This is a story from nearly half a century ago.

In school, our first period was Geography. Most of us arrived with sleepy eyes, half-open, half-closed. Our Geography teacher did her best to explain rivers, mountains, and plains. Her lectures often had the opposite effect of what she intended. Absolutely correct, but boring enough to make us start yawning.

The Yamuna, for example, was introduced to us in the language of textbooks.

“The Yamuna River, originating from the Yamunotri Glacier in the Himalayas, is one of India’s most significant rivers. Stretching over 1,376 kilometres, it flows through several states before merging with the Ganges at Allahabad.”

Everything in that description was factually correct. Yet it was also perfectly capable of triggering a collective yawn across the classroom. Then literature entered the picture. After Geography came Hindi class.

The Sufi poet Syed Ibrahim Khan, better known as Ras Khan, referring to the river as Kalindi, wrote-

मानुष हौं तो वही रसखानि बसौं गोकुल गाँव के ग्वालन।
जो पसु हौं तो कहा बसु मेरो चरौं नित नन्द की धेनु मंझारन।

पाहन हौं तो वही गिरि को जो धरयौ कर छत्र पुरन्दर धारन।
जो खग हौं बसेरो करौं मिल कालिन्दी-कूल-कदम्ब की डारन॥

Ras Khan wished if reborn as a human, let me live among the cowherds of Gokul. If reborn as an animal, let me wander among Nand’s cattle. If a stone, let me become part of Govardhan Hill. And if a bird, let my nest be on the branches of a Kadamb tree on the banks of the Kalindi, the Yamuna.

The poet Suroor Jahanabadi described the Yamuna beautifully-

धीमी धीमी बहने वाली एक नहर-ए-दिल-नशीं
तिश्नगी-ए-शौक़ गंगा में बुझाने के लिए
जा रही है अपनी हस्ती को मिटाने के लिए

A nahr-e-dil-nashin, a heart-enchanting stream. That sounds far more beautiful than “a significant river”.

Suroor continues-

ये वो जमुना है कि राधा सी हसीं ने मुद्दतों
ब्रिज की इक पाक-दामन नाज़नीं ने मुद्दतों
बंसी वाले की जुदाई में उड़ा कर सर पे ख़ाक
अपने अश्कों से किया है दामन-ए-साहिल को पाक

This is the Yamuna whose banks were sanctified by Radha’s tears as she longed for her beloved flute-player.

Yamuna is no longer a geographical feature; it becomes a witness to love, longing, and devotion.

For centuries, rivers have been more than sources of water. They have flowed through our stories, songs, poetry, myths, and rituals. They have nourished civiliations and inspired artists. The Yamuna of Geography is a river measured in kilometres. The Yamuna of poets is measured in memories, emotions, and faith.

The reality of the present day is far less poetic. The Yamuna now faces severe pollution and ecological stress. Large stretches of the river struggle under the burden of untreated sewage, industrial waste, and unchecked urban growth. The river that inspired poets for centuries is today frequently discussed in the language of environmental reports and public policy debates.

Delhi’s future and the Yamuna’s health are inseparably linked. A thriving city cannot afford a dying river. Protecting the Yamuna is not merely an environmental obligation; it is also a cultural responsibility. When we save a river, we preserve not only water but also history, literature, memory, and identity.

Perhaps that is the lesson my Geography teacher and the poets together taught me.

A river can be both a “significant river” and a nahr-e-dil-nashin. The challenge before us is to ensure that future generations can still see it as both.

Text and photos by Prerna Jain.