Linda: Fatehpur Sikr, Agra, Feb. 7
We arrived in the ancient Mughal capital of Agra late at night to a little hotel, yards from the Taj Mahal and surrounded by lovely gardens. The next morning, we left on a local bus to the abandoned city of Fatehpur Sikr. This city was built by the great King Akbar in the late 1500’s.
Sometimes, one has the privilege of seeing into the soul of a great man. This city was such a glimpse - this city, set on top of a ridge overlooking the surrounding fields and forests. Of all the stories of kings throughout the world, the story of Akbar has been, for me, one of the most inspiring (Ashoka and Charlemagne also come to mind. Yes, I love the legends of King Arthur and there are kings and queens throughout all the regions of the world that one admires – for reasons similar to Akbar. But unlike Arthur, or Rama, or Krishna whose “reality” is steeped in legend and symbolism and other of great kings of the misty past, Akbar was recent and one can get a sense of him through the history, poetry, prose, architecture, and art inspired by his reign and his patronage.
Akbar was born into royalty. He was of the Islamic faith and his forefathers were carving kingdoms into the northern areas of India, off and on, for the previous few centuries. Akbar was, like all kings of his time, a warrior king, but of the greatest kind, for he was not inspired by conquest, personal glory, and gain, but had a higher aim. He was a man of great vision, compassion, strength of character, piety, humility, and had an understanding of humanity that is a light for all times. (Perhaps the ancient kings whose greatness of heart inspired the temples in southern India were other men of this sort.) Though illiterate, he surrounded himself by the great minds of the age, in all fields, in all religions. He kept, on hand, over 50,000 manuscripts which traveled with him from capital to capital, palace to palace. He would be read to, for hours daily, and memorized vast amounts of information and pearls of wisdom. He sought advice, discerning truth and wisdom. He conquered many lands, but with a wisdom and compassion that brought peace and light to the realms that surrounded him. Such was his realm that all who were knowledgeable were welcome. He abolished taxes and fines that were given to those of a different religion. He employed Hindus, Christians, Parsis, Muslims, and Jews in high positions in court, much like the early Ottomans in Turkey and the Andalusian rulers in Spain. He had several wives, in keeping with eastern tradition and royal necessity, some of whom were of different religions and all of whom were treated with reverence and respect. They, too, wielded an influence in their own right. His was a realm where character, intelligence, and integrity mattered most – and it was in a relatively recent day and age.
Fatehhpur Sikri was the dream of this great man. His capital was at Agra Fort, where, surrounded by his court, he ruled … childless. He sought the blessing of a great Sufi teacher, and, after consulting and being guided by this Sufi teacher, his wife conceived a son and heir. In gratitude, he conceived of a plan for a city, starting with a mosque and surrounding grounds that would house scholars and poets and leaders of the Islamic faith. The grounds would also become the site of the tomb of the Sufi saint, Mu’in ad-Din Chishti. This was the first place we visited in Fatehpur Sikr, a place still living despite its remoteness, where pilgrims come to the tomb and tie a string on the stone screens that surround it – a heartfelt prayer, a hope for the future.
Then, over a course of 16 years, the rest of this magnificent palace was built. Inside its grounds, the palaces of the queens lay in stately array and the private quarters of the great king were a testament to his vision. This palace, built as a refuge from the court of Agra, was like a legend come to life. All was light and airy, with wide courtyards, fountains, blue sky, and wind. It was designed to catch all the winds, keeping the grounds and various buildings cool. It was made for the people to always be accessible to their king, with a large and impressive Hall for Public Audiences (for any citizen of the realm) as well as a smaller, more private and intimate (but equally impressive) Hall for Private Audiences. This hall in particular was a window into his soul, for it was not only designed as an audience chamber for higher ranking officials and aristocrats, but was also a great chamber for debate. In the center of the hall, open on all sides, is a large column, connected by light and fanciful bridges to the four upper corners of the building. Akbar would stand in the center, on top of the column, and have representatives of different points of view – often of the different religions of his realm – in each corner. From there, debate would ensue – king debating in an open and respectful fashion with the great minds of his time. All would be pursuing that highest common thread, that transcendent unity that binds all, and upon which he built his kingdom. His power, both military and financial, allowed this, despite grumblings amongst those with a less lofty vision. And, for his lifetime and the lifetime of his son, such were the times where all were valued for their humanity, their piety, their wisdom, their character, their art, and their strength of will.
Each building is a jewel. The Treasury – amazingly open, though one sees the remnants of where huge doors closed off various parts. The palaces of the queens, whose walls are decorated with that wonderful Islamic art that turns stone into something of air and light, twining arabesques that bring both privacy and light. The library, the fountain with a large platform in the center where one can sit, surrounded by light and water. There was even a court sized (LARGE) Pachisi board, played with women as the playing pieces – 16 games played before all was done! An abode of peace. A haven of beauty. A place of prayer. A paradise on earth.
But, like all things in this world, it passed. And as things are of this later age, its time was quick, a swan song in the night. Though highly engineered, water became a significant issue in this great palace, and after a mere 14 years, the gates were locked and the palaces were closed, abandoned, and preserved in their entirety, a dream frozen in time.
After the wonder of the Hindu architecture with which we have been immersed, dropping into this splendid city of Islamic grandeur, with its sweeping views, its light and airy magnificence, it’s emphasis on truth and compassion and humanity and art, was a journey into another world – one in which one can see all that is good and beautiful about the peoples of this religion, brought to light through the soul and patronage of a great man.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Linda: Bodhgaya, Feb. 2-6
Linda: Bodhgaya – Feb 1-5
With much trepidation and a heavy heart, I said farewell to my husband and son on the streets of Varanasi. It has been a wonderful 6 weeks, a treasured time with many diverse events and a blessing to share as a family.
Eleanor and I left for the train station long before Patrick and Matthew. It was our first time on Indian trains – 3 hours late, three tier sleeper car. We only had a 5 hour journey, but my, those seats got hard by the end of the five hours! The trains are certainly less bumpy than travel by bus and one can lie down. We were in a second class compartment and it was cold enough that my shawl was very welcomed. Our compartment was shared with an Indian couple, a man from Austria, and a man from Japan. Both of these men had been to India before and were returning to re-visit some places and explore new areas. (December/January really is the best time to see most of India as the weather is, on the whole, quite pleasant.) The train is an excellent place to meet people, to compare notes, to play cards, to show photographs, and to share food – if one dares. Passengers come well supplied with many savory items and meals. The train stops about every 15 minutes, so a five hour trip by train would probably take half as long by car. At most stops, people would come on board offering tea and snacks, and often someone would come on board to beg for money. One ingenious little girl came on and did acrobatics in the hopes of making a few rupees. It worked on Eleanor! (In Varanasi, we have seen the most extreme cases of poverty and crippled people trying to survive. Because of the expense of medicine, many injuries go untreated, so it is not uncommon to see someone with twisted limbs. Some walk or creep along the ground, making their way the best they can. How incredibly difficult life can be.)
We are on our way to Bodhgaya, the place where the Buddha sat under a banyan tree and attained Enlightenment. It is the most significant place of pilgrimage for the Buddhist world, and the tree, stupa, and surrounding grounds are a World Heritage Site. We arrived at 1:00 in the morning to a sleeping town and slept later that morning and had brunch. We just went around the corner, past a few shops selling things and one beautiful Tibetan monastery that is across the street from our hotel. After eating an exquisite meal in a little Tibetan café, we made our way to the grounds where the Buddha had meditated 2500 years ago. And there, we had an immense surprise. As we neared the ground, we heard chanting and horns coming from within the gates. The stupa is a beautiful structure, and the grounds are surrounded by flowers, gardens, votive pillars, little buildings. At Sarnath, I had fervently wished to see a place that was living, vibrant, still manifesting what had inspired its creation. I wanted to see what Sarnath once was – and here it was! All the sacred architecture I’d wondered about in the ruins of Sarnath were here. And more! We came during the three days when relics, sacred to the Tibetan Buddhists, were on display. We came in the center of a large Tibetan pilgrimage. The grounds around the Bodhgaya tree were surrounded by thousands of Tibetan monks and nuns with their beautiful countenances and robes of maroon and ochre. Other nationalities were also present, all sitting around the stupa, praying, prostrating, chanting, reading. There are two walkways around the stupa; the first one is about 15 steps above ground level and the second another 15 steps above that. One could walk on the upper level, going around the stupa, and looking down at this immense spectacle. Because the walkway was up, I felt completely at ease taking photographs, knowing I did not distract the people praying below. It is a very serene and peaceful place here. It’s a quiet place, an inward place.
