Rowing the Ganges: A boat, a Goat and Three Chickens

Three friends seeking adventure leave their factory jobs and go on a journey across India. It isn’t long before they find what they are looking for when they buy a boat, a goat and three chickens in Allahabad and attempt to row the Holy River Ganges.

A Boat, a goat and three chickens

By Chris Raven

It’s a beautiful day in St Tropez and I’m relaxing on the deck of my luxury yacht named Amnesia, sipping a Naked Lady (1 oz. White rum 1 oz. Martini rosso (sweet), 4 dashes Apricot brandy, 2 dashes Grenadine, 4 dashes Lemon juice), and absorbing the warm Mediterranean rays. Today sees the last regatta of the season for St Tropez on the French Riviera, and I’ve got a feeling it’s going to kick off in style this year. Les Voiles d’Automne is a highly demanding, high level competition for the ultra skilled, so that’s why I haven’t entered. I like to think of myself as a very skilled spectator. My girlfriend, Cinderella, joins me at the table carrying a tray full of fresh bread, cheese and a bottle of Romanée Conti red wine from Cote de Nuits in Burgundy. She is topless with wet curly blonde hair and the sweat on her large tanned breasts glistens in the sunlight. A former Playboy bunny and famous model from St Tropez, Cinderella’s stunning features resembles that of a young Brigitte Bardot and sex kitten Honey Rider in Dr No. I met her three days ago at the opening of the new restaurant at Le Byblos. Our eyes meet over a crowded, pretentious room and it wasn’t until the clock struck midnight, when she was slamming me up against a toilet wall and ripping open my Escada jeans, that we properly introduced ourselves. It was love.

‘Are you having a beautiful day, my darling?’ Cinderella asks as she whips off her shades and sits down on my lap.

‘Life doesn’t get any better than this,’ I laugh, kissing her left breast.

Cinderella giggles and grinds her firm buttocks into my crotch. At that moment Simon and Darell, aka Captain Ginger, skid across the wooden deck wearing bright Hawaiian shirts with two gorgeous models in bikinis wrapped around them.

‘Bonjour, brother, how’s it hanging?’ Si grins, puffing on a Behike cigar.

‘Well, let’s just say with Cinderella sitting on my diamonds, there’s no hanging!’

Everyone laughs out loud and slaps their thighs.

‘Anyway, where have you guys been hiding?’

‘We’ve been eating Bouillabaisse on the seafront and discussing the French Revolution with a bearded man from Aruba,’ Darell sings, dancing over to the table. He pours himself a large glass of wine and winks at Cinderella.

‘Really?’

‘Uh, no, amigo, I’ve been leap frogging in the master bedroom with Abella and Roesia. These girls are full of surprises I can tell you.’ The girls kiss his cheek and caress his chest. ‘By the way, dude, who names a multi-million dollar yacht after memory loss and the inability to imagine the future?’

I lean back in my super soft expensive leather chair and ponder on Darell’s question. He’s right, who names a multi-million dollar yacht Amnesia? I shrug my shoulders and smell the sweet Mediterranean Sea air. Oh, our lives have certainly changed since our Radio 4 interview. Books have flown out of the garden shed into the hands of our fans faster than ever before. With five million books sold (two number one bestsellers and a chewing gum commercial under our belts) we’ve waved goodbye to our old poor lives of working nights in windowless warehouses, and said a big Hola to pure luxury with high performance sports cars, mega yachts and beautiful French girls massaging our tanned buttocks. We’re rich beyond our wildest dreams, millionaires with freedom to roam our wonderful planet. I sometimes have to pinch myself just to make sure I’m not dreaming. Finally, I don’t have any more money worries – no more ‘sorry’ postcards to my bank manager whenever I go on an adventure, no more cheap wine from the bottom rack, no more taking women on romantic dates to expensive looking restaurants with cheap menus, no more buying clothes from second hand shops, no more cheap aftershave that burns your neck and peels the skin, no more cheap economy flights, no more staying in flea-bitten hotels with sticky floors.

‘Chris, my darling, would you like another glass of wine before we make love to the sounds of St Tropez,’ Cinderella whispers in my ear.

I stare into her liquid blue eyes and kiss her ruby lips. ‘Yes, one more glass.’

‘You’re amazing,’ she smiles, sliding her long red fingernails down my chest. ‘I’ve never made love to a guy who is so kind, handsome and giving. You are like rays of bright sunshine over a beautiful meadow. I have a little surprise for you.’

‘A surprise?’

