April 2017 – The Trail of Rama

April 2, 2017December 1, 2020

Rama and Vali

The mighty Sugrīva was living on Rishyamukh Hill, banished from the Kingdom of Kishkinda by his older brother, the King Vali, who had threatened Sugriva with death if he ever returned.

Upon seeing Rāma and Lakshmana, Sugrīva was worried that they had been sent by Vali to kill him. He decided to send the ever faithful Hanumān, to ascertain the intention of those two brothers that had come to Kishkinda.

Hanumān, disguising himself as a mendicant approached Rāma and Lakshmana, asking what had brought them too Kishkinda. Lakshmana relayed their story, telling Hanumān how they were told to find Sugrīva who could help them in their quest to find Sita.

Delighted to hear that they came as friends, and knowing that these two brothers could help Sugrīva too, Hanumān, ‘the noble minded son of the wind god’, was overjoyed. He took Rāma and Lakshmana on his shoulders, and departed for Rishyamukh hill.

Upon meeting Rāma and Lakshmana and becoming friends, Sugrīva told the two brothers of his woe brought to him at the hands of his brother Vāli, how he had taken his wife and banished him from his kingdom. Rāma reassured Sugrīva that he would defeat Vāli, giving him back his kingdom. Sugrīva in turn told Rāma that once he had his kingdom, he would ensure Sita was found.

These two whose joys and woes were so similar had found a new friendship and hope in each other.

Rāma asked his newly found friend to tell him the story of why Vāli had banished him, and Sugrīva obliged.

A long time before, Vāli was fighting with a demon in a cave. Vāli told his younger brother to wait outside. Many months passed and still Vāli had not emerged. A year after entering, Sugrīva saw blood emerge from the mouth of cave, accompanied by the roar of the demon, with no sound of his brother. Fearing his brother dead, Sugrīva closed off the cave and headed back to Kishkinda. In the absence of his brother, the despondent Sugrīva was crowned king.

Vāli, however, had in fact killed the demon, and when he freed himself from the cave, he returned horrified at the actions of his brother. He banished Sugrīva, who had thought he had done what was right, and having taken Sugrīva’s wife for himself, told his younger brother never to return.

Sugrīva still filled with love for his brother, knew he would receive only anger in return. Sugrīva resolved that the only way he could solve his problem was to kill Vāli.

However, Vāli was powerful. He had performed intense tapas to Shiva, giving him strength greater than most could fathom. Killing him would therefore be no easy task. Rāma and Sugrīva devised a plan. Sugrīva would go to fight Vāli, and Rāma hiding in the trees, would release an arrow to kill him.

The fight ensues and Sugrīva and Vāli resembled ‘the moon and the sun in the sky’. Rāma, seizing his moment and released his arrow ‘as the god of death would lift his weapon for the destruction of the world’. Vāli, with tears rolling down his cheeks, struck by the arrow of Rāma, fell to the ground.

The dying Vāli saw Rāma emerge from the trees, and asked the noble prince why he acted so unjustly. How could one so well versed in knowing and doing what is right, commit such an act.

“You are cruel,’ Vāli wails, ‘resembling the sun, shorn of its brilliance’.

Rāma, listening to the words of Vāli, replied in turn. He reminded Vāli how he had strayed from the path of virtue in the treatment of his younger brother. His duty was to look after Sugrīva, and instead he banished him from his kingdom, and took his wife too.

Vāli, in his last moments thinking only of his son Angada, understood the words spoken by Rāma. He looked to his brother Sugrīva.

‘O dear brother, happiness was not ordained for us at one and the same time,’ spoke Vāli.

Asking for his brother’s forgiveness, Vāli also asked Sugrīva to look after his son Angada, as if he were his own. Finally saying goodbye to his son, Vāli died.

Tāra his wife, looked to her husband, fallen on the ground.

‘Surely O lord, the earth is dearer to you in comparison with me as you lie embracing her, without responding to me.’ she cried.