Going on at the same time is the Saraswati celebration, a Hindu celebration of a significant goddess. During this time, statues of Saraswati are taken out of the temples to be led in procession down the streets. In Varanasi, she is taken to the Ganges to be plunged in her waters before returning to the temples. I’m not sure where they took her here in Bodhgaya. It was such an interesting contrast between the two modes! The Buddhist monks and nuns were all around the tree, chanting and praying. Then, occasionally, out in the streets, one would hear loud drumming and playing (sometimes loudspeakers playing Hindu music). If you were out on the street, you would see a truck coming, decked in flowers with musicians in front. The statue of Saraswati would be on the bed of the truck, resplendent with flowers and fabric, followed by devotees dancing (all men, at least I don’t think I saw any women) and singing in the streets. This scene would be played off and on over a three day period – a little wild and very festive.
The Bodhgaya is a wonderful place, and the surrounding monasteries are also a wonder. Every Buddhist country was invited to build a monastery in the style of their country. So, even though there were mainly Tibetans here at this time, one also saw significant numbers of Chinese, Bhutanese, Burmese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Thai, Indian and others. Some of the temples are absolute jewels, and in seeing the various temples, one sees a significant part of the Asian world. Truly, I marvel at the artistry that takes the same ideas, the same sets of principles, the same stories, and transforms them into archtypes that beautifully reflect a people’s hearts. The Tibetan monastary with its bright colors; the Bhutanese with more subdued colors and three-dimensional scenes in the walls; the Japanese with its stark and simple building whose austerity offset the resplendent Buddha that was at its center; the Thai temple with its exquisite blue and gold and the Buddha with the Thai style crown that connects man with heaven. In Thailand, people always sense the connection between man and God as a direct link between the head and heaven. Their artwork and halos reflect this, and it is considered very bad manners to touch someone on the head, as this cuts this connection. The artwork reminded me in some ways of the Christian art work of the descent of the Holy Spirit. One walks here, somewhere in a different time and in a different place. How small our world is, how wonderful, and how fragile.
(I am now back to being a minority again! And so are all the Hindus!)
For three days, we basked in the contemplative splendor of the Tibetan prayer life. I was quite tired from all the traveling and did not take as full advantage of this situation as possible. Besides the large gatherings at the site of the Bodhi Tree, there were also smaller, more intimate gatherings at the various monasteries, both early in the morning and later in the afternoon. The atmosphere vibrated with the hum of prayerful intent, and one’s heart was swept up with a calmness, a sense that it would be so easy to live this quiet, unhurried pace, letting the moments go by in a simple life of a plain diet, a simple room, and the pursuit of knowledge and understanding in the highest form.
Today is our last day here. I awoke after a fitful night, feeling quite restless and out of sorts – a significant contrast to the previous days of contentment. When Eleanor and I left to go to the Bodhi Tree, we saw that, indeed, all was over. The little blankets that had covered the walkways, resplendent with beads, prayer wheels, flags, and jewelry from Tibet were mostly gone and, inside the courtyards of the stupa, a few monks continued to pray and prostrate, but all else was being cleaned up. The bowls of flowers that had surrounded all the walkways were gone. The thousands of oil lamps, flickering on the walkways and in the 5 glass houses that contained them were all extinguished. Buses were lining up, dignitaries were leaving, and many of the Tibetans had taken off their beautiful robes for the western dress in which they would travel. One could see monks and nuns, lingering on the periphery, trying to hold onto the peace that had been there, something to savor and hold onto – perhaps for a lifetime. Others were already thinking of tomorrow, their faces already turned away. Transitions are such difficult times, and I found it interesting that the very air around us transmitted this; we were surrounded by an unsettled ambience saying it was time to move on. Still, to have been given this fleeting glance into this world, so unexpected, was a true gift – one of those moments forever in one’s imagination, like photographs which can be viewed, reminders of a happiness and a fleeting perfection in an imperfect world.
With much trepidation and a heavy heart, I said farewell to my husband and son on the streets of Varanasi. It has been a wonderful 6 weeks, a treasured time with many diverse events and a blessing to share as a family.
Eleanor and I left for the train station long before Patrick and Matthew. It was our first time on Indian trains – 3 hours late, three tier sleeper car. We only had a 5 hour journey, but my, those seats got hard by the end of the five hours! The trains are certainly less bumpy than travel by bus and one can lie down. We were in a second class compartment and it was cold enough that my shawl was very welcomed. Our compartment was shared with an Indian couple, a man from Austria, and a man from Japan. Both of these men had been to India before and were returning to re-visit some places and explore new areas. (December/January really is the best time to see most of India as the weather is, on the whole, quite pleasant.) The train is an excellent place to meet people, to compare notes, to play cards, to show photographs, and to share food – if one dares. Passengers come well supplied with many savory items and meals. The train stops about every 15 minutes, so a five hour trip by train would probably take half as long by car. At most stops, people would come on board offering tea and snacks, and often someone would come on board to beg for money. One ingenious little girl came on and did acrobatics in the hopes of making a few rupees. It worked on Eleanor! (In Varanasi, we have seen the most extreme cases of poverty and crippled people trying to survive. Because of the expense of medicine, many injuries go untreated, so it is not uncommon to see someone with twisted limbs. Some walk or creep along the ground, making their way the best they can. How incredibly difficult life can be.)
We are on our way to Bodhgaya, the place where the Buddha sat under a banyan tree and attained Enlightenment. It is the most significant place of pilgrimage for the Buddhist world, and the tree, stupa, and surrounding grounds are a World Heritage Site. We arrived at 1:00 in the morning to a sleeping town and slept later that morning and had brunch. We just went around the corner, past a few shops selling things and one beautiful Tibetan monastery that is across the street from our hotel. After eating an exquisite meal in a little Tibetan café, we made our way to the grounds where the Buddha had meditated 2500 years ago. And there, we had an immense surprise. As we neared the ground, we heard chanting and horns coming from within the gates. The stupa is a beautiful structure, and the grounds are surrounded by flowers, gardens, votive pillars, little buildings. At Sarnath, I had fervently wished to see a place that was living, vibrant, still manifesting what had inspired its creation. I wanted to see what Sarnath once was – and here it was! All the sacred architecture I’d wondered about in the ruins of Sarnath were here. And more! We came during the three days when relics, sacred to the Tibetan Buddhists, were on display. We came in the center of a large Tibetan pilgrimage. The grounds around the Bodhgaya tree were surrounded by thousands of Tibetan monks and nuns with their beautiful countenances and robes of maroon and ochre. Other nationalities were also present, all sitting around the stupa, praying, prostrating, chanting, reading. There are two walkways around the stupa; the first one is about 15 steps above ground level and the second another 15 steps above that. One could walk on the upper level, going around the stupa, and looking down at this immense spectacle. Because the walkway was up, I felt completely at ease taking photographs, knowing I did not distract the people praying below. It is a very serene and peaceful place here. It’s a quiet place, an inward place.
Going on at the same time is the Saraswati celebration, a Hindu celebration of a significant goddess. During this time, statues of Saraswati are taken out of the temples to be led in procession down the streets. In Varanasi, she is taken to the Ganges to be plunged in her waters before returning to the temples. I’m not sure where they took her here in Bodhgaya. It was such an interesting contrast between the two modes! The Buddhist monks and nuns were all around the tree, chanting and praying. Then, occasionally, out in the streets, one would hear loud drumming and playing (sometimes loudspeakers playing Hindu music). If you were out on the street, you would see a truck coming, decked in flowers with musicians in front. The statue of Saraswati would be on the bed of the truck, resplendent with flowers and fabric, followed by devotees dancing (all men, at least I don’t think I saw any women) and singing in the streets. This scene would be played off and on over a three day period – a little wild and very festive.
