From Dawn till Dusk

4 Dec. 2008. Varanasi.

Every morning at dawn, and every evening after the sun sets, Hindus gather on several central ghats (steps) of the Ganges River to pray. They come individually and in small groups, but especially in the evening, they come as families, walking determinately toward these large gathering areas, bordered on three sides by small shops and temples which all open up to the great river. By 4:30 p.m., the crowds start marching through side streets and then through a final 500 or so yards, negotiating a dizzying maze of rickshaws, motorcycles, and food carts. At the ghats, people start settling in front of small platforms that hug the water's edge. Hindu devotional music blares over loud speakers, and women and children offer everyone small paper bowls filled with flowers and a candle, provided a small donation is given. On the platforms, Hindu priests begin preparations, and the anticipation rises.

And then for the next hour or more, the priests work through a series of rituals -- with smoke, fire, water, incense, flowers, and saffron spices. Circling their arms in the air, while slowly moving clockwise in place, the ceremony takes on the form of religious dance. Appropriate chants and music match each series, and both priest and the crowd ring bells and beat drums. Then prayers are offered, to the Mother Ganga and Lord Shiva, and some of the people take their turns lighting their candles and sending them off into the river, with prayers and reflection. The priests slow down, and quiet returns. The people go home, until the next day.

I have never seen anything like this, though the size, music, “stage,” and lights remind me a bit of some very large megachurch praise services in America. To the Western eye, it all seems a little Las Vegas and a lot of strange, but to the people here -- watching intently, clapping in rhythm, folding hands in prayer -- this is anything but strange or entertaining. It is, yet again, a way to worship, to honor that which is God, to see life and god and salvation in this holy water, to mark the end of the day as a day for the divine.

Hindus are very religious people, and there seems to be no end to ways that they worship and ways that they symbolize and understand God. Historically, this flexibility and endless imaginative theology has been Hinduism's great strength. But some other Indian religions have chosen different paths of spirituality. Near this town, at Sarnath, Buddhists gather to remember and pray, for Sarnath is the place that Siddhartha, the Buddha, came to gather his first disciples and preach his first sermon. After a very fast and bumpy auto-rickshaw ride for the 10 kilometers (a whopping $4, round trip), I arrived in Sarnath earlier today, for what proved to be a peaceful 4 hours.

The central site here is the Dhhamekh Stupa, a huge towering mound that marks the place where the Buddha preached this first sermon. Stupas in Buddhism traditionally house holy relics, perhaps pieces of Siddhartha’s clothing or writings, but this one is revered for the sermon. The stupa sits on the edge of well-maintained monastery ruins, and the entire park – with its quiet, cool atmosphere – provides a welcome reprise from the noise and crowds of nearby Varanasi. An impressive state-run museum is adjacent, including statues of both Buddhist and Hindu gods, as well as Siddhartha.

Siddhartha developed the principles of Buddhism in the context of early Hindu life, about 500 B.C. He objected to the then Hindu emphasis on sacrificial rituals, dependency on priests, and the highest spiritual goal of extreme ascetic living. He taught a “middle way” to salvation, or rather enlightenment, which focuses on awareness, simplicity, modesty, and something like contentment. Buddhists do not focus on a goal of salvation, or, being with God in heaven, generally; instead, they try to realize the “god within,” their own buddha nature, and they emphasize prayerful meditation. Thus, technically, they do not worship Siddhartha, nor any gods, but there are nonetheless a pantheon of divine figures, as well as the model of the Buddha, who provide religious focus.

And then there are Jains. We’ve discussed Jainism a bit in an earlier post. Their founder, Mahavira, is said to have lived and taught in this area, as did some of the earlier “crossing leaders, their tirthankaras, who mark the way to live – simply, non-violently, and modestly. A pleasant Jain temple sits near the Buddhist monastery, and I enjoyed good conversation with one of the priests there. Jains, he said, do not say “Namaste,” the Hindu greeting, but instead “Jai Jenadara,” which means “I see the you/good/god inside your heart.”

So there is here in Varanasi a large variety of religious life – worship to a multitude of forms of god, in colorful and extravagant ways for the Hindus, to self-reflection meditation on one’s inner whole, to committed nonviolent actions and spiritual reflection. And it is here, in north central India, that two grand world religions formed and continue to thrive, along the Ganges river delta, some 2500 years ago. It is easy, then, to see why India is so jam-packed with temples, priests, incense, and prayer. And why the people greet the dawn and the dusk with praise, repentance, and invocation.
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Down to the River to Pray, and . . .

