Vindhyavasni and the Village

The Vindhyavasni Temple

I've posted pictures of the (late) Diwali festivities at the Vindhyavasni Temple in the nearby town of Vindhyachal. The place was amazingly crowded, but the thousands of diyas and the flower-petal rangolis were beautiful. The floor was absolutely covered in ghee (clarified butter) and oil for the diyas. "This is Bhagwan's kripa (grace)," said Dr. Ashwani, "that year after year, this floor gets covered in fuel during this celebration, and a despite a thousand flames, this temple STILL doesn't burn to the ground." Good point. I'll let the photos do the talking.

Village Life

The ashram itself was between the towns of Mirzapur and Vindhyachal, nearby the small village of Amaravati. And when I say village, I really mean village. Mud-huts, oxen-pulling-ploughs, cow-dung-patties-on-the-wall type of village. And every day, in the morning at 7AM, I would walk over to this village and pay a visit to the local chai-walla and buy what I can only describe as a "shot" of chai. The little kulladis held one mouthful of steaming hot, delicious, freshly-brewed chai. And each one cost Rs. 2/- ($0.04). So I'd have two or three, and he'd take only five rupees because he knew I'd be back the next day.

On two of the mornings, the husband of the French couple that had come along to film a documentary on the camp, Jean-Marie, came to the village with me, with his rather high-tech Sony DVCAM. As we walked around one of the houses on the edge of the village, I struck up a conversation with the resident. I managed to explain in Hindi (I'm not sure how) that Jean-Marie was making a film on the medical camp, and he wanted to also capture the setting in which this camp took place. He invited us for chai, and we accepted. His name was Sheshnag and he was "the adventurous" one of the family because he had struck off to find his fortune in Mumbai. Considering that a "family vacation" is a day-trip to nearby Mirzapur, his family had thought he had seen the world. No wonder they looked at Jean-Marie so strangely. He really might have been the first white person they'd ever seen. As usual, the tea was delicious and we were also served Parle-G biscuits to dip in the tea. A pack of these costs about Rs. 15/- for eight tiny wafer-like biscuits. In a village where they easily make less than Rs. 1000/- ($20) per month, this is a treat for guests and special occassions. Jean-Marie was surprised at Lesson 1: Even simple huts can be superbly clean, neat, and cool. I guess he hasn't seen anything this village-like before, either. I vowed not to forget Sheshnag's hospitality. The next day I brought him prasad from the ashram - four fresh apples. His kids were thrilled. Lesson 2: Apples are a commodity. Because they're not easily obtained, they're given as prasad in the ashram because they really are like a gift.

As we ventured further into the village, the crowds became to come out to observe the strange looking visitors holding these strange gadgets in their hands. When they realized that we were holding cameras - everyone wanted a picture. Turns out, though we came to capture they're village life, we were, in fact, the celebrities. What's routine isn't particularly interesting, and what's different is. That we were interested in them, and them in us was simply two manifestations of the same principle.

And one small boy made it all too clear when he said, "You mean they've come all the way from America to take pictures of us making cowdung patties? What's so interesting about that?"

Indeed.

The Kali Temple

My visit to the Kali Temple near Mirzapur reminded me of what I don' t like about the some of the temples of India. The "priests" if you can call them that (they aren't really holy in any way, shape, or form) immediately pounce on you calling you to their little shrine. The murtis are gorgeous, as always, but these guys wouldn't shut up for ten seconds to let you do darshan. They kept saying over and over again, "Mother Kali wants you to leave a donation. She wants (insert value here). Leave it at her feet." You mean leave it at YOUR feet. The normal values they begged for ranged from Rs. 50/- (the largest note I saw was Rs. 20/-) to, get this, $100. Riiiiight. I gave Rs. 10/-, the first bill that came out of my pocket, and I only had Rs. 30/- with me. The priests looks at it and gives it back in disgust saying, "Kali wants more. 50 rupees, you leave 50 rupees." So I told him, "Well, I don't have fifty rupees, and Kali won't take these ten, then I'll give it to someone else." His reply was quick, "No. No. Kali is happy with Rs. 10/-." I left him with the note. As I turned away, I saw out of the corner of my eye him stuff it in his pocket and give me the finger.

In all fairness, many, if not most temples in India are not like this. If you want to take part in a puja, you leave a donation, if you don't, you don't, no one forces you to do anything. If they ask, they ask once, maybe twice, then leave you alone. Mandir's are supposed to make your mind (man) still (dhir). Not leave you more agitated.

Allahbad and the Triveni Sangam

Before we caught the train back home, we stopped in Allahbad, the birthplace of Jawaharal Nehru, to have snaan (a bath) in the holy waters of the Triveni Sangam. This sangam (confluence) is where the rivers Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati join together to become just the Ganga as it flows onward. Over time, the Saraswati has dried up entirely, but a scientific debate still goes on as to whether She still flows underground. The Yamuna is being drained heavily for agriculture and doesn't make much of a river anymore. That leaves mostly the Ganga - in which we had our snaan.

The neat part about Indian rituals is that they're mostly symbolic. While some of our group members stripped down to their underwear to plunge fully into the waters, I was a bit more realistic about the fecal coliform content of the water as I knew Allahbad was draining sewage into the sangam (search: Triveni Sangam). I took a handful and sprinkled it over my head and called it a snaan. It's the thought that counts anyway. Right?