Sugrīva too, was overwhelmed with grief. Seeing what he had done, and the pain he had caused to Vāli’s wife and son, Sugrīva knew he would regret his actions as long as his life would last. Unable to bear this burden, Sugrīva said he would take his own life.

Rāma, sadenned at the grief of his friend, told him that it was now his duty to look after the kingdom, and to watch over Vāli’s son. We cannot ignore our duties on this earth, he reminded Sugrīva.

And so it was, that with Vāli’s death, Sugrīva assumed the throne of Kishkinda, and pledged to help Srī Rāma find his Sita.

The Rāmāyana is amongst other things, a tale of what it means to perform our duty. In this light, I have never fully understood the story of Rāma and Vāli. I couldn’t understand why Rāma could deceive and kill Vāli who was in many ways a king and a ruler of virtue, as he did. When Sugrīva came to fight Vāli, Vāli exclaimed that it was not his desire to kill his younger brother, yet Rāma and Sugrīva transpired to kill Vali all the same.

It made me question ideas of duty and righteousness that the Rāmayana, and Rāma himself espouses, and I am still left wondering why this part of the story transpired as it did.

Nevertheless, with Sugrīva on the throne, the Vanara Army is assembled, and the search begins for Sita. Monkeys and bears are sent to the four corners of the earth to find the wife of Rāma. Sugrīva willed by fate, decided to send his most trusted friends to the south. He sent Angada, endowed with speed and prowess. He sent Nīla, the son of the god of fire and he sent Jāmbavān the son of Brahma. He also sent of course his most faithful friend, Hanuman. And so these monkey’s along with their army’s were sent to find Sitā, the heart of Rāma.

April 2, 2017December 1, 2020

A bicycle ride along the Trail of Rama part II

I had descended the final part of the cave and found myself in Vāli Gopha. I looked up, realising that from every direction, I was enclosed by rock. In the middle of the small space, however, lay one piece of stone a few feet high. It was painted orange, and had on it a picture of Shiva. A trident stood next to the rock. I was amazed that such a place existed, in the heart of this mountain.

The cave seemed so detached from its surroundings, that it seemed to be in a world of its own. Reflecting, I could think of only two words to describe it, Shakti and Shaant, Strength and calm.

The sun pierced the rocks, breaking through the few spaces between them, accompanied only by the gentle touch of the wind.

I had assumed it was the place where Vali was trapped, and I started my adventure back out of the cave to my bike, retracing the arrows but following them in the opposite direction. It was only around 10am by this point but it was already touching 30 degrees. I felt like it was time to get a drink, and so picking up my bike, I found a small stall just outside the mandir.

I asked for a cold drink, and the owner, an older man with a modest smile, knowing I was not a local, replied in almost faultless English. I was surprised and we started talking. He told me that he was a retired engineer who chose to spend his days here working behind the stall, because it brought him a peace that he been unable to find elsewhere.

I asked him about the place I had just visited and he told me that it was not where Vali was trapped, but where he did his penance to Shiva, giving him his incredible power. It was this penance, he told me, that meant Vali could only be killed through a trick rather than in a fight. The feelings that came to me in the cave suddenly started to make sense. Shakti and Shaant.

Furthermore, he asked me if I had been to Anegundi. Remembering the name rang a bell I recalled that it was the temple I had found earlier. Intrigued, he told me that it was believed to be the place where Rama killed Vali. It turned out that I had stumbled upon the location of a main chapter of the Ramayana, by accident.

Enjoying how my day was unfolding, I thanked the owner Sirnath, and continued my journey. I rode my bike down the winding paths of the hills, feeling as free as I ever had.

I now went in search of Anjanaya Hill. A temple 600 steps up a hill, that was said to mark the birthplace of Hanuman.

April 3, 2017December 1, 2020

A bicycle ride along the Trail of Rama part III

The temple dedicated to Hanuman was again, as in Chitrakoot, located 600 steps up a magnificent hill. Parking my bike at its base, I started my ascent, trying to block out the fierce heat, focusing only on the task ahead.

