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The Dark-Coloured Waters: A Journey Along River Chenab
The Dark-Coloured Waters is as much the story of a river as it is of a man shaped by its course.
Danesh Rana has had a profound connection with the Chenab. As a child, it flanked family road trips to Kashmir. In the 1990s, it ran through the newspaper headlines of bloodshed and militancy. And in 2002, it flowed past his police station in Ramban during a tense posting flat the heart of conflict. In 2018, on election duty in Himachal Pradesh, Rana arrived at the river’s source – a symbolic homecoming that compelled him to write this book.
Spanning decades and landscapes, The Dark-Coloured Waters traces the Chenab from its mythic origins to the violence-scarred landscape of Jammu and Kashmir. Along the way, Rana blends memoir, travelogue and keen observation to chart the river in all its complexity. Every bend reveals something new – culture and conflict, memory and myth, power and resistance. The Chenab is also a river of diplomacy, enshrined in the Indus Waters Treaty and entangled in the acrimony of India–Pakistan relations. From Bollywood to bloodshed, spiritual quests to statecraft, the Chenab reflects the many Indias that surge along its banks.
This is no linear chronicle, but a riverine journey – restless, reflective and deeply human.
Danesh Rana has had a profound connection with the Chenab. As a child, it flanked family road trips to Kashmir. In the 1990s, it ran through the newspaper headlines of bloodshed and militancy. And in 2002, it flowed past his police station in Ramban during a tense posting flat the heart of conflict. In 2018, on election duty in Himachal Pradesh, Rana arrived at the river’s source – a symbolic homecoming that compelled him to write this book.
Spanning decades and landscapes, The Dark-Coloured Waters traces the Chenab from its mythic origins to the violence-scarred landscape of Jammu and Kashmir. Along the way, Rana blends memoir, travelogue and keen observation to chart the river in all its complexity. Every bend reveals something new – culture and conflict, memory and myth, power and resistance. The Chenab is also a river of diplomacy, enshrined in the Indus Waters Treaty and entangled in the acrimony of India–Pakistan relations. From Bollywood to bloodshed, spiritual quests to statecraft, the Chenab reflects the many Indias that surge along its banks.
This is no linear chronicle, but a riverine journey – restless, reflective and deeply human.
354 pages, Kindle Edition
Published July 31, 2025
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September 4, 2025
LYRICAL ODYSSEY
Just signed the last page after a dreamy, wafting journey on the waves of the legendary Chenab! Chapters 1, 6, and 15 swayed me!
Your, The Dark Coloured Waters is not merely a book but a lyrical odyssey that flows like the river Chenab itself—both witness and storyteller to centuries of love, loss, wars, and whispered secrets along its banks. As someone whose heart has long been tethered to the ancient, 3.3-billion-year-old heritage of Mount Abu, I confess that history was never my forte. Yet, much like my dear friend, the erudite scholar and former Supreme Court Justice Rohinton F. Nariman—whose mastery of history, jurisprudence, theology, and Western classical music never ceases to inspire—our evocative prose transformed me into an ardent admirer of the Chenab’s timeless narrative.
This book, a masterpiece in the avant-garde genre of esoteric surrealism, is a tapestry woven with the threads of nostalgia, poetic intimacy, and the oxymoronic dance of serene swiftness. The Chenab, much like Lord Krishna’s beloved Yamuna, is both a tender companion and a stoic observer of human triumphs and tragedies. Your words carried me along its currents, where one can almost hear the crooning of poetry and feel the grief of lovers immortalized on its banks. As the river changes its course, even its nationality, I found myself waving a pensive sayonara, tinged with melancholy and a quiet envy for it going to another land in its boundless journey.
The Chenab is no ordinary river in your hands—it is a living entity, a silent confidante to the wars and terrorism that have scarred its peaceful sojourn. Yet, it remains a cradle of love and creativity, where poets like Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Bashir Badr, and Amrita Pritam seem to linger, their verses echoing in the ripples. Faiz’s words resonate deeply: “The river of love flows silently, but its depths drown the unwary” (translated from “Raat yun dil mein teri khoyi hui yaad aayi”). Similarly, Bashir Badr’s poignant lines capture the river’s dual nature: “The heart is a river, it flows, it breaks, it carries the weight of every stone” (translated from “Yeh dil yeh pagla watan”). And Amrita Pritam, the goddess of romantic poetry, seems to whisper through the pages: “The river knows the pain of parting, for it has carried lovers’ tears to the sea” (translated from “Main tainu phir milangi”).
Your narrative is steeped in the passionate naturalism of 21st-century poets like Mary Oliver, whose words align with the Chenab’s spirit: “To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work” (from “Yes! No!”). The river demands such attention, its dark waters reflecting both the beauty of life and the shadows of betrayal and loss. Ocean Vuong’s evocative imagery also finds a home here: “The body is a blade that cuts a path through the river of time” (from “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous”), a fitting metaphor for the Chenab’s journey through history’s tumult.