3 December, 2008. Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India.

After a night of rocking and tossing, sleeping, snoring, and listening to snoring (and the large group of French tourists who surrounded us), I arrived in Varanasi early today. The overnight train experience was, well, like camping out, while moving, with strangers. The train cars are like very narrow hallways with curtains on each side. The curtains open to sets of berths, four on one side and two on the other. I was assigned the lower berth on a 4-berth side, meaning that I shared a very narrow space with 2 Indian young men and their woman friend. My larger bag slid under my seat/bed, while my smaller backpack wedged between the small table and my head space, and after spreading out the provided sheet/blanket/pillow, I was down and we were all respectful of each other’s quiet. I could easily reach my arm across to the other bed, but with the 2-tier structure, should I need to sit up, I could do so comfortably….if the others had not used the floor space for large luggage. Actually I slept about normal, but those moments between deep sleep cycles seemed to have a bit of a click-clack to them. I’ll try to provide photos on the next similar adventure, which occurs in a few days.

Varanasi (previously known as Benares) is by most accounts the most holy Hindu city in the world. The city sits on the great Ganges River, which is identified with the mother goddess Ganga, whose power comes forth from the far-off Himalayas and flows through a large portion of the Indian continent. The city dates back to 1400 B.C., long before the emergence of classical Hinduism, and as Mark Twain said after his visit here, “Benares is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them together.” Hindus believe that the Ganges is a river of salvation, and that those who die here receive moksha (release from reincarnation, and thus salvation) immediately.

In addition to the river, the faithful Hindus come here to visit a special temple dedicated to the god Shiva (the destroying and re-creating lord of the universe). Called the “Golden Temple” due to its large gold dome, this Shiva temple is a major pilgrimage sight, even though it is difficult to reach. One must navigate a series of very narrow streets (no more than 4 feet wide, and filled with shops) and turns, and then the temple gates/entrances appear. I’d love to have photos for you, but inscriptions in the original marble walls prohibit “gentlemen who are not Hindu” from entering. I did try to get near the gates, and after four security checkpoints, I was able to have a glance before moving on.

The city is full of temples and people, shops and traffic (a familiar refrain), but the Ganges ghats are the main draw. About 80 ghats (steps) line the river’s edge, with varying sizes of platforms, steps, and temple framing leading to the water, which rises drastically during the monsoon season. People (over 60,000 a day) come to the ghats for the numerous reasons: to wash their bodies, to dip in the sacred water, to drop lotus flowers after prayers, to swim, to wash clothes (forming a stunning tapestry of sheets and pants and towels spread over the steps and platforms), to wash their children, to wash cattle, to fish, and to boat. They also seem to gather for something akin to a day at the beach, with families forming little umbrella-marked areas for relaxing and drying after a dip in the river. And all of this is done at and in one of the most polluted rivers in the world, with sewage and everything imaginable dumping into it. This very dangerous water has become a matter of international concern by health officials, and though attempts are being made to change things, the pilgrims, and families, still come for days and dips.

And they come to let their dead go. At one of the two burning ghats, pyres of wood and bodies burn 24 hours a day, as Hindus bring their dead relatives here for cremation. I watched several family ceremonies today, where the dead are placed on specially prepared piles of wood and straw and then, at the appropriate moment after prayers and circling the pyre, lit and burned to ashes. A close relative finally takes the ashes, mixed with river water, and tosses the mixture over his shoulder and into Mother Ganga. Life begins, life ends, and life continues.

What could possibly compel people to risk their health in order to be washed in the river? What could make people ritually burn their dead relatives, all without a tear? These questions frame the mystery – and the majesty – that is the Hindu Ganges world. The connection with the gods is so dramatic, so truly natural, that there is no reason not to identify with the power that is god here. We might say, as possibly their own educated elite might add, that some religious practices must stop because they are dangerous. But a caution for all of us is in view. Who defines what is dangerous, especially in view of faith and the power of God? And what matter is it for the Hindu if this life is shortened a bit, so that the next may come? Or, how is it that Western Christians believe things that fly in the face of science, that some “educated” folk deem as dangerous to healthy living? And what similar uses of water as places of transformation exist in Christian worldviews?

