Linda: Rishikesh, April 12

Rishikesh


Train? Or bus? Going from one place to another in India is always different. Each area and each connection has an easier way and a harder way, and we’ve learned (the hard way) that it is extremely helpful to talk to a reputable travel coordinator IN the city from which you are departing to find out the best way to get from one place to another. Between Pushkar and Hardiwar, the decision was more ambiguous. We could ride on a train, which at least had a toilet, was a smoother ride, and might, if we were lucky, have air conditioning. Or, we could have a guaranteed seat on a sleeper bus (versus a local bus) and get there 5 hours or more earlier, but no toilet. Also, the comfort of a sleeper bus varied dramatically from company to company. Alas, in fact, there was no choice. No seats on the train. Bus it was, which meant we would arrive in Haridwar by 8:30 and Rishikesh by 10:00 the next morning.

Or so we thought. We thought we’d fall asleep in our little sleeper bunk and wake up with the journey nearly over. Three traffic jams, each two hours long, and 20 hours later instead of 12, no AC, crammed on a dusty mat where you could never quite sit up, we finally bounced ( bounced here is an understatement. One “bounce” in the middle of the night had me airborne and knocked the wind out of me. I had a fit of quiet giggles after that one, and memories of teenage rides over railroad tracks – sorry Dad) our way to Hardiwar. The good news is, I finally realized I had completely abandoned all schedules and didn’t really care about time. For me, this was moving in new waters, especially after teaching and raising a family for the past 25 years. We didn’t really have to be anywhere at any time, we were safe, we would get there, we were only uncomfortable - and Eleanor had a dust rash. The other good news is that we met two women on the bus who came from Malta, (how wonderful to learn about Malta!) and they had guidebooks. After a quick perusal of the guide book, I realized I made the wrong choice in a hotel. This little piece of serendipity made the difference between a pleasant stay in Rishikesh and a more difficult, noisy, and inconvenient stay.

And, despite the rigor of the journey – by far the most difficult we had, mostly because it was unexpectedly long … and bouncy - I was immediately happy we were here. We fell asleep in a desert and woke in a garden. Everywhere was green, green grass, wheat fields, flowers, orchards. Lushness, ripeness, food, plenty. And the air had that slight tang of the mountains. My shoulders relaxed, the knot in my stomach that I didn’t know I had been carrying for days was gone, and I was feeling, once again, a little adventurous. We bounced along for another hour in the autorickshaw, passing the sacred Ganges River several times, her ghats filled with bathers, worshippers, ashrams, and temples. I expected to arrive in Rishikesh to see the blessed river with Himalayan Mountains in the distance. To my immense joy, they were there – rising immediately and majestically out of the plain, up, up, up from the Ganges and touching the sky. These were the Himalayan foothills, gentle and generous with forests and flowers, home to sadhus and sages for thousands and thousands of years. For Hardiwar and Rishikesh are sacred areas, where the Ganga leaves her home in the mountain and spreads out upon the open plains.

We arrived, tired and disheveled and hungry (24 hours without food and very little water – no toilets on the bus) to a lovely room, all by itself, with a glorious private deck that looked down upon the Ganges and the Himalayan Mountains (and still only $24 a night). We ate one of the most delicious meals of my life at 4:00 (dinner, breakfast, lunch, and dinner all rolled into one) – with pots of tea and dessert, made an appointment for a massage the next morning at 10:00, and retired to our deck for contented reading and quiet being. India. So amazingly varied. Peoples. Places. Languages. Traditions. Prices. Things one can buy. Geography. Topography. History. Problems. Governments. Animals (I walked by a camel one day and almost didn’t notice). Transportation details. Everywhere, it is different. And yet, there is a thread, a lovely beautiful thread that binds it all together. The Heart of India. It is something I can’t quite define, but it is real and it crosses all the boundaries, all the languages, all the religions, all the cultural and historical differences. There is a spirit that winds its way across the great and ancient land that is more real than the different ways. That which unites is far greater than that which separates. And I hope and pray that these peoples can hold onto that unity, and that diversity.