The Bodhgaya is a wonderful place, and the surrounding monasteries are also a wonder. Every Buddhist country was invited to build a monastery in the style of their country. So, even though there were mainly Tibetans here at this time, one also saw significant numbers of Chinese, Bhutanese, Burmese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Thai, Indian and others. Some of the temples are absolute jewels, and in seeing the various temples, one sees a significant part of the Asian world. Truly, I marvel at the artistry that takes the same ideas, the same sets of principles, the same stories, and transforms them into archtypes that beautifully reflect a people’s hearts. The Tibetan monastary with its bright colors; the Bhutanese with more subdued colors and three-dimensional scenes in the walls; the Japanese with its stark and simple building whose austerity offset the resplendent Buddha that was at its center; the Thai temple with its exquisite blue and gold and the Buddha with the Thai style crown that connects man with heaven. In Thailand, people always sense the connection between man and God as a direct link between the head and heaven. Their artwork and halos reflect this, and it is considered very bad manners to touch someone on the head, as this cuts this connection. The artwork reminded me in some ways of the Christian art work of the descent of the Holy Spirit. One walks here, somewhere in a different time and in a different place. How small our world is, how wonderful, and how fragile.
(I am now back to being a minority again! And so are all the Hindus!)
For three days, we basked in the contemplative splendor of the Tibetan prayer life. I was quite tired from all the traveling and did not take as full advantage of this situation as possible. Besides the large gatherings at the site of the Bodhi Tree, there were also smaller, more intimate gatherings at the various monasteries, both early in the morning and later in the afternoon. The atmosphere vibrated with the hum of prayerful intent, and one’s heart was swept up with a calmness, a sense that it would be so easy to live this quiet, unhurried pace, letting the moments go by in a simple life of a plain diet, a simple room, and the pursuit of knowledge and understanding in the highest form.
Today is our last day here. I awoke after a fitful night, feeling quite restless and out of sorts – a significant contrast to the previous days of contentment. When Eleanor and I left to go to the Bodhi Tree, we saw that, indeed, all was over. The little blankets that had covered the walkways, resplendent with beads, prayer wheels, flags, and jewelry from Tibet were mostly gone and, inside the courtyards of the stupa, a few monks continued to pray and prostrate, but all else was being cleaned up. The bowls of flowers that had surrounded all the walkways were gone. The thousands of oil lamps, flickering on the walkways and in the 5 glass houses that contained them were all extinguished. Buses were lining up, dignitaries were leaving, and many of the Tibetans had taken off their beautiful robes for the western dress in which they would travel. One could see monks and nuns, lingering on the periphery, trying to hold onto the peace that had been there, something to savor and hold onto – perhaps for a lifetime. Others were already thinking of tomorrow, their faces already turned away. Transitions are such difficult times, and I found it interesting that the very air around us transmitted this; we were surrounded by an unsettled ambience saying it was time to move on. Still, to have been given this fleeting glance into this world, so unexpected, was a true gift – one of those moments forever in one’s imagination, like photographs which can be viewed, reminders of a happiness and a fleeting perfection in an imperfect world.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Linda: Varanaisi Jan 27-31
Linda: Varanaisi
This city is one that defies description. It truly is the universe, all held in the arms of the blessed Ganges; this amazing river, flowing north through the city sparkles like jewels in the sun. Its quiet majesty sweeps by and contains all there is. Every aspect of life and death are displayed on its placid banks. Every moment is punctuated by the sounds of prayer, of play, of music and drum, of washing, of selling. Every vision takes in every human possibility in all its modalities. One is never away from life, or from death and decay. From purity and contemplativity to activity. From that which is Most High to that which is Within. From duty and work, or from a sublime rejection of every day work for the work of prayer. From the ancient (sacred places and ways of being) to the old (most of the architecture is from the 1800’s) to the modern (mostly is the faces of some of the people). Around every corner is a place where some great personage has lived and prayed, whose influence is still felt and revered. Here, one could live in one corner for a lifetime and not exhaust its possibilities. Every day has brought a different light, a different angle, a different perception. And through it all, the Ganges flows forth, bringing with it the hopes and prayers of thousands and thousands.
Being in Varanasi is traveling back in time. The old city is a maze of small streets, wide enough for two people to go down somewhat comfortably – moving amongst the bullocks, carts, bicycles, and motorcycles like streams of water flowing together. Our days were mostly spent walking up and down the ghats, just being present in this city with no real agenda. The images pass before my mind’s eye, so little with ties back to our world in the west. The sound and sight of cars and automation is far away, and the air is filled with music, bells, chants, laughter, and speech.
Three events punctuated our visit to Varanasi. The first was a short visit to the ashram of Anandamayma, a woman Hindu saint from last century. Her life and her words are inspiring and she radiates a presence of devotion, intelligence, and love. She left a legacy of ashrams and had western disciples as well as Hindu. She was a beacon of beauty. Hidden up a long flight of stairs on one of the ghats, tucked away off a narrow alley, was her ashram and a memorial to her presence. The memorial had two floors, the bottom with a shrine with flowers and a photograph of her to the side, as well as photographs surrounding the hall. A man at the door then showed us the upstairs, which was a more intimate setting. Here there was a shrine to a god, again bedecked with flowers, with a photograph of her beside it. Nearby on a table were many of her personal artifacts. These things were protected behind a metal grate. Outside the grate was a bed with a photograph of her holding the statue of the god – the symbol of mother came immediately to mind. It was a place radiant with light and peace and overwhelming presence, which took me by surprise.
Later, we met a man that several friends knew. He works in a bookstore here in Varanasi (Indica Books) that sells many interesting books about traditions and India. He is of Spanish descent, but upon travel to India over 25 years ago, was taken with her culture and her religion of metaphysics. He has since married here and has become a Hindu – something that is very unusual, as one must typically be born a Hindu to truly practice this religion as the religious duties of Hinduism are based on caste. Through many years of sincere effort and through this contact with the Jagadguru of the North, an eminent spiritual leader, he was able to overcome this obstacle and became one of the kshattriya caste. (4 castes: Brahmin – priest; kshattriya – leader/warrior; vaisha – merchant/artisan; shudra – worker). Each caste not only has certain things to do religiously, but also has different duties to society. Thus, in the perfect blend of caste and adherence to caste, all aspects of society are cared for, and everyone is appreciative of the sacrifices made on every level for the good of the community. This is difficult to maintain in modern times, to say the least, as western and eastern ways of thought become intertwined in all the people. We had a wonderful conversation with this good man, and through him, we had our introduction to the Jagadguru of the North. Matthew has written about this unexpected visit. The simplicity and this meeting was a perfection. He is an elderly man (83 years) who has recently had surgery, so his meetings with people are necessarily brief. We waited in an anteroom, quietly talking on soft mattresses covered in white cloth. Then, the doors opened and light came in through open windows. Inside, sitting on a bed and surrounded by devotees in orange robe was a man of great light. His countenance was like the sun. We were introduced to him, and he said, several times, “Man is not God. But when the Light of God is in man, he is not unlike God.” It is the profound metatphysics of Shankara, seen also in all traditions. In Christianity, it is, of course, the Christ, who is Son of God and the invitation is to be brothers. Thus it is the world over. The people who were gathered to see him were delighted to hear him speak, as he has been quieter lately. His voice rang with happiness and joy, and that joy spread through the room like the sun through clouds. My husband was the main interlocutor for us; I had the happy position of just being able to watch and see, without having to think about what I needed to say and do. There are many advantages to being in a family! Afterwards, we were given back some of the food we’d brought as a gift, with his blessing upon it, and were also invited to have a small breakfast downstairs: rice and vegetables served in a leaf bowl and given to us by the hands of one of his primary disciples. We had seen the places of past saints; it was a blessing to be in the presence of a man whose life has been dedicated to spiritual matters and whose influence and knowledge was palpable.