The book’s genius lies in its ability to blend the personal and the universal. Reading it, I was transported to my own nostalgic reveries of Mount Abu, its ancient rocks whispering tales as old as the earth itself – beyond memories of time. Your Chenab became my companion, much like the mountains I hold dear, guiding me through a surreal landscape where love and loss coexist. As the proverb goes, “A river cuts through rock, not because of its power, but because of its persistence.” So too does your prose carve a lasting impression, blending the intimacy of personal memory with the grandeur of collective history.
Had I mistaken this for a mere historical account, I might have set it aside after a few pages—a grave error! To do so would have deprived me of the lyrical romance, the intense poetic pleasure, and the intimate acquaintance with a river that has seen it all: love, hate, betrayal, wars, pathos, and bathos. The Dark Colored Waters is a testament to the enduring power of storytelling, where the Chenab stands as both muse and mirror, reflecting the souls of those who dwell on its banks and the poet’s heart that dares to dream its story.
Beholden by your beneficent benison,
With kind regards and gratitude
Just signed the last page after a dreamy, wafting journey on the waves of the legendary Chenab! Chapters 1, 6, and 15 swayed me!
Your, The Dark Coloured Waters is not merely a book but a lyrical odyssey that flows like the river Chenab itself—both witness and storyteller to centuries of love, loss, wars, and whispered secrets along its banks. As someone whose heart has long been tethered to the ancient, 3.3-billion-year-old heritage of Mount Abu, I confess that history was never my forte. Yet, much like my dear friend, the erudite scholar and former Supreme Court Justice Rohinton F. Nariman—whose mastery of history, jurisprudence, theology, and Western classical music never ceases to inspire—our evocative prose transformed me into an ardent admirer of the Chenab’s timeless narrative.
This book, a masterpiece in the avant-garde genre of esoteric surrealism, is a tapestry woven with the threads of nostalgia, poetic intimacy, and the oxymoronic dance of serene swiftness. The Chenab, much like Lord Krishna’s beloved Yamuna, is both a tender companion and a stoic observer of human triumphs and tragedies. Your words carried me along its currents, where one can almost hear the crooning of poetry and feel the grief of lovers immortalized on its banks. As the river changes its course, even its nationality, I found myself waving a pensive sayonara, tinged with melancholy and a quiet envy for it going to another land in its boundless journey.
The Chenab is no ordinary river in your hands—it is a living entity, a silent confidante to the wars and terrorism that have scarred its peaceful sojourn. Yet, it remains a cradle of love and creativity, where poets like Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Bashir Badr, and Amrita Pritam seem to linger, their verses echoing in the ripples. Faiz’s words resonate deeply: “The river of love flows silently, but its depths drown the unwary” (translated from “Raat yun dil mein teri khoyi hui yaad aayi”). Similarly, Bashir Badr’s poignant lines capture the river’s dual nature: “The heart is a river, it flows, it breaks, it carries the weight of every stone” (translated from “Yeh dil yeh pagla watan”). And Amrita Pritam, the goddess of romantic poetry, seems to whisper through the pages: “The river knows the pain of parting, for it has carried lovers’ tears to the sea” (translated from “Main tainu phir milangi”).
Your narrative is steeped in the passionate naturalism of 21st-century poets like Mary Oliver, whose words align with the Chenab’s spirit: “To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work” (from “Yes! No!”). The river demands such attention, its dark waters reflecting both the beauty of life and the shadows of betrayal and loss. Ocean Vuong’s evocative imagery also finds a home here: “The body is a blade that cuts a path through the river of time” (from “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous”), a fitting metaphor for the Chenab’s journey through history’s tumult.
The book’s genius lies in its ability to blend the personal and the universal. Reading it, I was transported to my own nostalgic reveries of Mount Abu, its ancient rocks whispering tales as old as the earth itself – beyond memories of time. Your Chenab became my companion, much like the mountains I hold dear, guiding me through a surreal landscape where love and loss coexist. As the proverb goes, “A river cuts through rock, not because of its power, but because of its persistence.” So too does your prose carve a lasting impression, blending the intimacy of personal memory with the grandeur of collective history.
Had I mistaken this for a mere historical account, I might have set it aside after a few pages—a grave error! To do so would have deprived me of the lyrical romance, the intense poetic pleasure, and the intimate acquaintance with a river that has seen it all: love, hate, betrayal, wars, pathos, and bathos. The Dark Colored Waters is a testament to the enduring power of storytelling, where the Chenab stands as both muse and mirror, reflecting the souls of those who dwell on its banks and the poet’s heart that dares to dream its story.
Beholden by your beneficent benison,
With kind regards and gratitude
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