*These Journal Notes
are not in chronological order. One notebook was left behind in
Dwarahat because we thought we would only be gone a week and it
turns out it will be four weeks and the Journal entries from March
were unfortunately lost.
April 9: A BUS RIDE
We
set off from Phool Chatti Ashram on foot for Lakshman Jhooli, just
north of Rishikesh and 5 kilometers away. We are hoping to catch a
ride on a shared jeep or taxi on what we are told is the very
“occasional” bus.
Shared taxis will start off for a destination once they have
collected enough riders at a station area. They pick up and drop off
passengers along the way and charge an inexpensive rate for the
service. The problem with someone my size is that a shared taxi will
have as many people as can possibly be crammed into it, and then a
few more! Slight built Indians appear to have an endless capacity
for yielding to another, and yet another passenger, whether by jeep
or in any confined space, I have seen over 20 school children packed
into one small jeep.
Walking a kilometer or more we find very few shared jeeps, and no
buses. One Omni van stops, which is crowded, and I say, “Rishikesh?”
The driver says, “No, going to Haridwar,” and drives on. Now,
Haridwar is further down the road from Rishikesh; in my mind he
could have collected a fare for taking us that portion. But that was
not what he was thinking and we walked on.
The roar of a bus sounds behind us preluding its arrival. We wave
down the bus and it stopped just ahead of us. As we scramble aboard
I see it is over three quarters full; the end section is totally
empty. What frequent riders know is that the tail section of the bus
gets the most action of the bumps and ups and downs of the ride.
However, one obstacle is between us and the end section of the bus,
and that is the tail section of a billy goat! I don’t know if he is
a paying customer or just hitching a ride, but he amply fills the
narrow aisle going down between the seats.
One man, I assume the goat’s owner, tries to maneuver the goat out
of the way, but with minimal success. Meanwhile in the time honored
tradition of bus drivers, both East and West, he hits the gas as
soon as Carla has one foot in the bus sending us both grappling for
hand holds.
Now we are jerking, bobbing and weaving down the road, climbing over
the billy goat, trying to avoid stepping on his plentiful droppings
(probably issuing new excrement from his justifiable terror of being
on the mountain roads in the bus), then climbing over an 80 pound
sack of something and plopping, rather inelegantly, in the back
seats. As we collide with the seats the thick layer of dust plumes
from the seats, surrounding us in a layer of thin gray film.
The driver, I am sure would rather have been driving an exotic
racecar, but he had to settle for a 40 passenger bus! As I say, the
tail section gets the most action, so with bumps and swerves we are
literally ejected from our seats, feet leaving the floor, landing
somewhat askew from where we began. The goat now seems content that
we are no longer climbing over his backside and a man in front of us
looks behind and gives us a smile. Ah India, you are wonderful.
April 10: BHAJAN
The small round bell sounds a few beats. It is just dark and an
arati to the Shiva Linga, Parvati and Ganesh is about to start. All
gather around the small temple, looking through square openings as
bells and gongs are loudly sounded. The swami, holding a bell in one
hand tosses blessed water in each direction with the other, then
waves incense and the five flamed arati light to the center linga,
then Ganesh, Parvati, and then the various pictures above of Rama,
Krishna and Durga Ma; the arati light is then shared with all.
This done we move to the open court just a few feet away where light
blankets have been laid out and a harmonium, drum and various
symbols are ready. Lalit sits opposite of swami and 20 or more of us
gather around creating one large circle.
Lalit, dressed as a renuncient, (she teaches hatha yoga) begins with
a beautiful song. We are sitting in the center courtyard surrounded
by one, two and three story buildings, sculpted railings grace the
upper stories, a few trees are growing in the large court, and the
black sky above reveals glowing stars, winking at us from heaven’s
abode. It is a simple and an elegant affair.
Since there are many Westerners and the words are Hindi, many wood
handled cymbals are handed out so that all may join in the song of
love and thanksgiving – with words or no.
Several songs follow, some have more familiar and repetitious words
and we gradually learn them. In the end one of the Westerners, a
tall fair skinned man takes the harmonium and leads us in a song he
has just learned about Ganga Ma (the Mother Ganges). He has a
beautiful tenor voice and is skilled on the harmonium. Soon everyone
is joining in on the chant.
Ah, what moments! With the Ganges rapids keeping a steady,
high-pitched drone, the simple instruments played under brilliant
stars on a warm summer’s eve, it is rapturous joy itself!
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