Our third venture was to visit Sarnath, or Deer Park. This is the place where the Buddha delivered his first sermon. Today, Eleanor and I leave for Bodhgaya, where the Buddha attained Enlightenment – about 5 hours away by train. But it was here, near the banks of the Ganges that he gave his first sermon to five aesthetics who were living there. A sprig from the original tree in Bodhgaya was planted in Sarnath in the 1930’s. Its spreading branches are surrounded by prayer flags, a wall, and a plaque with the words of that first sermon written down. “In the 3rd century BC, Ashoka, a warrior king who converted to Buddhism, had magnificent stupas and monasteries erected as well as an engraved pillar with edicts for his kingdom. When the Chinese traveler Xuan Zang came in 640 AD, Sarnath boasted a 100m high stupa, 30 monasteries, 3000 monks (accounts vary), and a lifesize brass Buddha turning the Wheel of Life. However, soon after, Buddhism went into decline in India, and invaders with religious and political agendas destroyed and desecrated the city’s buildings, Sarnath disappeared altogether. It was not rediscovered until 1835 when British archeologists started excavations and Sarnath regained some of its past glory.” Sarnath for the most part now lies in ruins, but the largest stupa remains, surrounding by the foundations of monasteries and votive pillars. One temple was very large, and it is easy to imagine the magnificence it must have once been. There is a long courtyard, perhaps 60 meters long. On the right looking down are many votive pillars that must have once housed various statues and relics. One proceeds down the long courtyard to a temple, whose altar is the place where the Buddha gave his sermon, and a place where he meditated. There are still some friezes in place along the bottom of some of the ruins, and even the steps have beautiful carvings. The ruins are surrounded by parkland and gardens, grassy spaces and lakes. There is still an area for animals – interesting birds in cages, crocodiles, and … deer – those wonderful spotted deer that this park is known for. It is said that the Buddha had come in a previous incarnation as a deer, here to this park. He was a deer of magnificent beauty and the raja had ordered that this deer would be spared and never hunted. It came to pass that an arrangement was made through the Buddha deer that, instead of all the deer being hunted, that one deer would volunteer by lot to be sacrificed for the king’s table. And so it came to pass that when the servants came to hunt a deer, one would come forward to be killed. One day, the lot passed to the Buddha deer, who, as agreed, came to be sacrificed for the good of the deer people. The king, learning that it was the Golden Deer that was to be killed, came to the park and said it was not to be so. The Buddha deer then spoke, saying that it was not right for him to be spared and not the others. So the king decreed that all the deer would be spared. The Buddha deer then said it was not right for the deer to be spared and not the other 4 legged creatures. Thus, they too were spared. And so it went, until the king promised to not hunt any animals again – and thus it was. So, it was an apt place for the Buddha’s first sermon to be given here, at Deer Park, by the banks of the blessed city.
This city is one that defies description. It truly is the universe, all held in the arms of the blessed Ganges; this amazing river, flowing north through the city sparkles like jewels in the sun. Its quiet majesty sweeps by and contains all there is. Every aspect of life and death are displayed on its placid banks. Every moment is punctuated by the sounds of prayer, of play, of music and drum, of washing, of selling. Every vision takes in every human possibility in all its modalities. One is never away from life, or from death and decay. From purity and contemplativity to activity. From that which is Most High to that which is Within. From duty and work, or from a sublime rejection of every day work for the work of prayer. From the ancient (sacred places and ways of being) to the old (most of the architecture is from the 1800’s) to the modern (mostly is the faces of some of the people). Around every corner is a place where some great personage has lived and prayed, whose influence is still felt and revered. Here, one could live in one corner for a lifetime and not exhaust its possibilities. Every day has brought a different light, a different angle, a different perception. And through it all, the Ganges flows forth, bringing with it the hopes and prayers of thousands and thousands.
Being in Varanasi is traveling back in time. The old city is a maze of small streets, wide enough for two people to go down somewhat comfortably – moving amongst the bullocks, carts, bicycles, and motorcycles like streams of water flowing together. Our days were mostly spent walking up and down the ghats, just being present in this city with no real agenda. The images pass before my mind’s eye, so little with ties back to our world in the west. The sound and sight of cars and automation is far away, and the air is filled with music, bells, chants, laughter, and speech.
Three events punctuated our visit to Varanasi. The first was a short visit to the ashram of Anandamayma, a woman Hindu saint from last century. Her life and her words are inspiring and she radiates a presence of devotion, intelligence, and love. She left a legacy of ashrams and had western disciples as well as Hindu. She was a beacon of beauty. Hidden up a long flight of stairs on one of the ghats, tucked away off a narrow alley, was her ashram and a memorial to her presence. The memorial had two floors, the bottom with a shrine with flowers and a photograph of her to the side, as well as photographs surrounding the hall. A man at the door then showed us the upstairs, which was a more intimate setting. Here there was a shrine to a god, again bedecked with flowers, with a photograph of her beside it. Nearby on a table were many of her personal artifacts. These things were protected behind a metal grate. Outside the grate was a bed with a photograph of her holding the statue of the god – the symbol of mother came immediately to mind. It was a place radiant with light and peace and overwhelming presence, which took me by surprise.
Later, we met a man that several friends knew. He works in a bookstore here in Varanasi (Indica Books) that sells many interesting books about traditions and India. He is of Spanish descent, but upon travel to India over 25 years ago, was taken with her culture and her religion of metaphysics. He has since married here and has become a Hindu – something that is very unusual, as one must typically be born a Hindu to truly practice this religion as the religious duties of Hinduism are based on caste. Through many years of sincere effort and through this contact with the Jagadguru of the North, an eminent spiritual leader, he was able to overcome this obstacle and became one of the kshattriya caste. (4 castes: Brahmin – priest; kshattriya – leader/warrior; vaisha – merchant/artisan; shudra – worker). Each caste not only has certain things to do religiously, but also has different duties to society. Thus, in the perfect blend of caste and adherence to caste, all aspects of society are cared for, and everyone is appreciative of the sacrifices made on every level for the good of the community. This is difficult to maintain in modern times, to say the least, as western and eastern ways of thought become intertwined in all the people. We had a wonderful conversation with this good man, and through him, we had our introduction to the Jagadguru of the North. Matthew has written about this unexpected visit. The simplicity and this meeting was a perfection. He is an elderly man (83 years) who has recently had surgery, so his meetings with people are necessarily brief. We waited in an anteroom, quietly talking on soft mattresses covered in white cloth. Then, the doors opened and light came in through open windows. Inside, sitting on a bed and surrounded by devotees in orange robe was a man of great light. His countenance was like the sun. We were introduced to him, and he said, several times, “Man is not God. But when the Light of God is in man, he is not unlike God.” It is the profound metatphysics of Shankara, seen also in all traditions. In Christianity, it is, of course, the Christ, who is Son of God and the invitation is to be brothers. Thus it is the world over. The people who were gathered to see him were delighted to hear him speak, as he has been quieter lately. His voice rang with happiness and joy, and that joy spread through the room like the sun through clouds. My husband was the main interlocutor for us; I had the happy position of just being able to watch and see, without having to think about what I needed to say and do. There are many advantages to being in a family! Afterwards, we were given back some of the food we’d brought as a gift, with his blessing upon it, and were also invited to have a small breakfast downstairs: rice and vegetables served in a leaf bowl and given to us by the hands of one of his primary disciples. We had seen the places of past saints; it was a blessing to be in the presence of a man whose life has been dedicated to spiritual matters and whose influence and knowledge was palpable.
Our third venture was to visit Sarnath, or Deer Park. This is the place where the Buddha delivered his first sermon. Today, Eleanor and I leave for Bodhgaya, where the Buddha attained Enlightenment – about 5 hours away by train. But it was here, near the banks of the Ganges that he gave his first sermon to five aesthetics who were living there. A sprig from the original tree in Bodhgaya was planted in Sarnath in the 1930’s. Its spreading branches are surrounded by prayer flags, a wall, and a plaque with the words of that first sermon written down. “In the 3rd century BC, Ashoka, a warrior king who converted to Buddhism, had magnificent stupas and monasteries erected as well as an engraved pillar with edicts for his kingdom. When the Chinese traveler Xuan Zang came in 640 AD, Sarnath boasted a 100m high stupa, 30 monasteries, 3000 monks (accounts vary), and a lifesize brass Buddha turning the Wheel of Life. However, soon after, Buddhism went into decline in India, and invaders with religious and political agendas destroyed and desecrated the city’s buildings, Sarnath disappeared altogether. It was not rediscovered until 1835 when British archeologists started excavations and Sarnath regained some of its past glory.” Sarnath for the most part now lies in ruins, but the largest stupa remains, surrounding by the foundations of monasteries and votive pillars. One temple was very large, and it is easy to imagine the magnificence it must have once been. There is a long courtyard, perhaps 60 meters long. On the right looking down are many votive pillars that must have once housed various statues and relics. One proceeds down the long courtyard to a temple, whose altar is the place where the Buddha gave his sermon, and a place where he meditated. There are still some friezes in place along the bottom of some of the ruins, and even the steps have beautiful carvings. The ruins are surrounded by parkland and gardens, grassy spaces and lakes. There is still an area for animals – interesting birds in cages, crocodiles, and … deer – those wonderful spotted deer that this park is known for. It is said that the Buddha had come in a previous incarnation as a deer, here to this park. He was a deer of magnificent beauty and the raja had ordered that this deer would be spared and never hunted. It came to pass that an arrangement was made through the Buddha deer that, instead of all the deer being hunted, that one deer would volunteer by lot to be sacrificed for the king’s table. And so it came to pass that when the servants came to hunt a deer, one would come forward to be killed. One day, the lot passed to the Buddha deer, who, as agreed, came to be sacrificed for the good of the deer people. The king, learning that it was the Golden Deer that was to be killed, came to the park and said it was not to be so. The Buddha deer then spoke, saying that it was not right for him to be spared and not the others. So the king decreed that all the deer would be spared. The Buddha deer then said it was not right for the deer to be spared and not the other 4 legged creatures. Thus, they too were spared. And so it went, until the king promised to not hunt any animals again – and thus it was. So, it was an apt place for the Buddha’s first sermon to be given here, at Deer Park, by the banks of the blessed city.