Come to think of it, water is a common element in all religions that I know of. It purifies, and it symbolizes new life. In fact, it makes us live.

Until, at least, we realize the Living Water that transcends every ceremony and all death.

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Varieties of Experiences

2 December 2008. Tundla, Uttar Pradesh, India.

So I arrived at the train station many hours early, and feeling a bit of the normal travel stomach discomfort, and I discover one of the great pleasures of Indian train travel: retiring rooms. These simple, two-bed, two-chair, locking rooms, with bathrooms, come for $2.00 per 24 hours, but they are not always dependable or clean. Mine is far from clean – the bedsheets do not look like they have been changed recently – and the mosquitos are active. But a bit of sportsman cream with deet, and I have some rare moments away from the constant noise that is India. Traffic sort of “flows,” but horns are used to say “I am coming, and I am not stopping,” and they are used often by everyone. Add the noise of 2 cycle gasoline engines (running the auto rickshaws), loud music from shops, cell phones, and some temples, cawing of crows, and train horns in the distance, and you have a very busy aural experience. What is amazing is how calm and quiet things are just a few blocks from the main streets, especially in a park or monument site.

There is no better known site in india than the Taj Mahal, in nearby Agra. Built in 22 years during the 17th century by the Muslim emperor in memory of his second wife, the Taj Mahal has been described as a “teardrop on the face of eternity” (Indian poet Tagore) and “the embodiment of all things pure” (Rudyard Kipling). It is a massive white marble building with detailed and extensive stone inlays and carved screens. Its size is difficult to describe, as is the impact one has standing in its shadow. The site also includes several gardens and gates, a mosque, and numerous smaller buildings. Unfortunately, this part of India is suffering from major air pollution, which clouds each day and night during the winter with an eerie smog. I went during the early morning, when the day is supposed to be at its best. You see the result.

Yesterday, after leaving Jaipur, I visited Fatepur Sikki, a small town on the way to Agra. Fatepur Sikki was for a short time the capital of the Mughal Empire, after emperor Akbar visited the town to consult with a Sufi (Muslim) saint named Sheikh Salim Chisti. The palace and fort remains, as does a very large mosque, Dargah Masjid. I was impressed with the size of the open space, where people would gather to pray and talk. Architecturally, the mosque is a gem, containing designs that incorporate both Indian and Persian styles.

In a few hours, I board the overnight sleeper train to Varanasi. I am in class 2AC (2nd class, air conditioned) in a space with 4 beds (2 upper and 2 lower). There are at least six classes of tickets, but this is the way many working Indians travel, as well as tourists. (There is also a 3-tier, non-airconditioned option, which I’m happy to pass to another.) For shorter distances, most Indians travel in 3rd class cars, with wood slat seats and bars across open windows. The seats, however, only seat about half the passengers, with the rest standing.

Some other interesting aspects of daily life here:

· Within cities and towns, the primary means of transportation are motorcycles, bicycles, buses, and taxis. Taxis usually mean varieties of rickshaws, human powered or motor powered. There are also trucks – plain big, work trucks with space in their cargo areas and a desire to make a few rupees. In the trucks, and on them, people sometimes crowd and hang on for highway ventures.

· People live in everything from make-shift tents to shanties to old business sheds to rock walled homes to concrete buildings to straw-walled and thatch-roofed structures. Farm houses tend to look like what we’ve been taught about biblical days homes – upstairs or one wing for the family, the other for cattle and other animals. I’ve not yet been in the more modernized parts of India, where I expect to see more high rise apartments.

· The average pay for a teacher for a year is about $3500 a year. Many people make much less. Some make nothing. I talked with a textile producer who proudly spoke of recruiting unemployed poor people from Calcutta, bringing them to Jaipur and providing them with housing, food, and insurance, as well as the “opportunity to learn the trade of embroidery.”

· India produces numerous products. Today I saw numerous small potato farms, then fields of brickmakers, then massive yards of huge stone for carvings. The markets are filled with large quantities of root crops, vegetables, and fruits. I am sure other states will prove more varieties of goods. Products are delivered to market or business by way of trucks and trailers, the latter often powered by donkeys, horses, oxen, and camels.