With each step up, I could see more of Hampi, and its beauty continued to captivate me. After about 400 steps I started to tire. The morning of cycling had started to take its toll, and so I stopped, taking some time to appreciate all before me. However, soon after, I was quickly overtaken by a pair of elderly women, wearing sandals and sarees. They stopped next to me and we started talking. Although conversation was hard to follow, it was what was not said by these two that spoke to me. Although the way they held themselves indicated a fatigue, their faces would not show it. Wearing only a smile and bright eyes, it seemed as though it was a journey they had completed many times before, and would complete many times again. It reminded me about the power of this myth, this legend, and how alive it is to all those that follow it.

Reaching the top, finally, I was greeted by a small structure. It stood humbly admist the strength of the wind. Hanuman is the the son of Vayu, the God of Wind, and so feeling its presence, I couldn’t help but think that it was Vayu still watching over his son. Once Hanuman was struck by the weapons of the God Indra, and in his anger Vayu took away all the air on the earth. If that was his anger, then maybe this breeze was his blessing.

I walked into the temple and encountered a single man singing the Hanuman Chalisa, and it filled me with joy. For the few verses I knew, we sung together, and we smiled.

Hanuman is strength and power. He is will and determination. He is wisdom and devotion. He is a friend to all those around him. Hanuman is the one who as a child, thought the sun was a mango, and desperate to eat it, flew up to the heavens to take hold of it. Hanuman is joy, and he brings hope to all those that follow him.

In all the places I have been to that have Hanuman as their focus, I have seen this. His birth place was a reminder of all of this and his humility. The very fact that at its centre rested a shrine to Rama, Sita and Lakshmana, with Hanuman only on the periphery is perhaps the best example of this.

I have realised that perhaps Hanuman is often depicted in orange, because that is the colour of the feelings he inspires in those around him. His bright, illuminating glow cannot help but fill the hearts of those who follow him, even as the sun upon rising, will bring light to the darkest parts of the Earth. I understood why those two women I had seen climbing the hill did so with a smile, in spite of the immense difficulty it posed them. They wanted to see the birthplace of Hanuman, the orange beacon at the top of this hill of Hampi.

Feeling a complete contentment at how my day had unfurled, I began my climb down the hill, looking out onto the vast landscape. The rocks still exuding their orange glow, one that I understood so much more now. I had one more stop on my trail and that was Rishyamookh hill, the location where Rama met Hanuman and Sugriva for the first time.

Asking a few locals for direction, I eventually found a quite ashram, and again leaving my bike, I crossed a small stream and encountered three Sadhus. One, with a beard so long that it tickled his belly button, another asleep on the ground, and a third who upon seeing me, opened up the small cave, which hosted icons of Hanuman and Sugriva. After appreciating this immensely powerful space, I exited, and was greeted by the third Sadhu.

I was again offered lunch, and after my experience at Sharabhanga’s ashram, it was a lunch I was happy to eat, and one welcomed all the more by my stomach which seemed to growl in anger at the rough morning it had had. However, it was soon soothed, and keen to ask questions, I started talking to the third Sadhu, perhaps still working off the excitement the day had provided me with. He smiled, and looked at me.

‘Eat first, talk after.’

I laughed to myself and continued to eat. A few minutes had passed and he said a few words to me. I replied, and thinking it was okay to talk again, I continued enthusiastically to ask questions.

‘Eat first, talk after,’ he repeated.

I finished my food, and seeing the coconut and the ash I found myself knowing exactly how to clean my plate, and after doing so, I was able to ask my questions.

We discussed what happened here, how long he had been here, and what he thought of the Ramayana. I could tell that with all his heart he believed the Ramayana was true, and with this sheer conviction telling me all I needed to know, I thanked him and set off back to my guest house. It has been a long morning. I was hot, tired and my legs had started to cramp up with a few hundred metres to get back. But, I could not have wished for a more perfect day. I had set out wishing to see only a few places, but the wealth of the Ramayana showed itself to me, and for that, I am grateful.

