those two together and thus, a travel writer was born. Parishka went on to secure various ranks in the Sverdlovsk Regional Public Children’s Organization ‘Lotsman’ (Russia) competition for Young Journalists four times in a row. Parishka ardently attends Model United Nations conferences as a journalist as well.

She has a travel blog of her own and is the founder and chief editor of The Red Megaphone, an initiative to pull bashful and new writers into the spotlight;

Ms. Gupta is now on her way to become a freelance travel writer and travel the world.