· There are over 1600 languages and dialects in India, but only 18 are recognized by the government. Hindi is spoken mostly in the North, and a host of regional languages dominate in the South. English is spoken by many, especially the professionals, and I’ve had very little trouble getting by.

· The weather is what I would call “late Spring,” with warm days and cool nights. So far, I’ve seen no rain or wind.

· I have never seen so many animals. I see monkeys in the towns and in the country bush. Yesterday I saw numerous goat herds. Elephants appear on the roads from time to time, but my sense is most of them are used for tourist purposes. Camels serve both tourist and practical needs. Pigs and/or boars roam around scavenging the trash heaps. Cows wander, though some are kept in yards and farms. Pigeons are fed by palace gardens.

· The dominant religions are Hinduism, Buddhism, Sikhism, Islam, and Jainism, but Christianity is substantial, especially in the South. Yesterday I saw a small Baptist building, with the sign “established 1845,” and today near the train station, a Christ Church building from 1860. I hope to learn more about Christian presence when I get to Chennai next week.

· Temples dot the landscape like country churches in West Texas. Temples are especially prominent on the tops of hills and mountains, much like fancy houses often are built in America on high overlooks.

· People seem to work hard, especially the women. I’ve noticed at construction sites that the women – dressed in traditional long dresses with scarves – are shoveling sand and mixing the mud and/or concrete. They (and the men) carry big bowls of dirt, mud, etc., on their heads.

· In the north and in this north central part of India, there are oleandars bushes with yellow and red flowers, occasional palm trees, and numerous thorny bushes that resemble our mesquite trees.

· Oh, add rats to the list of animals seen and experienced. I’ve just now discovered one of the surprises of train station retiring rooms. The noise I kept hearing while writing this post turns out to be a rather fat rat that has found my banana peel. Some discoveries I’d rather not have.

By the time this is posted, I will be in Varanasi, one of the holiest cities in all of India. This country is overwhelming in so many ways, and I continue to see here the full breadth of life. Today I saw a young man, maybe 15, hauling two large containers of water on his bike, and then a lady of about 40 dutifully shoveling concrete pieces and carrying the loads to another spot. I see families caring for children, while waiting for trains. In every vacant lot, there are boys playing cricket. On the streets, men sit and play cards or drink tea, squatting rather than sitting. Others visit a barber, right there on the street, with razors and tools laid out carefully on a towel. And I see people taking their puja, their prayers, at shrines large and small all along the way.

It is a feast for the eyes and mind, indeed.
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Religion, and Life

30 November, Jaipur.

Before leaving for India, several seasoned travelers in Asia gave me advice. Perhaps the strongest words addressed the need not to do too much. Today I took that advice and did very little. There was a morning visit to one of many forts/palaces in the area, this particular one the Amber Fort, which housed royalty back in the days when Mughals were gaining control over the Indian Rajputs. This fort was built in the late 1500s and early 1600s. Its major feature, to my interests, is a fascinating Kali temple, nestled neatly along the lower side of a second courtyard gateway. Kali is one of the forms of Durga, the mother and destroyer of evil. Kali is often pictured as bloodthirsty in an image where she holds a sword in one hand and a decapitated head in another, fighting evil as fiercely as imaginable. The temple is an open rectangle with tall white marble floor and walls, ornately carved with geometric design. Only three images of Kali are there, the main one at the front where the priest and devotees gather.

Lonely Planet says that a goat was sacrificed in the Kali temple daily, from the 16th century until 1980. I suppose that would have been interesting to watch, but I’m glad that I missed it. Instead, I saw more puja worship and priestly blessings. Everything was very similar to the earlier descriptions (see below), except for a couple of additions. First, serious Hindus purchase a small coconut, break it with a supplied strong tool, and bring it to the altar along with the other bits of sugar and flowers. The priest takes the juice, and keeps one half, giving the other back. Then, after prayers, priestly blessing and the marking on the forehead, and then, he pours a bit of the juice into the cupped hands of worshippers, who sip a bit of it. Kali, I am told, is associated with coconuts, which are a sign of blessing. The other “addition” was the spontaneous song, with a burning candle held high, which was apparently a hymn to Kali.

Later, I visited the royal cenotaphs for the palace, where monuments mark the ashes of Rajput leaders. High in the ceilings of the cupola-style “porches” were carved scenes from the Ramayana stories of Hinduism. Even in death, it seems, Hindus are remembered in light of their religious identities.

