Ganga's Descent - The Price of Compassion

Ganga: "They want me to fall."

Ganga stood at the edge of heaven, looking down at the earth far below. Bhagiratha's penance had been sufficient—he had earned the right to bring her down to release his ancestors' souls.

Shiva: "They always want something. That's what mortals do."

Ganga: "If I fall at full force, I'll shatter the earth. Split it into pieces. Kill everyone Bhagiratha is trying to save."

Shiva: "Then don't fall at full force."

Ganga: "I don't know how to be less than I am. I am the Ganges. I am heaven's abundance. I cannot reduce myself."

Shiva: "Then you need someone to catch you."

Ganga turned to him.

Shiva: "Is that why you came? To offer?"

Ganga: "I came to understand. Why you're hesitating. You're not usually hesitant."

Shiva: "I'm not usually asked to destroy. They see the Ganges as blessing. Purification. Salvation. They don't understand that the same waters that cleanse can also kill. That my love, at full strength, would annihilate."

Ganga: "Love often does."

Shiva: "You would know. I need you to catch me."

Ganga: "In my hair."

Shiva: "In your matted locks. Let me get tangled there. Let your discipline contain my chaos. I'll rage. I'll fight. Every drop of me will want to fall free. You'll have to hold me prisoner."

Ganga: "For how long?"

Shiva: "Until I'm calm enough to flow. Years, maybe. Decades. It will hurt you. Having a river imprisoned in your head. Having my force constantly pushing against your stillness."

Ganga: "Pain doesn't concern me."

Shiva: "What about the scandal? You're married. Having another woman in your hair—literally—will raise questions."

Shiva laughed—a sound like mountains crumbling.

Ganga: "Parvati understands. She is me. I am her. There are no secrets between the aspects of the absolute."

Shiva: "Then you'll do it?"

Ganga: "I'll do it. But Ganga— You need to promise something."

Shiva: "Name it."

Ganga: "Once you're on earth, once you flow through the plains and reach the sea—don't forget that you're still divine. Mortals will pollute you. They'll pour garbage and ash and their own waste into your waters. They'll build cities on your banks and forget to be grateful."

Shiva: "You're warning me about mortals?"

Ganga: "I'm warning you about love. You'll love them anyway. Every person who bathes in you, every corpse committed to your waters, every sinner who calls your name—you'll love them. And it will break your heart, century after century."

Shiva: "Why are you telling me this?"

Ganga: "Because you need to know the price. Descending is easy. Staying, while being used and abused and taken for granted—that's the sacrifice. That's what cosmic compassion really costs."

Shiva: "I accept. The price, the pain, the endless breaking. I accept."

Ganga: "Why?"

Shiva: "Because Bhagiratha's ancestors need release. Because millions of souls will find purification. Because one river, bearing all the sorrow of humanity, can still be holy. Catch me."

Ganga: "Always."

She fell.

Shiva caught her—the impact nearly split his skull. For years he held her, tangled in his matted locks, raging and fighting and slowly, slowly calming.

When she finally flowed free—gentle enough not to destroy—she began her journey to the sea.

And as Shiva predicted, she loved them. Every human who touched her waters. Every city that fouled her streams. Every prayer that called her name.

She loved them, and it broke her heart, and she loved them anyway.

That was the price of being a goddess in a mortal world.

That was what compassion cost.