Looking back over my shoulder

 

India has come and been and gone. It was a memorable visit.

The heat, the dust, the poverty and the dirt in some of the provincial towns seem shocking to western eyes. Once feels helpless at the enormity of the task which has to be faced to improve the standard of living for millions of ordinary people living there. If there is to be change then it must come from government level. Healthcare, improved sanitation, reduction of pollution and disease need national solutions.

While I and perhaps others like me batter officialdom with words, there are other purer souls who simply get on with the job that they can do in the hope and in the belief that they are making a difference, be it only a small difference.

The Rama Krishna Mission Hospital at Vrindaban is one clear example of this. In an unobtrusive way they go about the daily task of caring for the poor and supplying medical help for those who arrive on their doorstep. Clearly it was unconditional help. I saw Buddhists, Hindus, Christians and surely Muslims ( although they are not great in number on the town) arriving for help. As I watched from the balcony of the guesthouse I could see cycle-rickshaws arriving with very sick looking occupants, auto-rickshaws  disgorging men or women carrying small children and many arriving on foot, some with obvious injuries others who would rest once, perhaps twice before reaching the large front entrance.

Inside the front door there were queues. People waited patiently and for the most part in silence with far greater tolerance than I have sen at outpatient clinics in the UK. There were of course no deadlines to be met, no hospital targets to be achieved. Patients waited quietly in hope and with a sense of trust that they would be listened to and helped.

Beyond the bustle and movement of that front entrance, I saw what one might have expected in any hospital lin the west. There were wards. Those who were in bed had few of the trappings around them that we see in English hospitals. No pseudo MFI furniture and definitely no television. It was more sparse, but it was clean and the nurses looked spick and span in their white uniforms. There were clinics. Eyes, an ENT unit, cardiology, renal care, pediatrics, xray…the lot. I was even allowed to tour the pathology lab, the operating theatres  and was eventually taken to my hosts private domain – the hospital store.

It was good. What was missing by way of modern equipment was made up for by the enthusiasm and determination of the staff. They were focused. They were all working hard in temperatures of 37 degrees…er air conditioning? Not really – not that I noticed. The building was cool but it was solid and well-built to withstand extremes of temperature. The doctors seemed well qualified and caring for those under their charge and I know from staying for a week at the guest house that doctors came from elsewhere to perform surgery or hold clinics on a voluntary basis.

My understanding is that the Rama Krishna Mission is a non religious organisation whose rationale is service. Service to others. Not everyone was a specialist. One young man, originally from Germany, an admissions officer was given a day out with us when we visited Mathura. He has lived at the hospital for a number of years doing unpaid work. Another lady, a retired anesthetist, seemed to be a permanent resident. She continues with her life’s work now in a voluntary capacity.

The hospital gives. It gives freely and generously to all who appear there. It is a place of healing, tolerance and dedication. Most of all it gives hope and life to those who live in Vrindaban. Ask any rickshaw driver, any taxi driver if he knows where the Rama Krishna Mission is – “You mean the hospital?” he will say. “You wanna go?”

I certainly ”go” with it and I hope some of my readers will also.

The end of all things is at hand

Tomorrow morning we return to Delhi on the first part of our journey home.

It has been a memorable affair and quite an eye-opener about Indian life, religion and culture.

Two things need to be said as a postscript.

Ramakrishna Mission Sevashrama (Charitable Hospital)

At some time I will write one more post. Today I was taken on a tour of the Rama Krishna Mission Hospital here in Vrindaban. The community offers free medical services to those who ask. They have 165 beds in the hospital, operating theatres, pathology labs, research facilities  and a full range of out-patient services. The waiting rooms, corridors and consulting rooms were crowded with needy people and I felt as if I was taking advantage of their suffering by taking photographs. The pictures though  will be used to illustrate the work of the hospital with a view to fund-raising. Today though I am still suffering from the shock of the terrible state of misery and hope  that I saw on their faces. As always it was the sight of the poorly children which really got to me.

The other is to say that the entire blog will reappear when I return home in a new format with some of the pictures to illustrate this wordy tome.

Thanks to those who have persisted in reading. Watch the relevant space on http://www.rssupport.org.uk.

Away day to Mathura

Having been in Vrindaban for a few days and having been bowled over by the number of spectacular temples to photograph, we thought we ought to look around at the other towns in the area.

It’s a bit like the old days when one went to Blackpool. The illuminations, the tower and the golden mile are all spectacular – surely there must be other places close at hand that deserve a visit. ..Fleetwood? St Annes on Sea? They used to prove disappointing. So too, in a way, did Mathura. It is a town only eight miles or so from Vrindaban. Mathura has all the legends about Krishna to offer. It is a place, some would say, where he was born. Unfortunately a mosque and a mandir mark the site and these two buildings, supported by two different religions, Islam and Hinduism, do not get on. The whole area is something of a militarised zone with the army in attendance. “Sorry no cameras!” Even the Dwarkhadish Temple has large notices (fortunately not in English) saying NO PHOTOGRAPHS

Vishram Ghat

The Vishram Ghat - a colourful bathing place on the Yamuna river was a good deal more relaxed. We were rewarded by seeing a visiting wedding party who had come to the river to embark on one of the boats. The local brass band who accompanied them decided, illadvisedly most people thought,  to embark on another!

