In Praise of India (Part 3)
(Continued)
Pushkar
In Pushkar we stayed within walking distance of the market and lake but away from the early morning and late-night noise. I love this small city. The narrow market streets are full of delights and surprises, and they go on and on, twisting and turning in various directions. As a merchant shopping for goods to sell at an ashram in the West, I know that the quality of clothes is not always the best, but you can’t beat the prices in Pushkar. Many people earn enough money back “home” where they live in the West to afford to stay the long winter months in this charming and less expensive environment. Westerners were often seen eating in cafes, chatting, smoking, drinking coffee, writing, painting and reading. They were easy to spot with their dreadlocks, animal print wraps or colorful print clothing and local silver jewelry that hung from their neck, ears and ankles.
On our first day we circumambulated the sacred Pushkar Lake, walking barefoot along the cool marble ghats. All along the water’s edge we witnessed the locals bathing, washing clothes, feeding the swans and pigeons. They tended the small shrines, performed pujas and poured milk over the lingams. Many Hindus come to Pushkar on pilgrimage to bathe in the lake and offer flowers to its waters. The women go in wearing their saris, the men in a simple white loin cloth or naked. We saw many saris being washed in the water, and then the six yards of fabric would be stretched out, as it was waved and dried gently in the warm morning air.
After asking permission, I took a picture of two women looking gorgeous in their beautiful saris by the ghats. Suddenly I was pulled and pushed into position, tucked in close to them, as they asked a friend to take their picture with me and my friend. Then, one after another, excited and giggling women and children appeared out of nowhere, each wanting a selfie taken with the white Western women in sunhats and pants. Together we shared a moment of laughter and joy.
The next morning, we headed to Ajmer, which is a thirty-minute drive from Pushkar. Our destination was Khwaja Gharib Nawaz Dargah Sharif, the tomb of the famous 13th century Muslim mystic and saint, and then to Soni Ji Ki Nasiya Jain Temple. I had heard that Ajmer was more aggressive, but the experience was worth the discomfort. We were dropped about a mile from the tomb and mosque, as the street was narrow and absolutely congested with traffic. Fruit and vegetable carts were all along the pavement, along with Muslim pilgrims dressed in their finest clothes, all walking past many poor and crippled locals.
We encountered one after the other of these thin-boned men. Many had shriveled legs or none or were missing other limbs. Their hands were tucked into old rubber flip flops, allowing them to roll their wooden platform carts along the sides of the road. All the while they were whispering prayers, accepting the life they were given, holding out a thin hand with a cup, hoping to keep themselves fed with a few morsels of food or a few rupees. It was a difficult sight to behold, and yet this is also India.
When we approached the mosque area, we removed our shoes and stepped into the busy inner courtyard. Ahead of us was a large pool of water with marble seats for washing and cleaning one’s feet. There was a men’s carpeted area for prayer and beadwork separated by a wall and on the other side the women sat, also in prayer. The whole square was lined with vendors selling Kufi caps—beautifully embroidered Muslim prayer hats, a sign of peace, mourning and renewal of the mind—as well as malas, shawls, flowers and carpets. In the center of the courtyard was a throng of people listening to the seated Sufi musicians, singing devotional songs from their heart, emphasizing certain words by waving their arms in the air.
We were packed in, shoulder to shoulder, as we entered the line to the tomb area. Both men and women were expected to wear head coverings. We were pushed aside by many people, as they forced their way in front of us, in a feverous jostling of bodies. We stood out as Western tourists, and thus we were relegated to the sidelines amongst the fervent devotees. I understood completely. This was their place of worship. This was their religion and beloved saint.
Eventually we were able to squeeze our way to the entrance of the sacred shrine and pay our respects. The tomb was carved in silver and piled high with flowers that devotees would throw on top, as they honored this man known as “the benefactor of the poor.” We had a brief, quick glance of the shrine before we were moved along. One must take in all of it, in one attentive moment. Exiting the area, we watched the musicians and the extraordinary array of people; men, women and children all here to pray and to feel the ecstasy of devotion. Some women were in full black burkas, many with a touch of glitter across the forehead scarf.
We then walked back along the streets, through garbage strewn alleys, carefully watching our step through mounds of fresh cow dung. We were now in search of the nearby famous 19th century Jain Temple. As we entered the temple gates, we heard chanting and were immediately drawn to it. However, as Westerners and tourists we are escorted away from that area and up the steep steps to the public visiting area. The walls and ceilings were painted with beautiful mosaic designs in blues and golds that were peeling with age.