After seeing a few more sights in the morning, I said goodbye to Hampi. It’s orange glow will always remind me of the joy that Hampi brings when on the Trail of Rama.

April 10, 2017December 1, 2020

Mahabalipuram

My next stop was Chennai. I only had one full day here before moving onto Madurai, and I had decided to visit Mahabalipuram, now called Mamallapuram.

It was about 60km from where I was staying, but feeling adventurous, I had decided to further experience the precarious buses of India. Walking from my hostel, I quickly took my first bus. It was an intercity bus, and at 7am it was bursting its seams. People crowded in and often had to wriggle through entire groups of people, who stood obstinately as if claiming that section of the bus as their own, just to exit the vehicle.

I eventually reached the bus station and I boarded my second bus which would take me from Chennai to Mahabalipuram. Hoping I had the right ride, knowing that I could really never be sure, I stepped onto the bus, and I thankfully enjoyed a two hour journey first through the burgeoning streets of Chennai, and then across the East Coast road, which hugged the ocean beside it, until it reached Mahabalipuram.

It is one of India’s oldest landmarks, and features an impressive array of intricate carvings and magnanimous sculptures thought to have their origins in the 7th century. It is home to the iconic Shore Temple, and the five Rathas. It holds the wonderfully named Krishna’s Butterball, and the enchanting depiction of Arjuna’s Penance.

On their own, any of these works are impressive, yet together they create a truly magical place, Mahabalipuram.

After taking some time to find my bus back, I was swiftly on my way home. I had been worrying about how I was going to get to Mahabalipuram before the trip. I was worried I would not be able to find the buses, or that for whatever reason I would not be able to get there. But, yet again, I realised how needless my worry was. I realised that I did not need to control every aspect of my trip. Things just seem to work, and I think for the first time on my trip, I was enjoying letting them do so.

April 10, 2017December 1, 2020

Sāmpati

After journeying to south, the group led by Hanumān had spent spent weeks trying to find Sita without success.

Dejected that they had been unable to fulfil the wishes of their King Sugrīva, and their friend Rāma, the monkey’s contemplated staying in the south, fearful of the consequences their return without success would yield.

Angada, the son of Vāli, was instead intent on fasting until time brought his death, and made his point clear to Hanumān. After doing so, Angada sank down, weeping on the ground.

Observing this whole event, was Sāmpati, the King of the vultures, and the brother of Jatāyu, Rāma’s friend who had died trying to save Sita from Rāvana. Sāmapti had no wings, and so he initially watched in delight, seeing all the food that had walked his in way in the form of the monkey’s from Kishkinda.

The monkey’s, in their state of dejection, began recounting the pain that had surrounded Rāma. They recounted the exile of Rāma, death of Daśaratha, the abduction of Sītā, the fall of Jatāyu, and the killing of Vāli. All of this they remarked, the result of one boon, granted by Daśaratha, to his wife.

Sāmpati, sat overhearing the conversations below. It has been many years since he heard news of his brother, and so hearing the name Jātayu, filled the vulture with a renewed sense of excitement and life. However, the longer he listened to the monkeys below, did he realise that his brother, dearer to him than life itself, had been killed at the hands of Rāvana.

Calling on the monkey’s ‘ who had given up all hope of life, Sāmpati revealed himself, and asked to hear the story of his brother’s death. Sāmpati weeped at hearing the story, and full of grief recounted his own, and how he had lost his wings, and been separated from his brother.

Sāmpati and Jatāyu set out one day to conquer Indra. They succeeded, and on their return they flew near to the sun ‘encircled by its aureole of rays and illuming heaven’. However, Jatāyu began to fly to close to the sun, growing faint. This reminded me of the story I used to hear as a child of Daedalus and Icarus. Icarus of course, flew to close to the sun, his wings melted, and he died. Sāmpati, continuing his own story noted how upon seeing his brother ‘tormented’ by the sun’s rays, he covered him with this wings out of affection. Jatāyu fell to the ground, but survived with his wings intact, whilst Sāpati’s wings were burnt. He fell to the mountains, separated from his brother where he continued to live unable to leave, without his wings.