Indian bands major on colour and noise  – not quite so much on rhythm  and sweetness. But looking hot and ever so slightly scruffy they contributed to a sense of occasion. It was memorable in one form or another.

Moving on we visited small but clearly well-loved shrines, erected where Lord Krishna had performed one act or another. Our local guide was greatly taken with these sites – as indeed were the beggars and stall holders. There was almost a punch-up at one place where the authority of our guide was called into question. The matter could have been remedied if he had paid the 11 rupees asked! It was all a bit of a mystery to us . We endured bravely but were safely back in Vrindaban in time for lunch.

Noisy religion

There are over 5000 temples in Vrindaban said my guide-book and I can believe it is true. Almost every other building in the old part of the town is a mandir to one manifestation of God or another.

My understanding of Hinduism was of a quiet thoughtful religion – aged gurus passing on gobbets of wisdom. Students pushing back the visible world as they search out their interior souls through the practice of yoga. Old sanyasis renouncing the world and wealth in search of moksha (escape from the cycle of reincarnation).

Well forget all that. In Vrindaban religion is all about noise - drums, cymbals, trumpets, clapping and cheering. All day long the rhythmical banging of drums comes from one part of the town or another. There is no visible sign of penitence in the Hind pilgrims I have met. There’s quite a lot of pushing as one after another they try to catch a glimpse of a sacred object or God. No scallop shells or rosaries here – there are garlands (providing the monkeys don’t swipe them) and mobile phone cameras. It is all part of the Hind pilgrim dress.

At one temple Banke Bihan, it is the time of year when the priests bring out the God to show to the people in a religious procession. We arrived there yesterday just after the deity had been safely returned to his shrine. The crowd of devotees, many covered with flower petals, resembled football team supporters celebrating a popular win at a local derby.  They laughed, the clapped as they rushed to greet old friends.

Like many of the Hebrew prophets of old Hindu devotees are of the ecstatic tradition. Religion is about joy, exuberance and celebration. Hare Krishna!

South to Vrindaban

We left the noise and rush of Haridwar last Saturday and flew south to Delhi and then on by train to Mathura. At least that was the plan, but Kingfisher Airlines had decided to cancel the Saturday morning flight without telling us. Nevertheless they did the noble thing – got us on to an afternoon flight and transported us by road to our ultimate destination at Vrindaban – about 40 miles north of Agra.

Well I said we wanted to photograph temples and it is claimed that Vrindaban has 5000 to choose from.

The town is situated on the river Yamuna – one of the sacred rivers of India. Devout Hindus believe that the young Lord Krishna once lived as a cowherd here. So it is back to cows on the streets in a big way, but with fewer flies than there were in Rishikesh.

Vrindaban northern bypass

The old town is very narrow, very dusty, crowded with pilgrims, traders and local people going about their business. Just walking along one of these narrow streets can be challenging in itself. Coping with the crowds, the dust and the potholes is one thing, but when one is competing for space with tricycle rickshaws, motorbikes, scooters, cows and beggars, the logistical exercise of walking from one end of Loi Bazar to the other becomes a major undertaking.

Coping with the traffic

Over the last two weeks we have become aware that few Indians seem to smoke in the streets (those who do puff an evil brew) but they do spit. Everyone spits. The considerate give an audible throat clearing warning. Nevertheless you have to be ready to jump out of the way as a weary shopper clears her mouth, or indeed her nose!

Out home this week is just outside the main town of Vrindaban at the Rama Krishna Mission Sevashrama - a green tranquil haven of peace and security. Their kindness and welcome hs been overwhelming. Our only problem so far seems to have been the monkeys wo also adore the grounds. Carrying black plastic bags seems to be a target for them, as indeed do spectacles.

As we venture out this Monday morning we hope their eyesight is good enough without spectacles to distinguish between carrier bags full of goodies and a camera bag full of lenses.

Grand Finale

Tonight at the end of our stay we made our way back to Har-Ki-Pauri for the evening Arti ceremony. As dusk fell over the Ganges we were aware that crowds had completely filled both banks of the river as far as the eye could see. Those nearest the river were lighting small spills attached to baskets of flowers which were launched into the water. Small islands of light floated past and the enormous crowd fell silent.

Arti ceremony at night

large torches burned opposite our position as the haunting rhythmical music began to fill the evening air. The priests rotated the torches making circles of fire in the night. The worshippers, subtly at first hummed their part of the liturgy. The effect was magical. As the music gained pace, the sound from the crowd grew. More fiery boats of marigolds were released. Tiny specks of light in a black river. It was a deeply moving spectacle.

There is something compelling about thousands of people expressing their devotions in music and actions. The darkness and the tiny lights add to the mystique.

I stole a glance along the line of photographers up on the gantry with me. Apart from one television cameraman, intent on capturing the moment, the others had ceased to take photographs and were gently clapping their hands in time to the music. That’s how the Kumbh Mela can take you.