‘Yes, a surprise. My lesbian friend and ex hardcore porn star, Summer Moon, is coming over to the yacht tonight. We can all get naked and have fun. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Noo, no, uh, that’s g-great,’ I stutter, pouring a glass of wine. ‘Any friend of yours is certainly a friend of … hang on a minute, not Summer Moon from the hit X-rated movie Indiana Pussy and the Raiders of the lost Dildo?

‘Yes!’

‘Fantastic,’ I beam with joy, spilling my glass of very expensive Romanée Conti onto the deck of my multi-million pound Mega Yacht. With excitement, I leap out of my super soft leather chair and jump onto the beautifully designed diving board. Facing the blue ocean I raise my arms into the air, and smile. ‘Oh, thank you Lord for this beautiful…’ I suddenly flick open my eyes and find myself lying on a bed fully clothed in a small room in Allahabad. The sweet smell of apple tobacco is heavy in the air, and I can hear the lively Indian street life outside the window.

‘…Wakey-wakey, it’s time to go!’ Si shouts, throwing a wet towel on my face.

‘Go where?’ I mumble, rubbing my eyes.

‘Varanasi. We’re going to buy a boat and row to Varanasi, remember?’

I use all of my strength and lean up against the cold white wall. My head is spinning 360 after our little Mcdowell’s No.1 whiskey session last night in some local drinking hole. It takes me four blinks and a slap around the face for my brain to kick start into action; part of me is still nuts deep in a marina in St Tropez. With the help of a large gulp of warm water, I swing my legs off the bed and look over at Darell sat smoking the shisha pipe in an old armchair.

‘Whose crazy idea was it to buy a boat?’

‘Not sure,’ he smiles, blowing a large smoke cloud into the air, ‘but I think it was yours.’

‘Mine?’

‘Yeah, it was yours,’ Si snaps, shoving his neatly folded clothes into the top of his rucksack.

‘Really? Oh, I must have been drunk. Where do we buy a boat?’

‘Down by the river I would imagine,’ Si frowns, pulling the straps tightly on his worn rucksack.

‘What about the goat?’ Darell laughs, puffing on the pipe.

‘Goat?’ I reply.

‘Yeah, the goat and three chickens.’

‘Three chickens?’ I scratch my head and try to comprehend what Darell is saying. Then I laugh, when it suddenly occurs to me that my fellow travelling companions are indeed a bunch of monkeys. ‘This is all very funny, guys, but I’m not in the mood for your childish sexual fantasies involving goats and chickens?’

‘It was your idea,’ Si mumbles, kicking his rucksack. ‘You said it would be like the book Three Men in a Boat, but instead of the dog we’d take a goat and three chickens.’

‘Okay, okay, hold on a minute, so let me get this right. Last night, after a few cheeky shots of whiskey and a chicken biryani, I came up with this great idea of buying a boat, a goat and three chickens and rowing from here in Allahabad to the Holy city of Varanasi, you know – the three of us in a boat, in India, rowing, animals, birds – rowing, us, factory workers – a goat?’

‘Yes,’ Si laughs, throwing a peanut at my head. ‘Come on, let’s go!’

With our rucksacks on our backs, we skip out of the hotel and into the streets of Allahabad, a city in the north Indian state of Uttar Pradesh. It’s my second time to this vibrant and colourful, challenging and poverty stricken country. Ten years have passed since I was last in India and I’m glad to be back. Bony cows munch on newspaper in the hot smelly streets, beside rows of shops selling pretty much everything you can imagine. Rickshaws, horse and carts and bicycles zoom past at speed; only the most experienced or totally insane attempt to cross the road. People dash through the streets and colourful blue and orange saris glow bright against the black, shabby walls. There’s no space on the streets to ponder, no room to stop and look at a map or have a fascinating conversation about the Dalai Lama and his Holiness’s hobbies of meditating, gardening and repairing watches. You need eyes in the back of your head, a sixth sense to enable you to dodge the traffic, the hawkers, the cows, the crowds, the homeless, the thieves and the pot holes in the crumbling pavements.

We bundle into the back of a rickshaw and zigzag through the congested streets to the Yamuna River and the new Yamuna Bridge, which is one of the largest constructions in India. They are not wrong when they say it’s the largest. This massive concrete structure towers above us with its Cable-Stayed four lane road stretching out into the distance. From the road we can see a group of small wooden boats moored up at the edge of the river with men sitting on them. It isn’t long before a small guy wearing a red jumper spots us and runs up the bank. He slides up next to us, introducing himself as Arnav, and invites us on a boat trip down the river. We kindly decline, but I can’t resist asking him if he has a boat for sale. The guy drops his smile, and frowns.

