Book Release

Thank you for reading my blog and for following me through my journey!

I have now turned my blog into a book that discusses not only my travels, but my own study of the story of the Rāmāyana too. I have called my book The Trail of Rāma and it can be bought on amazon as an e-book.

I hope you enjoy it.

Introduction

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Welcome,

My name is Kaushik Rai and when I was 18 years of age and about to start studying history at University in September 2017, I embarked on an epic journey.

Before deciding on this journey, I knew I wanted to explore the world,  pursue my love of history and to travel in someone’s footsteps but could not decide in whose footsteps. 

This question was however settled In late August 2016, whilst reading a book on the place of myth and legend in history and en route to Scotland, thinking about how I was going to spend my year. As a child I was regularly exposed to tales from all over the world, whether it had been Icarus and Daedalus or Robin Hood, and I started to wonder whether I could investigate a myth and its history for myself.

My Dad was driving at the time and I shared my thoughts with him. He paused for a moment, and seemed to reflect, before giving his reply.

‘The Rāmāyana, follow the footsteps of Rāma.’

The 18 year old in me, equipped with the naive feeling of invincibility and without much thought of the difficulties of travelling in a country as enigmatic as India, knew it was what I wanted to do.

I had grown up listening to and watching the adventures of Sita, Rāma, his brother Lakshmana, and the mighty Hanuman.  I was given the opportunity of exploring one of the greatest stories of the world.

 I was going on a journey through India, a 3,500km journey to follow the epic Trail of Rāma.

Now I have written about some of these experiences and I would like to share them with you and will be releasing my manuscript on Diwali. Please follow me and travel with me on this very special journey.

The Rāmāyana

“The great and holy river in the form of the Rāmāyana, which has descended from the mountain in the form of Sage Valmiki and flows to the ocean embodied as Srī Rāma, purifies the world. I bow down to the ocean in the form of the Rāmāyana, which has verses for its water, cantos for its billows and books for its life.” (Valmaki-Rāmāyana)

The Rāmāyana is an epic in every sense of the word. Chronicled by its seer Sage Valmiki, it was composed as a poem many thousands of years ago. It contains nearly 24,000 verses compiled into seven books, and forms one of the foundational texts of the philosophy of India.

It is written in Sanskrit and if recited properly, the Rāmāyana is read as a poem in the Anushtup meter.

But, we can do much more than read the text. The Rāmāyana is alive. Each verse has its own emotion, each chapter its own spirit, and the book its own force. It is the duty and privilege of the reader to approach the text with the intention of experiencing these different emotions that the book expresses.

The Rāmāyana itself is clear on how we can do this, and supplies us with a comprehensive methodology of how the text should be read. Time is the first point of consideration. For example, the text is traditionally read over nine days in either October, November, January, February or March.

The space in which the book is read is the next point of instruction. The ground on which the book is read should be cleaned and decorated. Certain plants and trees should be placed around the book. The Rāmāyana even comments that the book should be higher than the reader, who in turn should be seated higher than the listeners.

The third point of emphasis addresses causation; or why the reader should choose to approach the book. For example, one may read any of seven books according to a specific intention. If one seeks a son they should read the first book, the Bālakanda just as one who seeks a friend should read the fourth book, the Kishkinda-Kanda. The Rāmāyana outlines how each book is suitable for a specific intention or desire. It even provides the rituals that the reader should undertake to help him in his quest to read the book.

However, it remains clear that no matter the time, space or cause for approaching the book, one should always do so with a reverence, love and devotion towards Srī Rāma, ‘the light of the whole world, the reliever of suffering, and the bestower of all riches.’

The Story

The Rāmāyana tells the story of Rāma.

The Devas (Gods) were troubled by the presence on earth of the evil Rāvana. He had practiced such severe austerities that he could not be killed by any Gods. But, out of his contempt for man, Rāvana made no mention of outmanouvering  death at the hands of a human being.

The forces of good approached the resplendent Lord Vishnu, imploring him to help rid the world of suffering in the form of killing the demon Rāvana. Vishnu replied that he would be born on earth as Rāma with the purpose of achieving this end.

Rāma was consequently born to the noble King Dasaratha and Queen Kausalyā in the Kingdom of Ayodhya, and was the oldest of four half brothers: Lakshmana, Bharata, and Shatrughna.

After Rāma returned from a series of quests at around the age of 17, his father King Dasaratha decided to crown Rāma, ‘the most noble soul on earth’, king.