Linda: First Moments in Varanasi, Jan. 26
Linda: First Moments in Varanasi, Jan. 26-Feb. 1
An excerpt from The Lonely Planet travel guide (highly recommended and used on our travels in conjunction with The Rough Guide) describes Varanasi as follows:
Few places in India are as colorful, charismatic, or spiritual as the
bathing ghats lining the Ganges in Varanasi. The city of Shiva is one
of the holiest places in India, where Hindu pilgrims come to wash away a lifetime of sins in the Ganges or to cremate their loved ones. Varanasi, previously names Benares and Kashi (City of Life – Rough Guide translated this as The Luminous One or City of Light – both of which make sense, but I’m not sure which is correct) – it was renamed after the Vaurna and Asi Rivers, which meet here – has always been an auspicious place to die, since expiring here offers moksha (liberation from the cycle of birth and death). The city is the beating heart of the Hindu universe, a crossing place between the physical and spiritual worlds, and the Ganges is viewed as a river of salvation, an everlasting symbol of hope to past, present, and future generations. The magical but sometime overwhelming city is where the most intimate rituals of life and death take place in public on the city’s ghats. The accessibility to the practices of an ancient but still living religious tradition is what captivates many visitors, and a walk along the ghats or a boat ride on the river is one of India’s most absorbing experiences.
Sometimes, journeying to a spiritual place can have trials attached, and coming to Varansi was no exception. This was a part of our trip together which we were looking forward to with eager anticipation. We had spoken with several people who have come, all with wonderful stories and excellent advice … and we had a person here with whom we could meet – a valuable asset and window into this sacred place. We were planning to stay on the Assi Ghat, one of the southernmost ghats in Varanasi, close to Benares University, and a little more accessible to Westerners. We also had a few excellent recommendations for accommodation. The journey to Varanasi was … trying. Matthew was feeling rather poorly and was suffering with a fever. We had to wait, without a hotel room, until 3:00 before catching our first flight out – to Delhi. We arrived in Delhi at 11:00 pm and had to overnight – unfortunately our plans for Delhi did not materialize and we had to find last minute accommodation near the airport. Fortunately, we actually did, but the hotel was down a long, dark alley with two turns. We weren’t sure what we were getting into, but, after the last turn, there was this lit up hotel with men dashing out to get our bags and others in a marble foyer to greet us congenially (and reassuringly). We left for the airport the next day, to find that they never received our reservations for this part of the flight from the travel agent – who could not be reached because it was Republic Day! (We’re still working on that refund. Again, the generosity of the people here is a lesson. A man in Kumily who helped us throughout our stay is coordinating our efforts for repayment, because we are “his very good friends”.) We had to buy new tickets on a plane which, fortunately, was not full.
The flight was uneventful and we arrived in Varanasi to an already awaiting taxi which my husband thoughtfully (and it turns out, thankfully) had arranged beforehand. Already, I was feeling a bit like the women of the early twentieth century, who traveled with trunks and trunks of clothing and “necessary articles”, as I was the one wheeling the cart of baggage out of the airport while the men found our transportation. Due to the Republic Day celebrations, we had to careen through bumpy backstreets as the main street (main street?) was overcrowded. Now, Varansi has grown over time on the banks of the Ganges and the area right on the Ganges, where we were staying, can be difficult to find. We were prepared for this (thus the taxi). The combination of traffic and narrow streets meant our taxi had to drop us off farther from the hotel than usual. Not to worry!! 5 young men from our hotel were already waiting at a pre-arranged stop to take care of us. Whisk. Whisk. Whisk. The taxi driver said, with a winsome smile, that they will take care of us … and there we were. Up go the bags, and five young men start trotting down the streets of Varansi with our bags – while we trail behind trying to keep up. Thankfully, one of the bags was bright blue, so we could keep an eye on this bright blue patch bobbing along in the distance and from there follow the trail of bags back to us. Terrible thoughts of “there go our bags”, and “what will we do if…”, and “how can they go so fast” trickled through my mind as we trotted off in hot pursuit. As a family, we caught on after a few minutes and spaced ourselves between and amongst bags and porters, who happily made jokes, took a breather, and trotted onward … down increasingly smaller and smaller streets, alleyways, corners, corridors, “roads” where you could touch the walls of the building on either side without stretching, and dodging in between people, goats, bullocks, dogs, vendors, Brahmins, beggars, trash, and the remnants of all the above mentioned beings. It was a confusing warren of humanity – overwhelming, amazing, bewildering, and sizzling with the sights, smells, and noises all mixed together and played on fast play as we raced through the “streets”. And , then we were there! Down a small, dirty, dark alleyway was our hotel. Where were we???? It was as if I was in another century and was definitely in another world.
The hosts of the hotel were very kind and told us to look at our rooms. At this point, it was 7:00 at night after an exhausting two days and my husband was feeling poorly, though his fever was better. My husband had booked nice rooms for us, as it our last week together. Well, the rooms were small, of medium cleanliness, and the balcony view was through a grating that felt like I was looking through a prison door. Of course, this was after a difficult day, and I was seeing everything in a negative light. I was so hoping for a large, sunny, sparkling room with a lovely view! THEN, to add the final blow, we weren’t even in Assi Ghat. We had opted for this place because of its proximity to the ghats and had failed to notice it was on another ghat. AND, we had just found out that, “coincidently” several friends of ours from another country were going to be at Assi Ghat exactly where we thought we were! I was trying (unsuccessfully) to not be terrible and negative, as were the children and my husband. We tried the other hotel options to see if we could change locations, but they were either booked or their phones didn’t work. Patrick, Eleanor, and I even tried leaving to take a taxi and see if we could find the other hotels, but the maze of alleys, corridors, and streets was so confusing PLUS the knowledge that Varanasi at night was a place in which one must be careful made us turn back fairly quickly. Then, help came. I asked the man at the reception if he still had an end room (which he’d offered earlier), which, thankfully, he did. It was much bigger, cleaner, and had a lovely balcony without a grating right over the river. We made a room switch, and I could feel the stress and disappointment drain out of me. This was further helped by a decent meal in the courtyard with the life of the Ganges unfolding below.
Eleanor was the one who really saved the day, though. She was absolutely throbbing with happiness and excitement. She was smiling and giggling, and when I asked why she said, “This is just like it must have been when Sir Richard Burton arrived! Everything is so foreign and different and overwhelming and nothing is what you expect. THIS is the REAL India!” And she was right.
As we got our bearings and over my expectations (really, one should NOT have expectations in India), I realized that we were in the perfect place for us. We were on Meer Ghat, which was right in the middle of the Old City and in the center of all the activity on the Ghat. The Burning Ghat (Manikarnika) is two ghats up the river and is the major cremation site here – and in India for that matter. Then, two ghats down was a major temple where elaborate ceremonies for the River Ganga (Ganges) occur every dawn and as night falls. A half and hour’s walk in either direction will take us to the end of the ghats; life throbs around in a ceaseless array of bathing, praying, selling, begging, sleeping, washing, cricket playing, kite flying, watching bullocks negotiate flights and flights of steps (they can go down steps), and tourists clicking their cameras – which I found astonishingly disrespectful (thus the lack of quantities of photographs of people). Then again, I’m not sure who stared at whom more – the tourists staring at the Indians or the Indians staring at the tourists.