There is much about india that is difficult for Westerners. Paradoxes abound. Trash is everywhere, but it provides food for wandering cows, pigs, dogs, and other critters. God is whatever image or idea one can imagine, which even means god can be poverty. Homelessness is widespread. Temples and shrines are on every block, while public latrines are around the corners. Smells of incense mix with dust and soiled clothing. Prayers are offered, yet a kind of fateful acceptance of things persists. I wonder if basic philosophical underpinnings in Hindu thought – regarding caste and karma, rebirth and moksha (liberation) – work to placate aggressive attempts to improve society, alleviate poverty, stop evil. I wonder how much acceptance plays a role.

Diana Eck, Harvard specialist in North Indian Hinduism, talks in her book, Darsan, about this visual presence of the good and the bad, and I find her commentary helpful. “Much that is removed from public view in the modern West and taken into the privacy of rest homes, asylums, and institutions is open and visible in the life of an Indian city or village. The elderly, the affirm, the dead awaiting cremation – these sights, while they may have been expunged from the childhood palace of the Buddha, are not isolated from the public eye in India. Rather, they are present daily in the visible world in which Hindus, and those who visit India, move in the course of ordinary activities. In India, one sees everything. . . . Whatever Hindus affirm of the meaning of life, death, and suffering, they affirm with their eyes wide open” (11).
Perhaps we in the West hide, or deny, too much, neatly segmenting entire populations away from the proper public view. Perhaps Indians are too resigned to the roles of life, the karmic rule of life and death. Surely we all need to see God in all of life, not just Sundays or shrines.

1 December, Jaipur, 5:30 a.m. I awoke to sounds of the Muslim call to prayer, here in this town of Hindus and Muslims. I’ve been hearing more Hindu chants in the morning and evening, forming a cacophony of invocation across the faiths. The sounds of cathedral bells, marking the day by reminders of God, could be heard in the West in times past. I wonder…..
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Hindus and Muslims in Prayer

Sunday, 30 November. Jaipur

As the sun rises over a hill, I sit on a small rooftop hotel, after challenging the staff person about whether it was too cold. It seems that temperature is relative to culture; I feel a nice 65 degrees or so out here. By late afternoon, it will be near 90. Winter in India is not so bad.

Yesterday entailed travel from Pushkar to nearby Ajmer. Although very close towns, they are separated by a mini-mountain pass, as well as a religion. For the most part, Ajmer is Muslim, about 75% or so, whereas Pushkar is Hindu, with a smattering of Sikhs. The driver seemed less happy about coming here, and I wondered if it had anything to do with religious tensions. He said it was a town where I might get robbed. In the end, though, it was very pleasant, and full of new discoveries.

At the central mosque, down the end of a long bazaar street, and entered through a massive gate, there is a true “Islamic Center” where shops, hostels, and holy sites merge. The mosque is fairly nondescript, like most rather plain courtyards and inner porches for prayer. But the major reason people come here is to pay homage to a great medieval Muslim saint. This is one of the holiest Muslim sites in India. I was impressed with the way Indian/Hindu culture blends with Muslim worship here: Worshippers bring baskets of lotus flowers and sugar pieces to offer to the shrine, just as in Hindu worship. Also, it was interesting to see Sikhs and Muslims and Hindus all meeting here for prayers. No doubt most were Muslims, but the sentiment expressed is important.

The other major site here is a spectacular Jain temple. Jainism emerged about the same time as Buddhism, generally, with Mahavira as its founder. The Jains are known for their extreme nonviolence – some Jains will not eat any root foods as well as no animal products, for fear that organisms in the dirt will be killed. This temple, however, is more about their worldview, with a view of the universe with some 20+ planets. Here in the temple, a stunning gold model of this universe is placed. I need to investigate it further to be able to say much. It was certainly unique.