I point to the boats on the river. ‘We want to buy one of those.’

Arnav stares at me dumbfounded, like I had just shown him an erotic cartoon drawing of Siva and Goddess Lakshmi having sex on top of an elephant.

‘I whip a handful of notes out of my pocket and wave them in the air. ‘Money for the boat,’ I smile, waiting for his response. ‘We want to buy a boat.’

Finally his eyes light up. He nods vigorously and rubs his hands together. ‘Ah, yes, yes, buy boat! Please, follow me.’

We follow him down to the river where he shows us a seven metre long wooden boat moored up. He invites us to climb aboard. It’s a fairly large boat considering there’s no engine and only wooden oars. There’s a roof and a green flag at the stern flapping in the hot wind. The men from the other boats walk over and one of them starts talking to Arnav. They babble on for a few minutes, obviously discussing the price. Arnav laughs and they look over at us. He then fires back a figure of 29,000 rupees. We rattle our brains and work out the exchange rate with the dollar. We discover it’s roughly around $600. It sounds a lot, so we try to barter the price down. Arnav shakes his head and sticks with the price. We consider climbing off the boat and walking away, but we know it won’t make any difference. By now the word has spread that three dumb-ass tourists are buying a boat and, before you can say Aishwarya Rai, a crowd of unshaven men have gathered around us. They stare, which makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. Maybe this is a crazy idea after all I think to myself – one hell of a silly way to throw $600 down the drain, but then part of me wants to continue on and experience this once in a life time adventure of rowing along the Ganges. At the end of the day it’s only $200 each. Ok, so we’re not on a multi-million dollar yacht, but rowing will do.

After much discussion we all agree to buy the boat. Handing over the cash, we make Arnav write out a receipt as proof of purchase with contact names and mobile numbers. Well, I say receipt. It’s more like a tatty piece of paper pulled from his back pocket. Nevertheless, the last thing we need is some annoyed local running alongside the Ganges demanding his boat back. Arnav scribbles his signature and writes down the total amount paid at the bottom of the piece of paper. Darell grabs his mobile phone and rings the number. Arnav answers his mobile and chats to Darell, so we know the number is correct. With all the paperwork complete and the deal done and dusted, we make sure we have a little practice rowing the boat first before we hit the Yamuna River and the Ganges. Funnily enough we discover very quickly that we’re all crap. That is apart from Captain Ginger, who was once in the Sea Cadets. He manoeuvres the boat and works the oars with great skill and judgment. It’s a beautiful sight to see, and I suddenly feel more relaxed knowing that at least one of us knows what he’s doing.

We’re about to set off, when Si remembers the supplies and the goat and the three chickens. We leap off the boat with our bags, and squeeze through the huge crowd of men that has gathered up on the river’s edge. There are even a couple of school children hiding at the back. I inform Arnav about our shopping plans and tell him we’ll be back in half-an hour. Like excited children, we run up the bank and hail two bicycle taxis. I’m with Darell and we head to a farmers market somewhere in the city. The guy cycling is very thin and he is wearing a thick brown cardigan. There is no sweat on his face and he has a lot of strength, considering he weighs the same as a ballerina. He turns sharply and pedals down a narrow bumpy side road, where he effortlessly weaves around the rubbish and the people. Up ahead I see a herd of sheep and a pen full of goats – we’re heading in the right direction. There is straw on the stony road and what with all the animals around, including huge pigs, it’s like we’ve journeyed back in time three hundred years. Before long the driver pulls up outside an old building with a small open hatch at the front. Goat’s heads and many other body parts are displayed for sale in the sunshine. We climb out and are greeted by a man with a moustache, whose fingers are stained red from blood. He takes us down a side alley and into a backroom where there are five goats huddled together in a corner. Chunks of meat are dotted around the concrete floor that’s covered with red straw. The smell of blood is strong and the fear in the goat’s eyes is truly disturbing. The five goats are bleating loudly and running in circles, they know what is happening. The guy grabs a black and white one by the neck and drags it over to us. He nods and points to the goat. Darell squeezes the goat’s stomach and raises his thumb. The deal has been done, 1,500 rupees. I climb on to the back with the goat between my legs. The poor thing sneezes and looks out into the street while I try hard not to look into its eyes. Darell names the goat Bruce, and on the way back to the boat we stop at a hardware shop and buy a big pot, plates, cutlery, a knife and three rather plucked white chickens from a farmer next door. With all the supplies on the list ticked, we return to the river and see Si has made it back before us. He’s sitting on the boat with bags full of supplies, and laughs when he sees Darell walking over with the goat and carrying three flapping chickens upside down by their feet.

