To explore the great Ganges River, which winds and weaves its way across the Indian state of West Bengal, is to delve into the spiritual heart of this remarkable land.
The fog shifts in subtle waves, reflecting upon itself as it drifts silently across the still waters of the great river. Slowly, darker lines emerge from the haze, forming into the undulating arches of an iron bridge across which a train, heavily laden with city-bound commuters, races, shattering the dawn silence.
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Within moments, the booming rattle of the train and the iron arches of the bridge are once again swallowed up by the morning river mist, and the only sound that remains is the slapping of wake against the bow and the haunting echo of Hindu chanting at a distant temple.
It’s first light on the third day of my Antara Cruises itinerary up India’s sacred Ganges River, from vibrant Kolkata to former colonial outposts and ancient, time-weathered temples, and finally to the bustle of Mayapur, home to the Hare Krishna faith.
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Our ship, the elegant 56-guest Ganges Voyager, is as peaceful as the mist that envelopes it; save for a few deckhands quietly wiping down the night’s dew, the top deck, with its lounges and polished teak floors, is blissfully deserted.
The ship is moored at an expansive, meandering curve in the river, one of the world’s longest, most vital and most spiritual. Winding its way 2,525 km down from the Himalayas to the Gulf of Bengal, the Ganges plays a fundamental role in the lives of the hundreds of millions who call its banks home.
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In fact, journeying even a relatively short span of its impressive length – our itinerary, at just 250 kilometres, barely scratches the surface – a chance to delve into timeless Indian communities and the cultures, beliefs and seasons that bind them.
Our journey started in the maddening metropolis of Kolkata, once the capital of India and the second largest city in the British Empire after London, earning it the moniker ‘City of Palaces’ due to its extensive colonial architecture. Here, we found respite from the crowds at the sweeping Victoria Memorial and later at historic St John’s Church, which has lingered since 1787.
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From one temple to another, we wind around the city’s 200-year-old race track (which is said to be haunted by the ghost of a white mare) and cross the impressive Vidyasagar Setu bridge, which spans the Hooghly River, as the Ganges is known in this southernmost of reaches. Minutes later, we’re welcomed onto the Ganges Voyager with garlands of marigolds and thimbles of sweet tea.
We spend the next day exploring more of Kolkata, first in the narrow lanes of Kumortuli, the potters’ quarter, where artisans craft brightly hued deities, most are floated down the Ganges, during religious festivals, from which the clay is taken; and later in the chaotic flower market, a kaleidoscope of colours, scents and dialects.
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Here, I meet a pair of young Kushti wrestlers who practice grappling on a thick bed of river mud. Taking a break, his body slick with mud and sweat, one tells me that wrestling, and the meditation and yoga that’s a major part of Kushti, brings him closer to god.
The ten-year-old ship, the first in the Antara fleet, was completely crafted in India and is nothing short of exquisite – a symphony of local textiles, colonial art, intricately carved furniture, Persian carpets and gleaming Burmese teak, all overseen by a young and ever-smiling crew.
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Our stateroom (above) is equally elegant, with a large bed and a small sitting area, a Juliette balcony and a well-appointed bathroom. The ship also boasts a central dining room at river level, a lounge and bar above, a gym and spa secreted at the bow and a broad covered aft deck that’s ideal for watching life on the river drift by, with a good book and a gin and tonic in hand.
I do exactly that as the sun begins to dip and we begin our journey north, dipping under the Vidyasagar Setu once again. On either side of the river, Indian women wrapped in brightly coloured saris linger at the weathered stone stairs of the many ghats that give access to the water, washing their clothes, themselves and their children in the olive-hued waters.
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Later, as darkness envelops the Ganges, we’re entertained by a troop of Baul performers (above), who worship their gods through musical performance.
The next morning, the fog clears, and the temperature rockets as we make for the land, exploring the columned corridors, engraved Quran texts and soaring white-washed towers of the Hooghly Imambara (above), a Shia Muslim congregation hall built in 1861. I clamber up one of the towers and am rewarded with spectacular views of our ship, which is dwarfed by the expanses of the river.
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We spend the afternoon cruising, and as the day’s heat begins to abate, there’s time to ride a brightly coloured e-rickshaw through the streets of Kalna, our driver swerving regularly to avoid hitting the complacent cows that crowd the narrow lanes as we make for Naba Kailash Mandir, a beautiful Shiva temple, where the last rays of sunshine warm 108 Shiv Mandirs, tiny terracotta temples set in two vast concentric circles.