Something that interested me here was how Daedalus believed himself unable to save his sun, fearful his own wings would burn. Yet, in the Rāmayana, a story that really teaches one about virtue and duty, Sāmpati saves his younger brother, sacrificing himself in the process. Whilst Icarus and Daedalus has became a tale that warns one of being too ambitious, the story of Jatāyu and Sāmpati is one that tells of an older brother’s duty to his younger sibling. The Rāmayana is of course full of the duties an older brother has to his younger, and the foremost is that he should look after him. Sāmpati, losing his wings, lost his kingdom too. He lost his strength, his prowess and his brother, and fell to the mountains, ‘seeking death alone’. This was the sacrifice he made for his brother. It also reminded me that the Rāmayana is much more than just a myth.

Sāpati also revealed how his son told him he had seen Rāvana abucting Sītā, had seen him take her to Lankā, and told the monkeys how they could get there.

These words as they touched the ears of the monkey’s tasted as sweet as nectar. In a moment, the monkeys, who were willing to starve themselves to death, found hope in the words of Sāmpati. However, the Rāmayana also teaches that virtue and adherence to duty is rewarded. When he fell to the ground, Sāmapti found the ashram of the Sage Niśākara. The sage, knowing what Sāmpati had done, offered him a choice.

He offered to give Sāmpati back his wings there and then. He also added, that if he waited, his wings would return, and he could also help all of mankind by telling Angada where Sītā was, helping the cause of Rāma who needed to defeat Rāvana, helping all of humanity in turn. Sāmpati told the monkeys before him that he had waited 8000 years for their arrival, so he could perform his duty. He told them how his determination to perform his duty inspired him, and dispelled any agony he felt at his own position.

As Sāmapti told his story, a pair of beautiful wings shot forth from his sides. As they did, he felt his strength return to his old body. He was filled with an unequalled ecstasy of delight.

Upon seeing the seemingly impossible happen before their eyes, the monkeys knew that their own purpose could too be achieved. And so, as Sāmpati flew to the skies, the monkey’s continued on their task, with a new sense of hope.

Sāmpati is often brushed over in any telling of the Rāmayana, and his story is rarely fully told. I always thought the Rāmayana was about Rāma. But what has struck me is the extent to which it is not. The story of Sāmapti espouses the message at the core of this ancient text. It places an adherence to duty above all else, and it illustrates the true joy that can be taken from this journey too.

I certainly know I am grateful, to have read the story of Sāmpati, a true hero of the Rāmayana.

April 10, 2017December 1, 2020

Madurai, Mandirs, and Masala Dosa

Madurai. My Rough Guide to India describes it as the Athens of the East. Steeped in India’s history, Madurai has been for many thousands of years, the spiritual capital of the South. Life revolves around the Menaakshi Temple, complete with four majestic towers, boasting a vivid spectrum of colours that are made even brighter by the ever shining sun. These designs can be seen throughout the South, even if that little bit grander here. Madurai is also said to be the final place where Rāma amassed his army before heading to Lānka.

I had again been worried about visiting the main temple. My trip to Viswanath in Varanasi earlier although illuminating, was overwhelming, and I wondered if Madurai would be similar. However, as time went on my worrying seemed to dissolve into the air around me, and by the time I was setting off to see the temple, I was only looking forward to it. Furthermore, South India is a wonderful place to visit. The hotter climate seems to warm everything up, including the kindness of those in the area. I found it incredible how stark the difference was between the two parts of India.

In the South, the mandirs were different, the people friendlier and more relaxed, clothes were different, the food was different, even the language was different. In fact, arguably the only thing that was the same was the currency. I was surprised every time I was asked to pay in rupees.

The outer beauty of the temple was matched only, and in some places superseded, by its inner mystique. Recalling it was known as ‘the Athens of the East’ I did strangely feel transported upon entering the heart of the temple, whose overall structure and customs probably have not changed for as long as it has been standing. The inner corridors were filled with a dim glow and musky air, offset only by the colours that illuminated the walls and the ceilings.