Dasaratha had three wives. All were fond of Rāma as was all the Kingdom. Yet, as fate would have it, Kaikeyi, the mother of Bharata, was convinced by her servant Mantharā that her son Bharata should be crowned instead.

Mantharā instructed Kaikeyi to use two boons that the King had previously granted to her to install Bharata on the throne, and to banish Rāma to the forest for fourteen years. Kaikeyi fuelled by jealously, greed and fate folowed the advice of her servant.

She allowed Dasaratha to find her in a state of despair. The King, who loved only Rāma more than his wife, promised her that he would do all he could to assuage her misery. After hearing the Queen’s demands Dasaratha fell to his knees and begged Kaikeyi to take back her requests.

“The world may continue to exist without the sun or a crop may live without water; life however, cannot in any case continue in my body without Rāma.”

Dasaratha loved Rāma more than he loved his own life. He pleaded with Kaikeyi to change her mind, but she would not. Bound by his own sense of duty in the form of his promises to her, he could chose only to grant the wishes of his Queen.

Rāma was told his fate by Kaikeyi. Dasaratha was too full of sorrow to deliver his decision to his son. Rāma smiled, taking the news of his exile as he had taken the news of his coronation, simply glad to be fulfilling the wishes of his father. To adhere to his father’s wishes and the principles of truth and duty were more to Rāma than was the ‘trivial rulership of the globe’. Explaining this to Lakshmana and Kausalyā, he calmed the anger of his brother and soothed the sadness of his mother. Recognising the power of fate, Rāma prepared to leave Ayodhya. Rāma, ‘the root of the tree of humanity’ was meant to be crowned king. Instead he renounced his kingdom.

Unwilling to be without him, his wife Sita and his devoted brother Lakshmana went with Rāma. Clothed in no more than tree bark and deerskin, armed with no more than bows and arrows, the three began their exile in the Dandaka forest.

During this fourteen year exile; the three travelled to the ashrams of many noble souls and rishis discussing philosophies of life. In this time, they defeated forces of evil, including the mighty Ravana after he had abducted Sita, and was accompanied by the devoted and magnificent Hanuman, who, with the dust of the feet of Rāma wipes the surface of his heart.

The Trail of Rāma is retracing the steps of Rāma and his companions during these fourteen years of exile.

I don’t know why I am drawn to this Trail, but I am. Is it the sense of adventure it entails or is it a desire to establish my own sense of independence. Is it wanting to separate myth from fact, or is it wanting to understand and live through the philosophy and spirituality of the Rayamana that India epitomises.  Maybe it’s the child in me that used to run around with bows and arrows in his hand pretending to be Rāma. Maybe it’s me wanting to better know myself.

I hope by the end of my journey I will know.

Always take the weather with you

I have started my trip!

I wasn’t really thinking about much, other than going back to sleep, when I had to haul myself out of bed at 4am. But, upon walking into the airport and saying goodbye to my family, I began to realise that after what has been a very difficult few months,  I was about to start an adventure.

I am spending three days in Dubai with family before travelling to India.

I was slightly nervous when I landed. It was my first reminder that this trip was no longer in its dreamlike planning phase, but was actually happening. However, once fed and full with home cooked food, my mind, my thoughts and my stomach with all its butterflies, seemed to calm down. I think those butterflies enjoyed the food as much as I did.

As the evening continued any anxiousness that was there was replaced by excitement.

I am realising how lucky I really am to have an opportunity to do this with the full support of all of my family. If you are reading, thank you.

In other news I managed to land in Dubai on one of the five days a year it rains. I left Britain in the rain hoping to find some sun, but landed in the rain; in a desert of all places.

Perhaps I have been listening to too much Crowded House.

 

Sandstorms and Waterfalls

I have had a wonderful stay in Dubai so thank you to my Naniji, Mamaji, Mamiji, Gauri and Aditya for looking after me.

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Burj al Arab with Mamaji, Gauri and Aditya

During my short stay I drove through sandstorms and dunes in the desert, saw man-made waterfalls and reached the 140th floor of the majestic Burj Khalifa, appreciating all that I saw from the sky.

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Burj Khalifa

Dubai should not be able to exist as it does. Yet in the midst of an unforgiving desert, through human ingenuity, innovation and of course a rather healthy sum of money, it thrives. The idea that so much can be achieved in such a short space of time in such a harsh place is where, in my opinion, the wonder of Dubai lies.