It’s time to leave Allahabad. Arnav pushes the boat out while Darell and Si each grab an oar and quickly find their rowing rhythm.

‘Ship Ahoy,’ I sing, waving goodbye to the crowd watching from the bank. Everyone waves back apart from Arnav, who is too busy counting his money and smiling like a Cheshire cat.

Darrel and Si work as a team and row the boat effortlessly in the right direction towards the bridge. It’s like they have both been rowing boats for years. I look over my shoulder and see the crowd are now the size of ants – we’re making progress. Bruce seems happy enough munching on the boat, but the chickens don’t look so good. I bend down and untie the string wrapped around their feet and laugh as they cluck and flap around the boat. The flapping doesn’t distract Darell – he just continues to plough all of his energy and concentration into propelling the boat through the water. Si on the other hand keeps stopping to blow on his blistered hands. This causes a few problems and we find ourselves drifting the wrong way.

‘Keep rowing, monkey boy, keep the rhythm!’ I scream every time Si stops to complain about the pain.

Si yells obscenities in between rows, and says something in the region of ‘Go fuck yourself, butt munch, my hands are shredded to shit.’ Something similar to that, I can’t quite hear over the noise of the crying goat and the clucking of the chickens. Tempers were flying.

‘The goat has just taken a dump on my bag!’ Si yells, throwing the oar down. ‘We must eat him immediately.’

Suddenly, our Ganges experience is turning into a nightmare. Maybe we should have paid for a guide. Darell stays focused and, after a sip of water and a puff on a cigarette, Si too was back on the oars. We pass under the bridge and head towards the Magh Mela festival on the left side of the Yamuna River. Millions of pilgrims come to this sacred religious festival from all over India to wash away their sins and attain enlightenment. Thousands of tents line up as far as the eye can see and masses of men and women bath in the river. Boats full of people pass by and they stare at us and Bruce. We seem to be getting an interesting reaction from the Indian folk on the river, but I’m not too sure if it was such a good idea bringing the goat. Up ahead we see the river change from an orange colour to a blue where the Yamuna River and the Ganges meet. I navigate the boat to the right, so we move away from the festival and join the Ganges River. In the distance the grey body of a dolphin arches out of the water. It’s amazing to see. I knew dolphins lived in the polluted Ganges, but I never realized I would actually see one. The last dolphin Si saw was in the Thames in London years ago. Another dolphin skims the surface and then another and another, four in all and they pass close to the boat. It’s a ‘dolphin lover’s’ dream and a truly beautiful sight. Our attention has been slightly distracted and the current has taken us off course, so my trusty rowers grab their oars and continue to battle on like true brave warriors. A wave of guilt washes over me, and I ask Si if he wants to swap over and navigate for a while, as I can see he looks a bit red from the sun and sweaty, but he shakes his head, blows his hands and carries on.