On Tour

Today we grew brave and left Haridwar for a few hours to see temples and shrines in Rishikesh. Like Haridwar, Rishikesh has been the abode of saints and holy persons. I can remember the Beatles joining an Ashram here in the 1960s under the guidance of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Despite an impressive gorge through which the Ganges flows, I found the town disappointing. The temples were not as impressive as those we had seen at Haridwar. We were warned about the cows that roam unmolested through the streets, but we were not warned about the dung and the flies that seem to have moved in for the summer season.

Temple in Rishikesh

High above Rishikesh, surrounded by forest is the temple Neelkanth Mahadev - associated with Lord Shiva. It’s a long walk from Rishikesh - even the guide-book warns four hours. “Better to take a taxi!” “WOW!” What they didn’t warn us was that the local taxi drivers use the narrow winding road to hone their skills as rally drivers. Despite a wild and hairy journey the shrine was clearly greatly loved by the faithful who queue for hours in the hot sun to catch a glimpse of the God.

Sadhu City

Today Haridwar was much quieter. Many of the crowds have disappeared leaving behind tons of litter and a few thousand faithful worshippers who maintain a vigil at the ghats until the next holy day.

Sadhus travel light

Among the faithful are between seven and eight hundred Sadhus who live in specially guarded camps near to the town.

Late this afternoon we were offered a chance to visit them. The naked Hindu sages live lives of prayer and contemplation in the villages and ashrams high up in the Himalayas. Once every twelve years they come to Haridwar for four months for the Kumbh Mela. Their temporary homes are tents which house them and their sacred objects of devotion.

These men have renounced worldly goods and family life in order to devote themselves to God. Inside each tent sits the sadhu, his body covered in ash from the holy fire. This coating of ash remains until he next walks to the edge of the Ganges and immerses himself in the sacred waters of Mama Ganga. Around each sadhu in his tent may be attendants, benefactors or simply hangers-on.

Shoes must be removed before entering and one only goes in if invited to do so. The air inside is thick with smoke, sometimes from the fire in the middle of the floor, sometimes from the pipe containing hash which they love to smoke.

One was aware of the deep penetrating eyes of the sadhu. Often he would say little, possibly because he lacked an understanding of English, but it is claimed that these men have second sight and their eyes can see into one’s very soul.

In some tents there were gurus sitting in a yogic posture teaching a group of disciples or receiving prayer requests. Other sadhus were taking an afternoon nap, laid out full length on rugs.

The eccentricities of these individuals only adds to the belief among many Hindus that they have left our phenomenal world and been absorbed into the realm of the noumenal. Some have taken vows to remain standing for years , even during times of prayer and sleep. Others renounce all speech. It is said their devotion to God is total.

Sadhu's blessing

Having said that, they were quite keen on a gift or reward for being photographed and from time to time I thought I glimpsed sight of a portable television behind the dividing wall of the tent. There was also the small mobile phone propped up behind the sacred symbol OM – no doubt used as an aid to prayer.

Big day at the Kumbh Mela

Today, 24th March is Rav Navmi, one of the special bathing days at the Kumbh Mela.

Sanyasis

 

Thousands of pilgrims began flooding into the town of Haridwar on the upper Ganges in India, yesterday afternoon. They stayed in large tent areas all the way round the town.

Police sealed off the town from traffic at sunrise and, if there wasn’t chaos before, they certainly ensured that there was at rush hour… much shouting, pointing and whistle blowing.

Throughout the day processions of pilgrims kept arriving at the bathing areas (ghats) and began immersing themselves in the Ganges.

Why do it? Good question! I’m not sure. I certainly would not want to take a dip. It is said that to immerse oneself in the holy river at the Kumbh Mela will ensure “escape” moksha from the circle of life and death. I’m not sure how warm the water is but the sunshine today has produced air temperatures of 37 degrees.

Late this afternoon – we are five and a half hours ahead of GMT – pilgrims were continuing to arrive at the river’s edge. I sat for a while on a bridge over the river. The outfits of the ladies were gorgeous, very colourful. Costumes of the Sanyasis - the older men were strange. They had long hair and some carry a trident stick. Eventually a party of Sadhus came along. These much respected holy men, from Ashrams high up in the hills, wear no clothes. Their black naked bodies were covered in ash and they were all eager to jump into the sacred river.

Haridwar is a magical town full of contrasts, rich and poor etc. But today just full.

Har-Ki-Pauri

In and around the Ganges

They all look so nervous – the police, the army and the stewards because tomorrow is one of the prime bathing days and all day long there has been a constant stream or traffic into the town. Tent areas on the outskirts of Haridwar have sprung up overnight. They look a bit like the sort of tents one used to see on First World War films. People have arrived to fill them by train, bus car and on foot. The most heartbreaking is to see women carrying children in their arms. I’m sure it will be good for their immortal souls to come to the Ganges but the journey clearly has taken its toll on some of them .

Arrivals

The heat is relentless. Still 34 degrees and brilliant sunshine. One almost envies those diving into the river.

Not for me though! I prefer the shower at our hotel. We complained that the about the cold water – there was too much of it. “No no” exclaimed the manager, “there is hot water sometimes.”