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Dubai from the Burj Khalifa

The Atlantis Hotel

The humble past of Dubai is also still visible, whether it lies in the dunes of the deserts, the domes of the mosques or the streets of the souks. I hope Dubai does not lose touch with these elements. It is refreshing to see two worlds, so different in nature, existing side by side.

 

Landing in Delhi

When landing in Delhi I am always welcomed by five things; the heat, the smells, the car horns, the colours and my Nanaji.

Ex-Army, equipped with a ramrod straight back and an astute glance one feels safe in his company. He had been telling me about the challenges of travelling around India, but interestingly enough the journey to leave the airport seemed to be a challenge in itself.

After a few different lifts, some faulty some not, heading in different directions we finally reached the car park. Assuring me he knew where he was going, Nanaji first tried to open the wrong car with the right key, before trying to open the right car with the wrong key. After two broken exit barriers, three dubious manoeuvres and several unnecessarily loud car horns, we were on our way.

A wonderfully comic start to what I know will be a wonderful few months.

I had a restful stay in Delhi so Nanaji and Naniji if you are reading, thank you.

 

A few precious moments in the City of Light

In the Ramayana there is a line which reads; ‘The sky can be compared only to the sky, and the sea only to the sea’.

In this same thought, Varanasi can be compared only to Varanasi.

It is one of the world’s oldest continually inhabited cities after all, and is home to over 23,000 temples and visited by over 20 million people each year. It a religious centre for not only Hinduism, but for Buddhism and Jainism too. Sacred as it was said to be founded by Lord Shiva himself, Varanasi is for many one of the most spiritual places in the world.

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Lord Shiva painted on the Ghats

Knowing this, I was not sure what to expect when I entered Varanasi, but I know I wasn’t expecting what I saw. I saw a city whose streets are full of life. These streets are filled with all types of vehicles. Motorcycles, 4x4s, Auto rickshaws and bicycles all seem to be so good at driving badly, that watching them all move in unison as they do, down the wrong sides of the road pushing through gaps that don’t seem to exist, is strangely satisfying.

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The Streets of Varanasi

 

 

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The people weave seamlessly through this never ending traffic as though it was never there, their ears taking no notice of the car horns, which I really can’t stress enough are so very loud.

They are filled with locals who, upon spotting me, would energetically persuade me to spend some money in their shops. They are filled with auto rickshaw drivers who tried to convince me that the rate they are giving me is really the best they can do, even though we both know it’s 10 times the normal fare, and pundits who were only too keen to lead me to temples and shrines so I could experience the wealth of spirituality that exists in the city, for a price of course. They are filled with music and shops and shrines in equal number. They are filled with energy, darkness and light.

Cows lie sleeping in the middle of the roads, ignoring the chaos unfurling around them and stray dogs seem to always be barking, as if trying to talk to each other over the pervading noise of cars.

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Yet, amongst all of the noise, the tricks and ill intent, the rubbish and the sometimes hostile nature of the city, it is special, and I can’t quite explain to you why.

But, there have been a few precious moments during my short visit where I have felt why. Glancing for the first time, the beauty of the Ganga from the ghats, seeing puja’s from the river attended by thousands, watching the sunset from the banks of the Ganga, or experiencing, if only for a few seconds, the wonder of the shrine at the Viswanath Temple.

The Ganga from Assi Ghat

Although the city can seem to lack a purity that one would associate with a spiritual capital of the world, these moments did not. They will remain with me long after I have forgotten about any challenges I faced here.

Maybe it’s in search of these moments, that people are drawn to this city of light.

The Ghats of Varanasi

My Stay in Varanasi

I was nervous when I landed in Varanasi. It was the first leg of my trip that I was doing alone and the reality of the challenges I was going to face had started to sink in. However, once I reached my accommodation I calmed down and looked forward to exploring this city.

I began with a visit to the Tulsi Manas Mandir, where the great 16th century poet Tulsidas wrote his Ramcharitmanas, the Hindi version of the Sanskrit Rāmāyana. The mandir had a white marble interior with only the words and illustrations of the Ramcharitmanas covering its walls.

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The walls of the Tulsi Manas Mandir

My next stop was Assi Ghat, the southernmost of the famous ghats of Varanasi. Here was the spot where emerging from the dusty streets onto the riverbank, I was able to see the Ganga in all its glory for the first time this trip. Humbled by the experience and making full use of paths that existed I continued down walking past the river.