Linda: First Moments in Varanasi, Jan. 26-Feb. 1
An excerpt from The Lonely Planet travel guide (highly recommended and used on our travels in conjunction with The Rough Guide) describes Varanasi as follows:
Few places in India are as colorful, charismatic, or spiritual as the
bathing ghats lining the Ganges in Varanasi. The city of Shiva is one
of the holiest places in India, where Hindu pilgrims come to wash away a lifetime of sins in the Ganges or to cremate their loved ones. Varanasi, previously names Benares and Kashi (City of Life – Rough Guide translated this as The Luminous One or City of Light – both of which make sense, but I’m not sure which is correct) – it was renamed after the Vaurna and Asi Rivers, which meet here – has always been an auspicious place to die, since expiring here offers moksha (liberation from the cycle of birth and death). The city is the beating heart of the Hindu universe, a crossing place between the physical and spiritual worlds, and the Ganges is viewed as a river of salvation, an everlasting symbol of hope to past, present, and future generations. The magical but sometime overwhelming city is where the most intimate rituals of life and death take place in public on the city’s ghats. The accessibility to the practices of an ancient but still living religious tradition is what captivates many visitors, and a walk along the ghats or a boat ride on the river is one of India’s most absorbing experiences.
Sometimes, journeying to a spiritual place can have trials attached, and coming to Varansi was no exception. This was a part of our trip together which we were looking forward to with eager anticipation. We had spoken with several people who have come, all with wonderful stories and excellent advice … and we had a person here with whom we could meet – a valuable asset and window into this sacred place. We were planning to stay on the Assi Ghat, one of the southernmost ghats in Varanasi, close to Benares University, and a little more accessible to Westerners. We also had a few excellent recommendations for accommodation. The journey to Varanasi was … trying. Matthew was feeling rather poorly and was suffering with a fever. We had to wait, without a hotel room, until 3:00 before catching our first flight out – to Delhi. We arrived in Delhi at 11:00 pm and had to overnight – unfortunately our plans for Delhi did not materialize and we had to find last minute accommodation near the airport. Fortunately, we actually did, but the hotel was down a long, dark alley with two turns. We weren’t sure what we were getting into, but, after the last turn, there was this lit up hotel with men dashing out to get our bags and others in a marble foyer to greet us congenially (and reassuringly). We left for the airport the next day, to find that they never received our reservations for this part of the flight from the travel agent – who could not be reached because it was Republic Day! (We’re still working on that refund. Again, the generosity of the people here is a lesson. A man in Kumily who helped us throughout our stay is coordinating our efforts for repayment, because we are “his very good friends”.) We had to buy new tickets on a plane which, fortunately, was not full.
The flight was uneventful and we arrived in Varanasi to an already awaiting taxi which my husband thoughtfully (and it turns out, thankfully) had arranged beforehand. Already, I was feeling a bit like the women of the early twentieth century, who traveled with trunks and trunks of clothing and “necessary articles”, as I was the one wheeling the cart of baggage out of the airport while the men found our transportation. Due to the Republic Day celebrations, we had to careen through bumpy backstreets as the main street (main street?) was overcrowded. Now, Varansi has grown over time on the banks of the Ganges and the area right on the Ganges, where we were staying, can be difficult to find. We were prepared for this (thus the taxi). The combination of traffic and narrow streets meant our taxi had to drop us off farther from the hotel than usual. Not to worry!! 5 young men from our hotel were already waiting at a pre-arranged stop to take care of us. Whisk. Whisk. Whisk. The taxi driver said, with a winsome smile, that they will take care of us … and there we were. Up go the bags, and five young men start trotting down the streets of Varansi with our bags – while we trail behind trying to keep up. Thankfully, one of the bags was bright blue, so we could keep an eye on this bright blue patch bobbing along in the distance and from there follow the trail of bags back to us. Terrible thoughts of “there go our bags”, and “what will we do if…”, and “how can they go so fast” trickled through my mind as we trotted off in hot pursuit. As a family, we caught on after a few minutes and spaced ourselves between and amongst bags and porters, who happily made jokes, took a breather, and trotted onward … down increasingly smaller and smaller streets, alleyways, corners, corridors, “roads” where you could touch the walls of the building on either side without stretching, and dodging in between people, goats, bullocks, dogs, vendors, Brahmins, beggars, trash, and the remnants of all the above mentioned beings. It was a confusing warren of humanity – overwhelming, amazing, bewildering, and sizzling with the sights, smells, and noises all mixed together and played on fast play as we raced through the “streets”. And , then we were there! Down a small, dirty, dark alleyway was our hotel. Where were we???? It was as if I was in another century and was definitely in another world.
The hosts of the hotel were very kind and told us to look at our rooms. At this point, it was 7:00 at night after an exhausting two days and my husband was feeling poorly, though his fever was better. My husband had booked nice rooms for us, as it our last week together. Well, the rooms were small, of medium cleanliness, and the balcony view was through a grating that felt like I was looking through a prison door. Of course, this was after a difficult day, and I was seeing everything in a negative light. I was so hoping for a large, sunny, sparkling room with a lovely view! THEN, to add the final blow, we weren’t even in Assi Ghat. We had opted for this place because of its proximity to the ghats and had failed to notice it was on another ghat. AND, we had just found out that, “coincidently” several friends of ours from another country were going to be at Assi Ghat exactly where we thought we were! I was trying (unsuccessfully) to not be terrible and negative, as were the children and my husband. We tried the other hotel options to see if we could change locations, but they were either booked or their phones didn’t work. Patrick, Eleanor, and I even tried leaving to take a taxi and see if we could find the other hotels, but the maze of alleys, corridors, and streets was so confusing PLUS the knowledge that Varanasi at night was a place in which one must be careful made us turn back fairly quickly. Then, help came. I asked the man at the reception if he still had an end room (which he’d offered earlier), which, thankfully, he did. It was much bigger, cleaner, and had a lovely balcony without a grating right over the river. We made a room switch, and I could feel the stress and disappointment drain out of me. This was further helped by a decent meal in the courtyard with the life of the Ganges unfolding below.
Eleanor was the one who really saved the day, though. She was absolutely throbbing with happiness and excitement. She was smiling and giggling, and when I asked why she said, “This is just like it must have been when Sir Richard Burton arrived! Everything is so foreign and different and overwhelming and nothing is what you expect. THIS is the REAL India!” And she was right.
As we got our bearings and over my expectations (really, one should NOT have expectations in India), I realized that we were in the perfect place for us. We were on Meer Ghat, which was right in the middle of the Old City and in the center of all the activity on the Ghat. The Burning Ghat (Manikarnika) is two ghats up the river and is the major cremation site here – and in India for that matter. Then, two ghats down was a major temple where elaborate ceremonies for the River Ganga (Ganges) occur every dawn and as night falls. A half and hour’s walk in either direction will take us to the end of the ghats; life throbs around in a ceaseless array of bathing, praying, selling, begging, sleeping, washing, cricket playing, kite flying, watching bullocks negotiate flights and flights of steps (they can go down steps), and tourists clicking their cameras – which I found astonishingly disrespectful (thus the lack of quantities of photographs of people). Then again, I’m not sure who stared at whom more – the tourists staring at the Indians or the Indians staring at the tourists.
An excerpt from The Lonely Planet travel guide (highly recommended and used on our travels in conjunction with The Rough Guide) describes Varanasi as follows:
Few places in India are as colorful, charismatic, or spiritual as the
bathing ghats lining the Ganges in Varanasi. The city of Shiva is one
of the holiest places in India, where Hindu pilgrims come to wash away a lifetime of sins in the Ganges or to cremate their loved ones. Varanasi, previously names Benares and Kashi (City of Life – Rough Guide translated this as The Luminous One or City of Light – both of which make sense, but I’m not sure which is correct) – it was renamed after the Vaurna and Asi Rivers, which meet here – has always been an auspicious place to die, since expiring here offers moksha (liberation from the cycle of birth and death). The city is the beating heart of the Hindu universe, a crossing place between the physical and spiritual worlds, and the Ganges is viewed as a river of salvation, an everlasting symbol of hope to past, present, and future generations. The magical but sometime overwhelming city is where the most intimate rituals of life and death take place in public on the city’s ghats. The accessibility to the practices of an ancient but still living religious tradition is what captivates many visitors, and a walk along the ghats or a boat ride on the river is one of India’s most absorbing experiences.