After an hour of rowing, the city of Allahabad and the festival are now out of sight. It’s quiet out here and there are no buildings, only a vulture pecking on a decaying body and a small group of people burning the dead on the river bank. Now we are out of the city and in no man’s land we are alone – alone in a boat with all of our belongings and a goat and three chickens. The river widens and the current becomes faster, making the boat more difficult to control. We begin to drift to the right into a much faster part of the river. I shout out to the guys, letting them know who should row and who shouldn’t. It sounds straightforward, but when you are competing against the power of a river, you’ve got no chance. You can hear the panic in my voice, which doesn’t help the situation, and up ahead I see a black object floating towards the boat. At first we think it’s the head of a dead buffalo or a large black piece of wood, but when it passes by we see that it’s a dead body. I’ve never seen a dead body floating in a river before, especially not a kid of about twelve years old. He’s stomach is bloated and his mouth is wide open. I hope it was a natural death, but from the look of horror on the kid’s face I don’t think so. In the Indian culture, families who are poor and can’t afford the wood to burn their love ones often throw the body into the Holy Ganges. Naturally, this absolutely freaks us all out, and I can quite literally say the rowing adventure we first had in mind has suddenly taken a different turn. It doesn’t take long before my navigating skills land us in trouble and instead of directing the boat to the right and into a wider, deeper part of the river, we slowly drift into shallow water and get stuck on a muddy bank. We had to think fast because this area looks lawless, and it won’t be long before someone see’s us with all our belongings. Suddenly, a group of boys swimming nearby run over and help out by attempting to pull the boat away from the marshy bank, but the boat is too heavy for them and we’re stranded on the Ganges in the middle of nowhere. How are we going to pull the boat into deeper water? The boys stand around the boat and laugh. I then notice a man stumbling towards us through the long reeds. My fears have become a reality, and I know instantly that this guy is not about to offer us a helping hand. The guy is wearing rags and looks like he is on drugs. His face is thin, stubbly and weather beaten. He looks at us with his red blood shot eyes and peers into the boat. He sees our rucksacks and then looks at Bruce. He begins shouting at us and saying ‘danikka’, but we haven’t a clue what that means. The boys jump around and continue to laugh. The guy begins to get angry and shouts at the top of his voice – ‘danikka!’ ‘danikka!’, and tells one of the boys to go and fetch something for him. I don’t know what to do. He then raises his hand to Darell’s head and symbolizes the shape of a gun with his bony fingers. My heart drops. We have to do something now – fast. He then raises his fingers to Si’s head and pretends to be dead and floating in the river. I reach into my back pocket and whip out a 1000 rupee note. I hand it to the guy, and he smiles. Darell grabs a load of cash and hands it to him. The guy stops shouting and looks at me. He mumbles something before stumbling away. This is our chance to get the hell out of here. We grab the oars and row like crazy. I stick my oar into the mud and push the boat away from the marshy bank, my sudden strength appearing from out of nowhere. The boat slides out of the mud and reaches deeper water. We continue rowing, but the current is taking us back towards the bank and towards the guy who robbed us. We panic and row harder, but it’s no use. Suddenly, Darell throws down his oar, whips off his trainers and leaps out of the boat and into the Ganges. He grabs the boat and pulls it through the water towards the dead body floating further up stream. Si follows suit and helps pull the boat. They both jump back in the boat as the bright orange sun is low in the sky. It won’t be long before it drops below the horizon. We decide to turn back to Allahabad; the thought of carrying on for three days along the river is out of the question. The problem with our decision is that it’ll be dark in two hours and that’s not enough time to get back to the bridge. It’s either carry on up the river or row in the dark. From incredible adrenalin to utter fear and panic, we find ourselves in a situation where we have to make a decision which could ultimately change our lives. Just as we are about to set off on the long journey to the city, I suddenly see a large boat in the distance. It’s on the other side of the river and heading in our direction. I grab an oar and begin rowing like crazy and shouting and waving. Darell rows too and we battle hard at fighting the current. Slowly we drift over to the other side of the river and reach the large boat that has moored up. We shout out to the two guys standing on top and plead with them to tow us back to Allahabad. The guys look confused when they see us rowing towards them with Bruce and three chickens in the boat. Luckily, one of the guys speaks English and calls for us to throw him a rope. It hasn’t even crossed our minds that these guys could now also rob us, but we take the chance as it is an amazing relief to see another boat and the smiles from fellow human beings. One of the guys ties the rope onto his boat and waves us on board. We jump onto the bank and on to the boat. The guy who speaks English is friendly with a welcoming smile. He seems genuine and is truly concerned about what has happened to us. We tell them our story of rowing to Varanasi. They shake their heads and tell us about the danger and the people who live along the river, the untouchables. He seems to know about these people. I notice a laptop on the deck and I ask him what he’s doing. He tells me they are working for the government and measuring the depths of the river at different stages. Still extremely traumatized by the whole experience, we are all exhausted and keen to get back to the city and have a strong drink. We ask the guy if he’d like to have our boat as a thank you gift for saving us from the river, but he just laughs and quickly gets back to work.

After an hour, the guys finish off their work and we slowly make our way back to the city. The sun is kissing the horizon and the clouds paint bright yellow and orange flames across the sky. It’s truly beautiful, one of the most dramatic sunsets I have ever seen. We stand on the boat in silence and look out across the Ganges. In the distance you can see the faint outline of the Yamuna Bridge and the silhouetted body of a dolphin in the water close by. The boat slows down and pulls up next to five boats similar to ours on the river bank. There are a few huts and a group of men and women sat in a circle by a roaring fire. The guy shouts out to them and unties our boat. He tells us to grab our rucksacks from the boat and if it is okay for us to leave it with these local people living on the river. With no use for it now we are happy to give them our boat, Bruce and the chickens.

You could say I was crazy to even attempt such a journey, especially when it involves putting our lives in danger. This is true. Sometimes it is the dangerous and the hard times on an adventure which make it memorable. Our trip to India was to seek adventure. What we did was extreme and a fantastic way to throw $600 dollars down the drain, but it’s only money. For us now we’re hitting the road. No more rowing or buying boats. I think we’ll journey to Varanasi by public transport instead. RIP Bruce.