The Ganga from Assi Ghat

One would think that the ghats would not be the best place to play cricket, with renowned and revered temples on one side and a river on the other. Yet, as I strolled down, I saw game after game being played. Ball hit in the river? No problem. The frequency of the boats going down the river meant no ball was ever to difficult to reach.

I continued walking and saw fires emerging from the ghats.

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Manikarnika Ghat from the river

One reason why Varanasi is sacred is because it is thought that if you die in Varanasi, your soul attains liberation, moksha, and you will not need to be reborn on earth. Thus, from all around India people close to death, with their unbreakable faith in the divine, come to Varanasi.

Approaching the final ghat, Manikarnika, or the burning ghat, I was unsure whether to carry on, or leave and head towards the city. For this is the ghat where the bodies are cremated. This has been done twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for time immemorial. Someone started talking to me asking me if I wanted to see the ghat in more detail. At first I walked away, but as if reading my mind he looked at me kindly.

‘Don’t worry I am not a guide, I do not want money, I help here.’

Still unsure due to the nature of the ghat I stopped and thought. I realised I did not know if this opportunity would ever rise again, so I took it.

He was an elderly gentleman with a few front teeth missing, as most people that age in Varanasi tend to. He wore a wise face and explained the system, telling me it is his job to console families and stop them from crying, for tears in the ghat taint the ability for the soul to leave the earth. He showed me the fire, dedicated to Shiva, where all the fires in the ghat take their light from. Seeing this flame which has been kept alive for as long as cremations have been occurring, that means so much to so many, moved me.

The next day I visited Viswanath, the temple that embodies Varanasi. Its energy was tangible and the sheer number of people that were heading in its direction, made me wonder how significant this shrine could be. Looking back it is all a little bit of a blur. Tight security and long queues mean that everyone is rushed through. But in the few seconds I did have to appreciate the space I was blown away. This ancient temple, the abode of Shiva in Varanasi, has power that words can do no justice to.

My next stop was equally breathtaking, but in a different way. Sarnath, about fifteen kilometres from Varanasi, was the place where Buddha gave his first sermon, also known as ‘The wheel of Law’, turning the wheel of dharma, by speaking the four noble truths. It was filled with a wonderful calm that both my mind and my ears had missed. The spot, marked with a glorious stupa originally built by the King Ashoka in the 3rd century BCE, but added to around 500 AD, is grand whilst humble. With the sun shining it really was a sight to see.

Although close, it seemed a different world to Varanasi.  If Varanasi is home to Shiva, the destroyer, then it fits that Sarnath is known for its link to Buddha.  It is intriguing how the different auras of these two have manifested themselves so differently but so clearly.

The First Sermon

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The Stupa marking the spot of the First Sermon

The ride to Ayodhya

Setting off in the morning, I wondered towards the nearest cluster of auto-rickshaws, which was about a ten minute walk, with someone who worked at the hotel where I was staying. He told me very politely he would try to get me a ride into the city which was about 5km away. Trusting his hindi better than mine I stepped up into the auto-rickshaw and started my journey.

In Ayodhya the auto-rickshaws act more like buses than cars. They are shared by as many as can fit, dropping passengers off when requested by a loud shout or a hard hit of the vehicle’s side, in place of the standard bell one may find on a bus. It was endearing. I was seeing new faces and new parts of India. Whenever the vehicle stopped it started to shake, and my whole body seemed to shake along with it, which, in small doses, was strangely enjoyable. I started to think that I didn’t really mind even if I was going in the wrong direction, because I was just enjoying it for what it was.

Ironically enough, I was going in completely the wrong direction. A quick check of google maps, showed me I was in Faizabad (about 8km away from Ayodhya). With a quick grin I found another rickshaw. I said loudly and clearly AYODHYA, and twenty minutes and twenty rupees later, I was in the city.

And so it begins – Ayodhya

I am officially starting my Trail of Rama in Ayodhya, the city where Rāma was born, where he grew up and experienced an idyllic childhood, and the one he had to leave behind when sent into exile.

Ayodhya contrasts starkly to Varanasi. Although both are renowned for their spiritual side, they could not be more different.

Whilst Varanasi is the hare, ever moving and perhaps too aware of its importance, Ayodhya is the tortoise. Although some of the streets are still busy, the city is gentle.