Sometimes, journeying to a spiritual place can have trials attached, and coming to Varansi was no exception. This was a part of our trip together which we were looking forward to with eager anticipation. We had spoken with several people who have come, all with wonderful stories and excellent advice … and we had a person here with whom we could meet – a valuable asset and window into this sacred place. We were planning to stay on the Assi Ghat, one of the southernmost ghats in Varanasi, close to Benares University, and a little more accessible to Westerners. We also had a few excellent recommendations for accommodation. The journey to Varanasi was … trying. Matthew was feeling rather poorly and was suffering with a fever. We had to wait, without a hotel room, until 3:00 before catching our first flight out – to Delhi. We arrived in Delhi at 11:00 pm and had to overnight – unfortunately our plans for Delhi did not materialize and we had to find last minute accommodation near the airport. Fortunately, we actually did, but the hotel was down a long, dark alley with two turns. We weren’t sure what we were getting into, but, after the last turn, there was this lit up hotel with men dashing out to get our bags and others in a marble foyer to greet us congenially (and reassuringly). We left for the airport the next day, to find that they never received our reservations for this part of the flight from the travel agent – who could not be reached because it was Republic Day! (We’re still working on that refund. Again, the generosity of the people here is a lesson. A man in Kumily who helped us throughout our stay is coordinating our efforts for repayment, because we are “his very good friends”.) We had to buy new tickets on a plane which, fortunately, was not full.
The flight was uneventful and we arrived in Varanasi to an already awaiting taxi which my husband thoughtfully (and it turns out, thankfully) had arranged beforehand. Already, I was feeling a bit like the women of the early twentieth century, who traveled with trunks and trunks of clothing and “necessary articles”, as I was the one wheeling the cart of baggage out of the airport while the men found our transportation. Due to the Republic Day celebrations, we had to careen through bumpy backstreets as the main street (main street?) was overcrowded. Now, Varansi has grown over time on the banks of the Ganges and the area right on the Ganges, where we were staying, can be difficult to find. We were prepared for this (thus the taxi). The combination of traffic and narrow streets meant our taxi had to drop us off farther from the hotel than usual. Not to worry!! 5 young men from our hotel were already waiting at a pre-arranged stop to take care of us. Whisk. Whisk. Whisk. The taxi driver said, with a winsome smile, that they will take care of us … and there we were. Up go the bags, and five young men start trotting down the streets of Varansi with our bags – while we trail behind trying to keep up. Thankfully, one of the bags was bright blue, so we could keep an eye on this bright blue patch bobbing along in the distance and from there follow the trail of bags back to us. Terrible thoughts of “there go our bags”, and “what will we do if…”, and “how can they go so fast” trickled through my mind as we trotted off in hot pursuit. As a family, we caught on after a few minutes and spaced ourselves between and amongst bags and porters, who happily made jokes, took a breather, and trotted onward … down increasingly smaller and smaller streets, alleyways, corners, corridors, “roads” where you could touch the walls of the building on either side without stretching, and dodging in between people, goats, bullocks, dogs, vendors, Brahmins, beggars, trash, and the remnants of all the above mentioned beings. It was a confusing warren of humanity – overwhelming, amazing, bewildering, and sizzling with the sights, smells, and noises all mixed together and played on fast play as we raced through the “streets”. And , then we were there! Down a small, dirty, dark alleyway was our hotel. Where were we???? It was as if I was in another century and was definitely in another world.
The hosts of the hotel were very kind and told us to look at our rooms. At this point, it was 7:00 at night after an exhausting two days and my husband was feeling poorly, though his fever was better. My husband had booked nice rooms for us, as it our last week together. Well, the rooms were small, of medium cleanliness, and the balcony view was through a grating that felt like I was looking through a prison door. Of course, this was after a difficult day, and I was seeing everything in a negative light. I was so hoping for a large, sunny, sparkling room with a lovely view! THEN, to add the final blow, we weren’t even in Assi Ghat. We had opted for this place because of its proximity to the ghats and had failed to notice it was on another ghat. AND, we had just found out that, “coincidently” several friends of ours from another country were going to be at Assi Ghat exactly where we thought we were! I was trying (unsuccessfully) to not be terrible and negative, as were the children and my husband. We tried the other hotel options to see if we could change locations, but they were either booked or their phones didn’t work. Patrick, Eleanor, and I even tried leaving to take a taxi and see if we could find the other hotels, but the maze of alleys, corridors, and streets was so confusing PLUS the knowledge that Varanasi at night was a place in which one must be careful made us turn back fairly quickly. Then, help came. I asked the man at the reception if he still had an end room (which he’d offered earlier), which, thankfully, he did. It was much bigger, cleaner, and had a lovely balcony without a grating right over the river. We made a room switch, and I could feel the stress and disappointment drain out of me. This was further helped by a decent meal in the courtyard with the life of the Ganges unfolding below.
Eleanor was the one who really saved the day, though. She was absolutely throbbing with happiness and excitement. She was smiling and giggling, and when I asked why she said, “This is just like it must have been when Sir Richard Burton arrived! Everything is so foreign and different and overwhelming and nothing is what you expect. THIS is the REAL India!” And she was right.
As we got our bearings and over my expectations (really, one should NOT have expectations in India), I realized that we were in the perfect place for us. We were on Meer Ghat, which was right in the middle of the Old City and in the center of all the activity on the Ghat. The Burning Ghat (Manikarnika) is two ghats up the river and is the major cremation site here – and in India for that matter. Then, two ghats down was a major temple where elaborate ceremonies for the River Ganga (Ganges) occur every dawn and as night falls. A half and hour’s walk in either direction will take us to the end of the ghats; life throbs around in a ceaseless array of bathing, praying, selling, begging, sleeping, washing, cricket playing, kite flying, watching bullocks negotiate flights and flights of steps (they can go down steps), and tourists clicking their cameras – which I found astonishingly disrespectful (thus the lack of quantities of photographs of people). Then again, I’m not sure who stared at whom more – the tourists staring at the Indians or the Indians staring at the tourists.
Linda: First Moments in Varanasi, Jan. 26-Feb. 1
An excerpt from The Lonely Planet travel guide (highly recommended and used on our travels in conjunction with The Rough Guide) describes Varanasi as follows:
Few places in India are as colorful, charismatic, or spiritual as the
bathing ghats lining the Ganges in Varanasi. The city of Shiva is one
of the holiest places in India, where Hindu pilgrims come to wash away a lifetime of sins in the Ganges or to cremate their loved ones. Varanasi, previously names Benares and Kashi (City of Life – Rough Guide translated this as The Luminous One or City of Light – both of which make sense, but I’m not sure which is correct) – it was renamed after the Vaurna and Asi Rivers, which meet here – has always been an auspicious place to die, since expiring here offers moksha (liberation from the cycle of birth and death). The city is the beating heart of the Hindu universe, a crossing place between the physical and spiritual worlds, and the Ganges is viewed as a river of salvation, an everlasting symbol of hope to past, present, and future generations. The magical but sometime overwhelming city is where the most intimate rituals of life and death take place in public on the city’s ghats. The accessibility to the practices of an ancient but still living religious tradition is what captivates many visitors, and a walk along the ghats or a boat ride on the river is one of India’s most absorbing experiences.
Sometimes, journeying to a spiritual place can have trials attached, and coming to Varansi was no exception. This was a part of our trip together which we were looking forward to with eager anticipation. We had spoken with several people who have come, all with wonderful stories and excellent advice … and we had a person here with whom we could meet – a valuable asset and window into this sacred place. We were planning to stay on the Assi Ghat, one of the southernmost ghats in Varanasi, close to Benares University, and a little more accessible to Westerners. We also had a few excellent recommendations for accommodation. The journey to Varanasi was … trying. Matthew was feeling rather poorly and was suffering with a fever. We had to wait, without a hotel room, until 3:00 before catching our first flight out – to Delhi. We arrived in Delhi at 11:00 pm and had to overnight – unfortunately our plans for Delhi did not materialize and we had to find last minute accommodation near the airport. Fortunately, we actually did, but the hotel was down a long, dark alley with two turns. We weren’t sure what we were getting into, but, after the last turn, there was this lit up hotel with men dashing out to get our bags and others in a marble foyer to greet us congenially (and reassuringly). We left for the airport the next day, to find that they never received our reservations for this part of the flight from the travel agent – who could not be reached because it was Republic Day! (We’re still working on that refund. Again, the generosity of the people here is a lesson. A man in Kumily who helped us throughout our stay is coordinating our efforts for repayment, because we are “his very good friends”.) We had to buy new tickets on a plane which, fortunately, was not full.