On the third floor we peered through the wide glass windows into the expansive inner room, known as “The City of Gold.” This golden chamber displayed an intricate replica of the mythical origins of Jainism. Borrowing very much from Hinduism, the scene was a miniature three-dimensional model of Mount Sumeru surrounded by floating celestial ships hovering above the golden city of Ayodhya. 1000 kg of gold was used to carve out this depiction. Quite impressive!
During our last day in Pushkar we were beginning to feel like a part of the local scene. This is why I love to stay in one place longer. We knew the waiter at our favorite restaurant, we knew many of the shopkeepers who waved and said hello to us as we passed their stalls, and we could navigate the streets like old pros. The owner of one of the tiny, narrow jewelry shops had even posted my “Gopis’ Gifts” business card on his wall. Each time I went in to his shop, this sweet man would smile, give me a small gift and say, “The gods woke me up early because they knew you were coming this morning and they have blessed me.”
One day we heard it was the Black Moon (new moon), when the village women come to the Brahma Temple each month to make their offerings, full of energy and delight in each other and for this special day. At the temple, the women offered prasad and threw flower petals onto the back ledge of the temple structure, then touched their foreheads to the orange painted concrete. Afterward, they all circumambulated a sacred tree draped in colorful fabric. Then they would sit on the benches lining the outer courtyard, to eat the prasad they were given. These women added such a beautiful feel to our Brahma Temple experience. We were swept up in their authentic joy and devotion, which spilled over and washed the temple and all who entered with an extraordinary feminine fragrance and vitality.
Jaipur
We arrived in the Pink City and were once again hit with the traffic and pollution that clogs India’s larger cities. After settling into our Heritage style hotel and consuming a delicious, yet simple, Indian lunch and afternoon cup of masala chai, we met up with our local friend, Yash. Yash and his family serve many of the temples in Jaipur, providing them with items they need for pujas and special events.
Straight after lunch, Yash took us to the Govind Dev Ji Krishna Temple in the City Palace of Jaipur, dedicated to Lord Krishna and his consort Radha. The deities here were brought from Vrindavan by the founder of Jaipur, and it is considered one of the most sacred and significant temples for devotees. Yash was greeted by many of the temple pujaris and workers, and we were ushered past the long lines and throngs of people to sit up close to the deity as the arati ceremony began. We knew this was a special privilege and we were very grateful for the opportunity to pay our respects.
As we bowed our heads at Krishna’s feet, we could hear and feel the swoon and waves of devotion emanating from the large crowd behind and around us, as they chanted their mesmerizing love songs to Krishna. As the pujari waved the ghee lamp and tossed out sprinkles of holy water over the crowds, the love fest was visceral and moving. My eyes teared up and I could feel the heat waves rolling over the people toward Krishna and from Krishna back to them. The impact of this hit my whole being and I was close to breaking down and sobbing. What an overwhelming feeling of unified love!
We stayed up close for about ten minutes and then moved along to allow others to feel the proximity of their Ishta Devita. One of my travelling companions, it being his first trip to India and his first very strong feeling at a temple, walked out in a daze, with tears in his eyes, saying “What just happened?” Yash responded, “Krishna captured you.”
We then drove to the Moti Dungri Ganesh Ji Temple, where a large orange Ganesh resides on his throne. This icon of the god Ganesha is said to be more than 500 years old. He was dressed in a gold kirta top with yellow silk pants, an orange and white flower mala draped around his neck, and a golden crown on his head. His fingers and toes were painted silver to match the trim of his dress. A silver half-moon sat on his third eye. There was a playful power exuding from his presence, and I could feel the obstacle-remover at work. As we drove to dinner, Yash pointed out the pink rickshaws that were spotted, threading through the traffic. They were operated by women and only pick up women travelers. It is small step towards keeping women safer in India.
The next day we were all left groggy from a sleepless night. The intensity of the previous day was hitting us like a hangover. I spent the day finishing off my ashram shopping, fueled by multiple cups of masala chai, offered freely by the storekeepers. We stopped for lunch at a café, where tables were shared, and we struck up a conversation with an Italian sculptress. She sells Indian goods in Italy to finance her travels through India for a few months each year. She was passionate about her art, carving bronze shields to honor the warrior goddess aspect of Woman.