After a humbling darshan, I continued to explore the maze of pillars and corridors, that held in them an air of timelessness. The brightness of the sun struck my eyes as I exited the heart of the temple, and turning around to appreciate the wonder before me, I again felt only grateful to be doing what I was.

Before heading back, I spent the rest of the day visiting other Mandirs dotted around Madurai, which although may not have had the same grandeur were certainly no less wonderous.

April 13, 2017December 1, 2020

Crossing the Sea

Rama is delighted when Hanuman returns, and tells him that Sita has been found. The army begins its march before reaching the shores of Rameswaram. The army halts at the shores of sea, and Rama is left pondering how to cross the immense obstacle before him. His initial thoughts soon turn to worry and anxiety. However, those around Rama reassure him, telling him that he should not focus on these worrying thoughts, as they only hinder the undertaking of an endeavour.

Calmed, Rama undertakes penance to the Lord of Seas, Samudra, but after three days and three nights, still nothing has happened. Fuelled with anger, Rama lifts his bow and threatens to destroy the entire ocean and all the life within it, unless Samudra answers his call. Eventually, the Lord of Sea appears before Rama, and tells him that if he lays rocks down, the sea will support them, and in this fashion the army builds a bridge to Lanka.

The seemingly impossible task is undertaken by the army, and five days later the bridge is complete.

April 13, 2017December 1, 2020

Arriving in Rameswaram

Rameswaram was to mark a significant point for my journey, as it was the last place I was visiting. 7 weeks and 3,500km later, I was about to finish the Trail of Rama.

My train from Madurai was only going to take me 4 hours, but the train itself had been travelling for two days before reaching me. Maybe it was this, or maybe it was for other reasons, but to my surprise upon boarding my carriage, I found myself sharing it not only with people, but also with cockroaches. I was sitting on the edge of my seat for the entire journey, only thankful that I would soon be leaving. But, it was the last train I would be taking, and at least I could say I have had an interesting range of experiences.

After getting used to my new companions for the trip, I remembered reading about the two kilometre Pamban bridge connecting Rameswaram to mainland India. Realising we were about to cross it, I ventured to the carriage door, opened it and leaned out as I had become so used to doing on Indian trains. It was dark at the time, but the expansive sea was still visible, and the noise of the gentle crash of the waves upon the railway track tickled my ears. The breeze brushed past me and I knew that I was going to miss this magical adventure. The railway bridge was only one track, and so looking down I could not actually see the bridge that the train was crossing, only the water beneath me, and it felt as though the train was floating above the sea.

Rama crossed the sea on a floating bridge to reach his final destination, and I could not help but imagine that I was doing the same. Smiling to myself, I returned to my seat, before getting off at Rameswaram, being careful to ‘mind the gap between the train and the platform’ for what would be the last time in India, as I had no tannoy announcements to remind me.

April 16, 2017December 1, 2020

23 Tirthas in Rameswaram

I decided to dedicate my first day in Rameswaram to visiting the main temple. It was at this location, the Ramanathaswamy temple, where Rama was thought to have completed a practice to the Gods before setting off to Lanka, ensuring his success. As you can probably guess, Rama ends up killing Ravana, but in doing do, he commits a grave sin, that of killing a Brahmin. To atone for this, upon returning from Lanka, Rama does penance to Shiva.

The story goes that Rama needed a lingam for the practice, and so sends Hanuman to the Himalayas. However, time quickly runs out and finding that Hanuman has not returned Rama is left wondering what to do. Sita, by this point reunited with Rama, carves a lingam out of the sand and this is used for the practice. When Hanuman does return, he is embarrassed at not having been able to complete the task given to him in time. Rama, upset to see his friend in such a state decided that from then on Hanuman’s Lingam should always be worshipped first. For this reason there are two lingams, and anyone who visits is asked to always see Hanuman’s lingam first.

This mandir also has a special link to another mandir in North India, one of the first I visited on my trip, Viswanath. Water is taken from the Ganga and brought here, just as water from the ocean is taken to Varanasi. It was almost as if I had come full circle, and I could not help but think that this was the perfect place for it to happen.