I asked to go to Rāma Janmabhoomi, the site where Rāma is said to have been born, but was instead taken to Hanuman Garhi, after being told the vehicle couldn’t get to the where I wanted to go, but that I would find it on my way. Hanuman Garhi is one the most popular Hanuman temples in India, and I thought it fitting that I would start my journey by paying my respects to Hanuman, the embodiment of devotion to Rāma.

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Hanuman Garhi

The temple was beautiful. It is seventy steps up and when one enters the main complex shouts of ‘Hanumana ki Jai!’, can be heard reverberating around, like a Mexican wave of sound. All around the temple are enchanting illustrations of his feats of brilliance during the Rāmāyana, and in the air could be felt a joyful reverence of Hanuman.

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Monkey in Ayodhya

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The steps to Hanuman Garhi

While this temple was very much buzzing, the next one I visited, Kanak Bhavan, dedicated to Rāma and Sita, was tranquil. It is interesting how differently the two figures are seen and worshiped. The Rāmāyana was sung and its sound filled the air whilst the ever playful monkeys scaled the temple walls. I love the idea that it was an army of monkeys that helped Rāma find Sita, and that it is monkeys that fill the temples dedicated to him.

Kanak Bhawan

Kanak Bhawan

After spending some time here I continued walking and found a few smaller temples. One was dedicated to Dasaratha, the father of Rāma who died from the grief of sending his son into exile. I walked in and its vibrancy struck me. Unable to resist I started to take photos. One of the priests looked at me and so to check I was not causing offence I asked him if it was okay.

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‘Teek hai,’ he replied, okay.

He came up to me. His face was was peaceful, his eyes quiet, and his smile full of warmth.

“Where are you from?’ he asked in Hindi.

‘England,’ I replied, in my thickest Indian accent.

He smiled even more and asked ‘what brings you here?’

I took out my copy of the Rāmāyana and showed him. He looked at me, and hugged me.

It was only at this point that I was able to experience how much the Rāmāyana, what many would call myth, but these people would call fact, means to those who visit, and live amongst these temples. Nothing much remains materially that indicated the existence of a Kingdom many thousands of years old, but this is unsurprising.

However, what is lacking materially, is there in abundance in spirit. The Rāmāyana, although thousands of years old, is very much alive and well, perhaps more so in those quiet corners of Ayodhya, than in its busiest streets.

The Rāmāyana speaks of Ayodhya as a city populated by the wise who are endowed with good qualities and devoted to truth. Although fewer in number than there may have once been, it is clear that these people are alive and well in the city of Ayodhya today.

I then wondered towards Rāma Janmabhoomi, but it was around 1pm and with the queues at their longest, I decided to head back, and try again in the morning.

The beginning and the end

I set out early to see Rāma Janmabhoomi.

As a result of the very serious ongoing Ayodhya Dispute there was security surrounding the temple. Bags, mobiles, cameras and even watches are not allowed in. So, I decided to head out early in the morning, armed with nothing but a small amount money, to visit the temple.

My early start was rewarded as the queues were short, but I was amazed at the security. There were five separate security searches and armed guards along the way. It was a ten minute walk from the first security post to the the temporary shrine that was there, the last five minutes of which were all restricted by cages. It was a shame that what would have been a wonderful space, was tainted by the violent actions of so many.

The temple itself was a temporary shrine with the icons of Rāma, Sita and I think Hanuman, although it was difficult to tell as you can only see the shrine from a distance of ten metres. There was a sanctity, but also a pain. So many have lost their lives fighting over this space.

Both moved and pleased I had been able to see the temple I headed back to pick up my stuff before returning to Ayodhya.

Yet, on my return the rickshaw driver told me to visit Guptar Ghat. I had read that this was the place where Rāma was said to have immersed himself in the river Saryu before leaving his body. I had tried to find it on my own, without success. Convinced it was just an attempt by the driver to squeeze more money out of me, which it probably was, I said no.

But, either because it was lost in translation or more probably because he ignored me, he took me to the Ghat, and by the time I had realised I decided maybe it was not such a bad idea. Now, I am glad I was taken there. It has been the highlight of my trip so far.

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Guptar Ghat

The Ghat was humble. There was a small, ornate mandir by its side, along with a few roadside stalls selling chai. Seated on the modest river Saryu, it really was beautiful. The peace was refreshing, and the surrounding stillness filled me with content. It is interesting that the place of Rāma’s birth has been so fiercely fought for, yet the place marking the end of his life seems forgotten. Whatever the reason, I am grateful that I was drawn, as if by fate, to that riverside.

The river Saryu