The next morning, I visit a local market with Antara Cruises owner Raj Singh (below), an elegant gentleman entrepreneur who is travelling with his son and grandchildren on this, the last sailing of the season. As we wind our way between the stalls of the fish market, where giant Ganges catfish are proudly displayed, he explains to me the use of various herbs and spices heaped on shaded tarps and in chipped porcelain bowls, and it’s obvious the love he has for the river and the communities his ships – Ganges Voyager, Ganges Voyager II and the newest, the Bengal Ganga – visit.
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“These are my people, and I love nothing more than being here, on the river, with them,” he tells me amidst the cacophony of early morning trade.
We spend the rest of the morning cruising through a fulvous, sunburned landscape as flat as a pool table, the hot air swirling around farmers toiling in the alluvial earth. The towering smokestacks of rural brick factories march towards us, and as they arrive, wispy labourers – most of them young children – rush to the water’s edge to wave, their smiling faces streaked with terracotta-coloured dust. Child labour at these rural kilns has technically been outlawed, but remains the only employment option for many families.
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One of the things I love most about life on the river is how sound seems to race relentlessly across this sun-baked, featureless landscape; children’s laughter, chanting, singing, a distant rickshaw’s horn, the throbbing drone of a thirsty irrigation pump, all echo across the flat, dry rice paddies, captured by the dust eddies that form and dissipate in moments, and lingering in the slim coconut palms that sway gently in the muggy breeze.
Even on the long rural stretches, where there is little sign of people – no roads, no bridges, no boats – the breeze carries distant conversations and timeless songs for miles.
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Here, far from the cities, the river is free of debris and looks painted onto the landscape, the blue sky’s reflection shimmering in the dancing thermals. Basking in the pre-monsoon heat, it’s easy to see why a quenching river would take on a religious significance.
That night, I listen to wild jackals calling to one another in the inky darkness as the river’s genteel persona is replaced with that of a tempest as hot wind whips across the river valley and the season’s first rains pummel the ship’s exterior like a troupe of festive drummers.
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There’s music in the air when we disembark at the village of Nabadwip, a clutch of low-slung concrete homes shaded by a canopy of towering palm trees. While this is a hub for traditional Bengali textiles, our visit coincides with the annual Holi festival, when communities celebrate the eternal love of Radha and Krishna by throwing water and vibrantly coloured powders at one another. As captivating and exciting as it is, it’s a celebration that’s not for the fashion-sensitive or faint-hearted.
The celebration in Nabadwip is well underway, with gaggles of giggling girls and bands of mettlesome young men emboldened by a little local red rum, their faces already dyed purple and red from the morning’s salvos, casting great handfuls of purple, green, blue and yellow powders at each other.
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Everyone gets into the swing of the celebration, from wizened grandmothers to saucer-eyed toddlers, and very soon, my face is a rainbow streak of colour as I’m blessed and welcomed by strangers.
The ship hosts its own little Holi celebration a few hours later on a patch of riverside pasture; guests are handed white pyjamas so that our clothes don’t fall victim to the celebration, and within moments, passengers and crew, many armed with water pistols, are singing and dancing in a brilliantly coloured fog.
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You hear Mayapur before you see it. Emerging from the rural solitude, the ship zigs and zags in slow motion, shuttling from one side of the great serpentine river to the other as it follows the deepest channel and navigates around seasonal sandbanks.
On the wind, there’s music and the buzz of distant, excited crowds, and the hazy horizon slowly releases the form of a massive turquoise dome, like a great Fabergé egg perched beside the meandering water. As we draw closer, we see that the dome is part of a sprawling complex of temples and shrines, some still under construction.
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This is the Vaishnavite Pilgrim Center, the headquarters of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness, a global Hare Krishna hotspot, and we’re soon swept up by crowds of excited pilgrims as we wind through the complex and climb the steps of the ornate Chand Kazi Samadhi, one of several grand monuments.
That striking blue dome sits atop the Temple of the Vedic Planetarium, which is slated for completion in 2026, when it will be the largest religious monument in the world, a feat in part funded by project chairman Alfred Brush Ford, great-grandson of Henry Ford.
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Despite the swirling crowds, like so many other spots we have encountered, this is a place of peace and hope, one of smiles and colour and excited conversations. Certainly, there’s nothing else like it on the river, and the remarkable temple, its gilded statues and pendentives gleaming in the brilliant afternoon sunlight, mark a surreal final destination for our exploration down India’s mighty Ganges, a waterway that, much like the faiths that found homes on its banks, has bound and nourished communities for centuries.
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