Pranab Kr. Joshi 1 The sun rose slow and golden over the Ganges, pouring its light like molten honey over the ancient stone steps of Dashashwamedh Ghat. Gauri dipped her oar into the water with practiced grace, the boat slicing through the morning mist as temple bells chimed in rhythmic waves. The air smelled of incense, wet earth, and camphor. Her father, Dinesh Mishra, stood silently at the stern, adjusting the floral garlands tied to the bow for the morning puja tourists. Gauri, clad in a faded blue salwar-kameez and a dupatta flung over one shoulder, barely looked up when…
