They called her Indus. But deep in her heart, she was always Sindu - the flow. And when they named her Indus, it was like they were playing with her letters in order to reverse her flow.
It was in the heart of her home where she was born, she found the most comfort. But, as the tradition would have it, women never stayed in their mother's home. She had to leave one day. She had to flow out, navigating the boulders of custom, meandering through the dreary sands of culture, babbling over pebbles of society and Nature, until one day she would flow into the sea of nothingness - that realm of dissolution - where all souls merged into the great undifferentiated waters.
The thought of flowing beyond the borders of her home petrified her. Who knows what lay beneath! What kind of men crouch there and what parts of their body would they dip into her. Here in her birthplace, she was still reasonably pure, but out there she did not know how they would defile her. She had heard scary stories, of rivers of blood (i.e. trains of dead) flowing back and forth.
But she felt the push to flow forth. She did not know what compelled her. They said it was tradition; she felt it was more like Natural law. Yet she did not want to go... as she found solace in the cold confines of her glacial home, far from the territorial pursuits of terrestrial animals.
Then one day, like manna from heaven, came the walls. Those thick concrete walls that divided, delineated, and deterred. The dams - which they called 'temples of modern civilization'. Built with bricks of fear, glued by the concrete of suspicion, reinforced by steel of caution, and watered by streams of lethargy, the dams stood strong, breaking the law and stopping her flow.
Far out there, beyond those dams, across the borders of her home, lay thirsty hearts, yearning, craving, pining, for her waters. Yet, Sindu, though designed to quench their thirst, chose to stay back, in the home where her cold heart lay...