After our arrival in Jaipur, we visited the Temple of Sun and Moon, more commonly known as the “Monkey Temple.” In the summer, monkeys gather here at dusk in large numbers, but apparently they think it is winter too. Nonetheless, the temple itself is the central reason for coming here. There are numerous small shrines for prayer and worship, with different images of gods, and a major central prayer altar and shrine with the monkey-faced god Hanuman. Here I watched my driver go through his prayers. After purchasing a small amount of sugar crystals, he approached the “altar,” stood for the priest to bless him and accept his repentant attitude and gift, placed a mark on his forehead, gave him a bit of sugar which he ate, and then the driver prayed and walked away. Next, he rang a bell, said another prayer, and sat down, where he meditated a moment, prayed again, and bowed to the floor, just as Muslims do. The whole ceremony took less than 5 minutes, and as he tells me, basically he is showing the need for blessing, receiving blessing, and praying and offer praise to the god. Hindus do this, in some fashion, usually twice a day if possible. For each specific god, there are specific blessing emphases, and the mark placed on the forehead has a specific name appropriate to the blessing.

Watching the priest and crowds, for a moment I thought I saw a Roman Catholic service, where congregants were receiving the sacraments. When he bowed to pray, the driver reminded of a Muslim salat ritual. As people methodically moved through the actions, I sensed many a church service. The similarities abound.

As we left the temple grounds, I noticed what seemed to be a Muslim couple, she dressed in conservative face covering. I was right, for just beside the entrance to the temple was an entrance to an adjacent mosque. Here in this place too, there is room for both to pray. In the light of Mumbai and the commonly understood tensions between Hindus and Muslims, India and Pakistan, it is good to see that most people are more alike than different. The terrorism strikes, and the subsequent blame games and political maneuvering, make me angry. Likely what happened this past week here was intended to destabilize good movement toward better relations between Muslims and Hindus. Political and ideological radicals are the same everywhere – they want their way at all costs, and they fail to see that the world will never know peace without common human courtesy, what Jesus summed up in the “golden rule,” and what he and the prophets and wise people of every faith sum up in loving God and loving neighbor.

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Experiencing Hindu Friends

28 November 2008. Pushkar.

Considered the city of a thousand temples, Pushkar probably has more, if one considers all of the corner shrines and side guru halls. The entire town encircles a small lake, hidden from street vendors, as well as temples, but the 50+ ghats (landing steps) that lead pilgrims to the water. Behind the ghats, then, are concentric rings of streets and side streets, marked by small, almost hidden temples, shops, and many larger temples. There is a Sikh gurdwara (temple) here as well, but it is well place outside of the mass of sacred Hindu mandirs and the ghats. A nearby town, Ajmer, is predominantly Muslim, and I hope to speak to this later.

The main reason most people come here, besides the ghats and purification rituals, is to see what is the only Brahma temple in the world. Lonely Planet says there may be two, but this one is the main one, and maybe the only one. In the oldest Hindu texts, the Vedas, a Trimurti (trinity) of gods is mentioned – Brahma (creator), Vishnu (sustainer), and Shiva (destroyer, or re-creator). As Hinduism develops, Brahma is emphasized less and less, and thus the small number of temples. Tradition, or later texts, tell that Brahma wanted to perform a purification ritual at this lake, and when his wife Sarvriti did not attend, he became angry and married another. Sarvriti did not take this well, and she vowed that he would never be worshipped again.

She also apparently won over the lake, literally. Her temple stands proudly on a tall hill (in Texas we call it a mountain, but here they have the Himalayas to compare) overlooking the lake. The walk to her temple becomes a rather rugged climb; guidebooks say it takes an hour, but my body and my watch say it takes longer. I found the climb enjoyable for about half of the way, but the views become more and more grand, and pride demands we Texas men carry on. Near the top, I was taking 5 steps and resting, then 5 more. At the top, the temple is rather simple, but I was glad to have made the trek.

In addition to the religious significance and the view, the lemurs were enjoyable to watch. They run wild in Rajasthan, and I’ve seen a number of them. They also become quite bold. On my way down, a family approached, and the monkees ran up and snatched their worship offerings from their hands. I had forgotten to leave mine (you are required to purchase a packet on the way up), so I gave it to them; they smiled, and expressed the Namaste (“I see God in you”) greeting. A bit later, I met an elderly couple, already straining but determined to make the trek up. We smiled at each other, I reached out my hand to pull the woman up a few steps, and she turned, brought her hands up, and expressed Namaste to me. I will not forget her eyes; she seemed to make a genuine and deep contact with me. But I was not done; a little later yet, I met a family. One of the older sons began a conversation. Because so many conversations on the street quickly turn to requests for me to buy something, I was hesitant, but soon his entire family joined him, and we exchanged pleasant conversation. He (Ram) and his brothers and I shared picture-taking.