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Rishikesh is a traditional city absolutely filled with ashrams – and the shops, businesses, restaurants, and suppliers that go along with a pilgrim city. The Ganges River is to the east of our room, with foot bridges crossing it to the north and south of us. It is a fascinating 5 km walk to circumnavigate the two bridges. The shops coalesce nearest to the bridges, and the ashrams fan out from there. One meanders up and down the river and sees ashrams of the long standing and prestigious names, founded by great sages and personages such as Sivananda (especially famous for yoga), Dayanda, Niketan, and, of course, the ashram made famous by the visit of the Beatles in the 1960’s. There are temples and shrines and lesser known ashrams. There are academies for yoga of all sizes and shapes, from large, well apportioned buildings to tiny huts with a single sadhu. Though there is a very, very strong “hippie” presence here (one person reported that half the visitors were here to “chill out” which usually meant taking some form of marijuana or hashish and the other half were here for spiritual reasons, mostly yoga), it was somehow less distressful than it had been in Pushkar. The size and magnificence of the Ganges and of the mountains neutralized and even uplifted everyone. And, there were intriguing doors everywhere – little worlds of traditional practice and science where one could enter and leave the noisome world for peace, and wisdom, and retreat.

Where to go? What to do? As one of the professors, Dr. Manring, at IU told us in one of her extremely helpful correspondences, serendipity rules in India – which has certainly been the case throughout our journey. We wanted to spend a little time (3-5 days) in an ashram, to have a sense of what this traditional lifestyle was like and to learn more about Hinduism. The four ashrams mentioned above had been recommended, as well as the Sri Ram Ashram and Orphanage in Hardiwar. Alas, Shivananda was full, I forgot about the Niketan at the critical moment, and Dayanda ashram was in a quiet period after a time of intense activity during the visit of its leading guru. But, happily, the path was made easy to visit the Sri Ram Ashram and Orphanage in Hardiwar, whose founder is Hari Dass, known as Babaji. It was, as many things have been on this journey, for us, the right place at the right time.
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We spent 4 days in Rishikesh before returning to Hardiwar and the Sri Ram Ashram. We visited the Dayananda Ashram, which is a beautiful place in the southern part of this part of Rishikesh. It has a simple, but lovely temple, lovely and a very quiet, inward feeling. The swamis were very kind, but, as mentioned earlier, they were in a quiet period – no lectures and occasional yoga classes. We did go down to the Ganges, where we sat with some families whose children were swimming in its waters. Eleanor, with proper intention, made this her new beginning, and bathed (fully clothed, as is typical here) in the Ganges holy water. We could have attended lectures and yoga classes at the various ashrams, even though we were not able to actually live there, and we did attend one yoga class at the Sivananda ashram. One could not be in a more stunningly beautiful and supportive place to have a yoga class. The yoga room (separate times for men and women) had windows on two sides. There was a lot of natural light, as well as fans. The walls were a warm yellow with a hint of orange; the floors of medium colored wood. And the view was the Ganges River, with the pilgrims and worshippers bathing by her side and the mountains soaring above. The two hour yoga class went very quickly, a combination of asanas (yoga postures), prajana (breathing), and quiet meditation. The nun who conducted the class was gentle with a touch of much appreciated humor (the headstand was absolutely impossible for me, though Eleanor managed it for a few seconds – everyone else seemed to be able to float effortlessly on their heads), as was everyone there that we had met.

Afterwards, we went down to the Ganges to watch aarti, a beautiful, private ceremony where people have little leaf baskets filled with flowers and a candle. They say a prayer by the river, light the candle, and set it floating down the river. As the night deepened, dozens of little flower boats, a symbol of someone’s hopes and prayers, bobbed down the river, disappearing in the darkening horizon. A perfection of simplicity and pure beauty.

We were going to go to a lecture, chanting, and puja after aarti, but Eleanor was tired and so was I. Somehow, leaving the ashram at 10:00 to walk back to the hotel seemed overwhelming. With regret, I walked away from the long flight of stairs up to the Samadhi Hall where the worship and lecture would take place, and went back to the hotel. It really is a support to actually stay in an ashram rather than try to participate while you are staying outside. I noticed this here and in Tiruvanamalai, when we were in the Ramana Maharshi ashram. One wouldn’t think it would make much difference, being a 10-15 minute walk away or being “in house”, but it does. When one is inside the ashram, there is no reason to leave. The day is full, food is served, all your needs are taken care of. All you need to do is learn and be. One has made a choice to be there and not elsewhere. Outside, one needs to take care of food and other little things – you feel a bit in two worlds. There are reasons for both possibilities, but it definitely took more effort to attend events when we weren’t living in the ashram. And I was a bit more agitated as well.

Our days passed quickly with quiet meanderings, reading, and visiting. It was a restful time in many ways, and a time to rejuvenate after the rigors of Rajasthan.