The flight was uneventful and we arrived in Varanasi to an already awaiting taxi which my husband thoughtfully (and it turns out, thankfully) had arranged beforehand. Already, I was feeling a bit like the women of the early twentieth century, who traveled with trunks and trunks of clothing and “necessary articles”, as I was the one wheeling the cart of baggage out of the airport while the men found our transportation. Due to the Republic Day celebrations, we had to careen through bumpy backstreets as the main street (main street?) was overcrowded. Now, Varansi has grown over time on the banks of the Ganges and the area right on the Ganges, where we were staying, can be difficult to find. We were prepared for this (thus the taxi). The combination of traffic and narrow streets meant our taxi had to drop us off farther from the hotel than usual. Not to worry!! 5 young men from our hotel were already waiting at a pre-arranged stop to take care of us. Whisk. Whisk. Whisk. The taxi driver said, with a winsome smile, that they will take care of us … and there we were. Up go the bags, and five young men start trotting down the streets of Varansi with our bags – while we trail behind trying to keep up. Thankfully, one of the bags was bright blue, so we could keep an eye on this bright blue patch bobbing along in the distance and from there follow the trail of bags back to us. Terrible thoughts of “there go our bags”, and “what will we do if…”, and “how can they go so fast” trickled through my mind as we trotted off in hot pursuit. As a family, we caught on after a few minutes and spaced ourselves between and amongst bags and porters, who happily made jokes, took a breather, and trotted onward … down increasingly smaller and smaller streets, alleyways, corners, corridors, “roads” where you could touch the walls of the building on either side without stretching, and dodging in between people, goats, bullocks, dogs, vendors, Brahmins, beggars, trash, and the remnants of all the above mentioned beings. It was a confusing warren of humanity – overwhelming, amazing, bewildering, and sizzling with the sights, smells, and noises all mixed together and played on fast play as we raced through the “streets”. And , then we were there! Down a small, dirty, dark alleyway was our hotel. Where were we???? It was as if I was in another century and was definitely in another world.
The hosts of the hotel were very kind and told us to look at our rooms. At this point, it was 7:00 at night after an exhausting two days and my husband was feeling poorly, though his fever was better. My husband had booked nice rooms for us, as it our last week together. Well, the rooms were small, of medium cleanliness, and the balcony view was through a grating that felt like I was looking through a prison door. Of course, this was after a difficult day, and I was seeing everything in a negative light. I was so hoping for a large, sunny, sparkling room with a lovely view! THEN, to add the final blow, we weren’t even in Assi Ghat. We had opted for this place because of its proximity to the ghats and had failed to notice it was on another ghat. AND, we had just found out that, “coincidently” several friends of ours from another country were going to be at Assi Ghat exactly where we thought we were! I was trying (unsuccessfully) to not be terrible and negative, as were the children and my husband. We tried the other hotel options to see if we could change locations, but they were either booked or their phones didn’t work. Patrick, Eleanor, and I even tried leaving to take a taxi and see if we could find the other hotels, but the maze of alleys, corridors, and streets was so confusing PLUS the knowledge that Varanasi at night was a place in which one must be careful made us turn back fairly quickly. Then, help came. I asked the man at the reception if he still had an end room (which he’d offered earlier), which, thankfully, he did. It was much bigger, cleaner, and had a lovely balcony without a grating right over the river. We made a room switch, and I could feel the stress and disappointment drain out of me. This was further helped by a decent meal in the courtyard with the life of the Ganges unfolding below.
Eleanor was the one who really saved the day, though. She was absolutely throbbing with happiness and excitement. She was smiling and giggling, and when I asked why she said, “This is just like it must have been when Sir Richard Burton arrived! Everything is so foreign and different and overwhelming and nothing is what you expect. THIS is the REAL India!” And she was right.
As we got our bearings and over my expectations (really, one should NOT have expectations in India), I realized that we were in the perfect place for us. We were on Meer Ghat, which was right in the middle of the Old City and in the center of all the activity on the Ghat. The Burning Ghat (Manikarnika) is two ghats up the river and is the major cremation site here – and in India for that matter. Then, two ghats down was a major temple where elaborate ceremonies for the River Ganga (Ganges) occur every dawn and as night falls. A half and hour’s walk in either direction will take us to the end of the ghats; life throbs around in a ceaseless array of bathing, praying, selling, begging, sleeping, washing, cricket playing, kite flying, watching bullocks negotiate flights and flights of steps (they can go down steps), and tourists clicking their cameras – which I found astonishingly disrespectful (thus the lack of quantities of photographs of people). Then again, I’m not sure who stared at whom more – the tourists staring at the Indians or the Indians staring at the tourists.
Matthew Feb 3, 09
Well we have successfully taken a train journey. Despite the fact that at least 3 different taxi's were arranged to take us to the station at Mughal Serai outside Varanasi when we finally hoisted our bags to shoulder in the company of a boy from the hotel and braved the sheer mayham of the second day of the sarasvati festival which featured crowds of teenage boys dancing in group in front of lights and speakers pushing out huge volumes of sound being pushed down the strrts by auto rickshaws anand some kind of scaffolding structure there was no taxi where it was expected and we were immediately set upon by touts offering to gety us to the station despite the bridge outages and only just in time for our train if we left now for only twice the usual taxi fee and this for an auto rickshaw - a big new one.Our boy left us to make more negotiations and eventyually returned and we ran throught the steets with a driver who had been there all the time and were deposited in a small dented subcompact and driven via some secret back route the wrong way along crumbling bridges - the bridge was out and arrived in half the time we had originally been quoted. Then to the platform and trying to understand the announcements. Eventually a young couple from the Czech repbulic sought our reassurance that we were on the right platfoem for their train to Bangalore but almost immediately they told us that the platform had been changed and with no further verification we scurried across the to an arriving train hrftrd on our weighty bags and were trying to find our sears when I reallized the train was in motion. Without those Czecks we would still be waiting. the rest of the trip was fairly uneventful. We met a number of nice people - some engineering students and a computer engineer from Bangalore named Snoji, a Christion, and we had an interesting discussion obout the Divine Unity and how it appears in the various true faiths.. The food and the sleeping were surprisingly good and we are now in Chennai - have just finished a short shopping spree undertaken by using local trains - 1 rupee per station . we plan to get to the airport the same way tomorrow. I need to call the airline having a message to do so from Linda and Eleanor who are now on their own path - may God Bless their journey. I had neant to mention in the previous post how happy we had all been after our darshan with the jadaguru of the North.
For Now - I still have some more notes for topics for posts and I do intend to make them up when I get home.
Matthew
For Now - I still have some more notes for topics for posts and I do intend to make them up when I get home.
Matthew
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Matthew: Varanasi
So we are nearing the end of our trip, Patrick and I. I have been under the weather for a while but am now quite recovered. My attempts to meet with and participate with schools have not been very successful. But I wanted to describe a little bit a wonderful experience for us yesterday. We managed to be offered an audience - darshan - with the Jadaguru of the North who is staying in Varanasi while he is recovering from pneumaonia. We offered him fruit which he received very graciously before returning a piece to each of us as prasad - blessing. He is an older man with flowing grey hair and beard - stronly build and a radiant and warm but strong face. He immediately made us feel comfortable by talkinfg of spirirtual matters which would be familiar to us. He then repeated several times that man is not God but when the light of God shines through hime he is not other than God. Two of his disciples tried to rephrase this to make sure that we understood. I ventured that it was similar to Jesus saying "Why callest thou me good ...and they immediately concurred finishing the biblical quotation for me. The Sage, whose name I do not know even yet, invited us to have breakfast which was received from the hands of one of his chief disciples. It was a simple dish of rice balls mixed in rice with herbs and spices. After this encounter and bidding farewell to the Spanish Gentleman who had effected the introduction we retraced our steps down beside a temple and onto the ghats - the bathing steps which form thethe city side of the river Ganges. It was still early morning anfd a huge amount of activity with people bathing, chanting, teaching, and vendors setting up for the days business - also children going to school.
Today we have just gotten back from a visit to the Deer Park where the Buddha gave his first sermons just 8 miles from Varanasi. It is a Peaceful spot which was as well after the hectic drive throught the noise and dirt and chaos of the traffic. It appears the the two strams of opposite moving traffic are like streams of water which spread out and run together and one has to remind oneself that these streams are composed of steel and flesh and blodd.
Matthew Signing off
Today we have just gotten back from a visit to the Deer Park where the Buddha gave his first sermons just 8 miles from Varanasi. It is a Peaceful spot which was as well after the hectic drive throught the noise and dirt and chaos of the traffic. It appears the the two strams of opposite moving traffic are like streams of water which spread out and run together and one has to remind oneself that these streams are composed of steel and flesh and blodd.
Matthew Signing off
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