Earlier I found the Brahma temple and experienced a “lotus dropping.” One of the frustrations here is the way many people want to become your guide, “no money” required. One met me in the train station in Amritsar, one offered to carry my bag, and here at the Brahma temple, a “student” of the temple, he said, persisted in showing me around. I did learn a bit, so I cannot be too disturbed for the small cost of 50 rupees (about one dollar). So, he takes my shoes and guides me in (no pictures allowed). First, I take a bowlful of lotus flowers, and we walk toward the main shrine area, where the four-headed Brahma image sits. I offer the bowl to a priest/monk, who adds a bit of food – a hard rockish crackery looking substance. The guide explains that he has blessed my bad karma -- blessed, accepted, forgiven, I can’t remember the word. Then, after a brief tour of the monk’s quarters and the overall temple area, we are off to the nearby ghat, where I am led to a priest who sits with me near the water , tells me about the symbolisms, and proceeds to guide me through the ritual. Lost in trying to understand his voice, wondering occasionally if I was committing (unknowingly, I must add) some horrible sin, and trying to keep flies and wasps off of my face, I forget the details. But I recognized the spice dust – yellow and red, and the many of the words in the prayers, which essentially spoke of God blessing me and my family. Then, all of a sudden, he marks me with the dot on my forehead, ties a braided string on my wrist, and encourages me to offer my karma (lotus flowers, food, etc.) to the lake, to Push-kar, which means lotus-drop.

Now, to my family and employer: Have no fear, I have not converted to Hinduism. The experience was one of those unexpected serendipities of traveling in India, and I’ve learned yet again a great deal more about the Hinduism that I try to teach in a few weeks each year. There is interesting symbolism here in the whole event, and how it all connects to the mythologies of the gods. And most interesting to me is the way that Hindus show both the need for purification and the ways that the gods, and the priests make it possible. In terms of Christian theology, we would surely call all the stops to pray in front of shrines, and bell ringing at the temples, and offerings to the gods, and pushkar rituals, all of this we would label “works” and quickly note how grace is the free gift to peace. But we too have our rituals, and we too tend to turn what is culturally inevitable and richly experiential and rightly suited to our contexts into endless need to works. So – for me anyway – I’m being reminded that we as humans will always symbolize and ritualize and make visibly real what we feel and what we need, and this process is in itself good and normal.

Some processes, however, are dangerous. How Hindus can wash in water that is, well, very dirty, with streets crowded with cows, other animals, human and animal waste, food products, and flies – millions of flies – I don’t understand. (And I hesitate to mention it because I don’t want to characterize this situation as equating with the people or the religion). Perhaps part of the answer comes in the response I receive from hotel employees when I expressed concern about the Mumbai terrorism: “It is no matter; there is nothing to do; if it is your time, God will take you.” God is in control. Hmm.

Perhaps a final note about travel. Every scholar friend whom I asked told me to get a driver for parts of India. I understand why now; one simply cannot get around to all the places otherwise; taxis are not common in the rural areas, and trains only get you so far. So for these five days, I have a driver, which costs about $100 over what trains would cost. It’s a bargain, believe me.
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In the Middle of Nowhere, and Feeling Home

27 Nov. 9:30 p.m. Pushkar.

Pushkar. Think Katmandu and Rome without the mountains or crosses. On a late night stroll after settling in here, I felt this sense of being in the most spiritual, anti-establishment, musical, new-age, old-age, religious, pluralistic place in the world. More tomorrow, after a day in the sun here, visiting the town of temples.

As we drove in, the place felt like Malibu Canyon Road, or Sanderson, Texas, or a little bit of Yellowhouse Canyon, with a strange bit of "biblical" scenes -- families and cattle, sheep, camels, walking, working, carrying sticks; women in colorful dress, with headscarves. And tonight, the stars reminded me of home, growing up in Odessa, when those simpler times with cool night skies, and less city lights, made all seem calm.

I'm mindful of Mumbai, but also of the wonderful people I keep meeting here. I phoned a contact today, a friend of my colleague Andy Fort from TCU, who is hosting me in Calcutta. She was very kind and welcoming, and I look forward to being with her and her husband.

As internet access seems less consistent, I write when I can, and add photos as possible.

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