I set off to the temple armed with nothing but a bag of spare clothes, wrapped in a plastic bag, clenched tightly under my arm. There are 64 tirthas, wells, in Rameswaram, 24 of which are holy, and 22 of which happen to be in the main temple. For 25 rupees one can bathe, this word being used rather loosely, in each of these wells, and today I was going to do just that.

Starting by walking into the nearby ocean, seen as one of the other 24 wells, I walked with wet feet across to the temple to begin. Maybe a few months ago the idea of walking barefoot with soaking wet feet across Indian streets, wearing my Kurta Pyjama, without a phone may have scared me, but after a few months of travelling, it just felt right.

Upon walking in, I was immediately surrounded by others who were themselves soaked in water. Some were shivering, but all were smiling, and I was about to find out why. As with most things in India, I was not really sure what to expect when I joined the queue approaching the first well, but with my spare dry clothes still clutched tightly under my arm, I ventured to find out.

The wells were themselves about 15 metres deep. There was someone standing on the walls of the well, holding buckets in their hands. They systematically, with tremendous efficiency, lowered these buckets into the wells with rope they had, before bringing it back up. Some gently poured water over our heads, some thrashed it over our bodies, but each well was a wonderful experience. The wells were dotted all over the temple, and so after bathing in one, I walked to the next one, surrounded by those who were doing the same. I started to reflect on the trip I had, wondering if a year ago I could have pictured myself by the ocean in South India, volunteering and actually paying to have strangers throw cold water on me, surrounded by soaking wet people of all ages, in one of the most spiritually significant places in India. It all seemed quite surreal.

Clinging to my clothes, that I hoped were still dry, seemed to bring me back to reality and finishing the last well I felt a wave of fulfilment. I knew I had begun the end of my journey, and each moment was bringing with it a sense of closure.

The temple, however, is not only famed for its wells and its relationship to Rama. It is also, perhaps more superficially, home to one of the longest corridors in the world, and it is regretful that I was unable to take photos. The corridors were lined with pillars that seemed to play with my eyes as I looked towards them. The temple had that same timeless mystique as the ones I had visited in Madurai, broken by the sunlight that emerged through into its open atriums. It has to have been one of my favourite places on the trip.

After spending the morning in the temple, now with my dry clothes on, I decided it was time for some food, although arguably with the range of food available in South India it is always time for food. I found a restaurant, paid 70 rupees, just under a pound, and was handed a banana leaf. It was a restaurant that served only one type of meal, and so everywhere I turned people were all handed their banana leaves, which they quickly washed, before sitting eagerly in anticipation for the food that was to come. I was sitting facing the door, but I could tell food was being brought out, as the backs of those sitting facing the kitchen straightened, and their eyes brightened.

First, rice was brought out to everyone, followed by subzis, followed by chutneys. However, even with plates full of food people did not start eating. At first I wondered why, but soon I quickly realised. There was no samba, the one dish that you can find anywhere and everywhere in South India. As if on queue, the samba was quickly brought out and everyone began to eat. Servers would walk around, keen and eager to always pour you more, and convincing myself that it was rude to say no, I happily obliged.

Emerging from the restaurant, still with my bag of now wet clothes, I wondered to the nearest Chai Walla. A stocky man stood proudly behind his cooking pots, filled to the brim with hot chai, the aroma of which filled the open space around him. Looking as though he was king of his world he poured me a cup with a smile that was soon matched by my own. After exchanging familial head nods, and 10 rupees, I ambled over to the bus stop, enjoying all around me as I did.

I think it was the first time I had started to feel like I was not a backpacker or a traveller anymore, but that I was at home. It had taken nearly two months, but the rigid shell that has often stopped me from being me seemed to have been broken by the water from the wells. It was with this thought, that I started to turn my thoughts towards the final destination on my trip, Dhanushkodi, the tip of the bow, the place where Rama built the bridge and the end of my trail.