One of the highlights of this trip has been connecting with people, the locals as well as fellow travelers from the West. As I was now more familiar with this part of the country, I found myself relaxing into and being present with the people. We all share a love for India, for her rich history, her temples, her Gods and Goddesses and her beautiful handicrafts, delicious food and unique architecture. And through it all, her blessing force is so palpable and resonates with nuances of strength and power. Waking up to the muezzin calling the Muslims to prayer, followed by the Hindu temple bells announcing the aarti ritual, and then the barking dogs and honking horns as the city comes alive, are symbols of this nuanced land. Each day as the hustle bustle begins again, the symphony of sounds is a signal of the vibrant life of India that I have come to love.
India is a land of stark contrasts and intense challenges. Many people who visit either love it or hate it—or they visit once and never return. Physically, it is very difficult and overwhelming. It takes a toll on the body and wears you down. Spiritually, it is a land of riches that provides an abundance of opportunities to pray, to practice, and to feel deeply into one’s connection with Spirit. And you must pay a price to receive the gold. You must sacrifice something to have access to the magic and wonder that India has to offer. Mother India provides a fierce love, and if she wraps you in her embrace, you will be squeezed. Is the discomfort worth the immensity of divine joy that is transmitted through Her? Yes, I say.
Embarking on the spiritual path is like doing a pilgrimage. There will be obstacles, difficulties, denying forces, discomforts. And, if you persist, endure, release, relax and allow, then profound and simple encounters will permeate your being and leave a lasting impression, a lingering sweetness and a longing for the beloved. The architecture, the icons, the food, the scenery is nothing without the people that bring it all to life and imbue it all with deep devotion. My love affair with India is ongoing and only increases with each visit. She teaches me deeper lessons each time, as if she is keeping her secrets close to her heart and waiting to witness my dedication and determination.
My guru Lee also had so much to offer and so much to give but he would say that we weren’t ready to receive all the esoteric practices or have access to all the riches. It was a puzzle that was left unfinished. For me, travelling to India is way into that mystery. I was ignited, one tiny spark at a time, to the possibility of a great love that is always available but can be difficult to access. Devotion is the doorway. Walking into the temple, barefoot and veiled, feet connecting to the earth, the mind at rest, hands held together in namaste, heart open and resting in union, one has access to the experience of oneness, and to a great joy!
On my last day in Jaipur, I was feeling the onslaught of toxins in my lungs and sinuses. I was coughing and feeling lethargic. I dragged myself out of bed debating whether to rest all day or go to the Amber Fort and surrounding temples with my friends. I wanted to show them the beauty of this Fort Complex, so I decided to go. We drove the half hour to get to Amber, and the street hustlers were on us like bees to honey. They were selling various handicrafts, purses, paintings and musical instruments. We repeatedly expressed our polite but firm, “No, thank you.” Maybe it was because I felt so worn down, but the Fort seemed less dazzling, more worn and torn than it did during my first experience of it two years ago.
We asked around for the location of the Mirabai temple, which was located outside the gates and down some dirt roads. When we finally found it, the femininity of this temple was so distinct. Large stone elephants greeted us at the top of a steep flight of stairs. Female deities were carved into the stone columns that graced the entrance. The whole area exuded the passionate devotion of Mirabai, the Hindi poet and mystic from the 16th century, who wrote love poems to Krishna.
My afternoon and evening were spent resting and drinking ginger tea with lemon and honey. I finally had to decline the evening dinner plans. I was going down. I needed just enough energy to endure the long trip home to our small cottage on Triveni Ashram. Arriving home, feeling quite sick made me aware that this may have been my last trip to India. As my energy returned and clarity kicked in, I was once again feeling my deep love and gratitude for India, its customs, its spirituality, its people.
Despite living in a harsh climate and dense pollution—the congested traffic and constant beeping horns and barking dogs—they smile and worship and wear traditional clothes that burst with color. They sweep and clean up garbage, they serve food, and they sell goods. They drive rickshaws and motorcycles, they offer flowers and prasad at temples, and they bathe in sacred waters. And always, they make pilgrimages to sacred sites. In India, devotion is at the heart of life, whether that devotion is offered to Krishna, Shiva, Kali, Durgha, Buddha, Mohammed or Nature (Prakriti) Herself. Their hearts are stirred and alive, and this is India’s gift to me.
Enduring discomfort in India is a small price to pay to awaken such gratitude and appreciation for life! I want to be with all of it—the love and sorrow, the magnificent architecture and piles of garbage, the flea-ridden dogs and sacred cows, the hazy sunrises and the clear shining eyes of the people. I want to be with it all...but I may just wait a few years before returning again.
