A Perfect Day in Dhanushkodi

Dhanushkodi Point, the closest point to Sri Lanka in India, was about twenty-five kilometres from where I was staying. I had been worrying about how to get there. I knew I had to take a few different buses and then a ‘truck’, but I was not sure if I was actually going to be able to reach the Point itself. But I had worked out by this stage that things seem to work themselves out, and I was not going to let my small worries get in the way of my day.

At this very moment, I decided to read some more of my Rāmayana. I turned to my page, and found it was the chapter discussing Rama’s worry about crossing the sea to reach Lanka. He was unsure whether it was a task that could be completed, but he was reassured by those around him that he need not worry, for things always work themselves out.

With this happy ‘coincidence’ I set off for the last part of my Trail.

I took a first bus which tumbled all the way to the Ramanathaswamy temple, before taking a second which brought me to within ten kilometres of Dhanushkodi Point. It was here that travel became more difficult. There was a straight, brand new road which ran all the way to the Point, but for some reason the jeeps, cars and rickshaws around me would not take me there, telling me the only way I could go on from here was to take a ride from one of the trucks. So, I got in line, but being by myself meant I was often kept to the back, to allow bigger groups to go ahead of me. After missing a few trucks and a forty minute wait I started to get angry. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the frustration at being so close but so far, or maybe it was that fact I wanted this last day to be ‘perfect’, and it seemed as though it was not going to be.

After standing my ground with the drivers,  I let myself on to the next truck that came, knowing if I did not I may never get on. There were no free seats, so I sat myself down just above the gearbox. It wasn’t really a seat, but it did the job and so I sat in the front watching the sea and the beach go past, each second getting closer to the end of my journey. I noticed that my fingers clawed on to the bottom of the box I was sitting on, realising they were the only things keeping me attached to my seat.

The truck bouldered its way along the serene beach, crossing pools of immense shimmering water, and mounds of mighty sand, sometimes going forwards sometimes sideways, but never in a straight line.

And just as it seemed as through the truck could keep moving forever it let out an unhappy groan before very slowly coming to a stop. The driver huffed, muttered a few words under his breath, reached for his tool box, and went out to inspect what had gone wrong. I had a front row seat for this spectacle, and smiled to myself as it had occurred, marvelling at the waves as they brushed the beaches around us. The truck was soon ‘fully functioning’, and we continued on our way.

It was not long before the truck stopped again. I looked around and noticed a few makeshift stalls selling chai and water. The tables used by the stalls  looked as though they might crumble at any second, and the blue tarpaulin that covered them as though they would blow away even sooner.

I jumped off the bus feeling disheartened. I had travelled for two months across India, and it felt as though I may not reach the last point on my Trail. I sat myself down by the sea, thinking that I could not go any further without some other form of transport. I had seen private cars going down the road to Dhanushkodi Point, and I knew I had another day in Rameswaram. I thought that even if it was expensive I could hire one to take me the day after, and that’s how I would get there. Disappointed that I was not going to see the Point today I stood up and began my walk back to the truck. However, I knew that nothing is ever certain, and I knew that there was a chance that I would not be able to come back the next day. So, I looked out to the ocean before me, and started reflecting on the journey I had had.

After a few moments, I stopped. I knew that I could not finish my trail here. I thought that maybe there was the slightest chance, if I talked to the truck driver, the same one I had an argument with, that something could happen.

‘Can you take me to Dhanushkodi point?,’ I asked.

Asking that small question, which a few months ago I would have been too scared to do for fear of breaking the ‘status quo’, transformed my day, and my trail with it.

‘No,’ he said.

‘No?’ I replied.

‘No.’

With my head down, I walked to the bus.

‘But you can walk there if you want.’

I felt a wave of excitement fill my body, my eyes widened, I lifted my head up, and found a smile returning to my face.

‘I can walk?’

‘You can walk.’

By this point it was midday and the sun was at its hottest. It was a five kilometre walk and the road would pose no issues; it was as straight as it was new. But I knew the heat could be a problem. However, I remembered reading something in the Ramayana. Rāma is about to start crossing the bridge, and Hanuman turns to him and says that as Rāma has set off when the sun is at its zenith, he will surely be successful in his endeavours. I looked up. The sun, as bright as I had ever seen it, was straight above me. The smile grew on my face.

‘I’ll walk.’

I went to the nearest stall, bought three litres of water, turned my trousers into shorts, retrieved my cap and sunglasses from my bag, and said bye to the driver.

The Trail was alive again.

I began my walk along the newly built road with the sun overhead, and oceans either side. The Bay of Bengal resides on one side of the road and the Arabian Sea on the other making for quite the site. It was quiet, with only the roar of the waves and the birds overhead keeping me and my ears company.

I started walking and suddenly felt overcome by a wave of emotion.  I started to reflect on the journey I had had, the places I had seen, the people I had met, the things I had learned about myself, and the magic the Ramayana had showed me along the way. It had been an adventure unlike any I had experienced, and my walk provided me with the time and space I needed to appreciate it. I continued walking and as I did my thoughts began to quiet, and the world around me seemed to stand still.

In those moments the past had no power over me and the future was of no concern to me. I was present. I saw the world around me as it was, and it was beautiful. It is a feeling I cannot really describe to you, but on that walk I felt free.

I was happy that I was not being taken in a car to the Point, or I would not have experienced all those things I did. I set off at the beginning of the day telling myself that things would sort themselves out, and they had.

I used to think that things were only perfect if they went in a straight line. If they went exactly how I pictured them, and exactly as I wanted them to be. If my trip has taught me anything, it is that this is far from the case. I have learned that, if I have remained open to following it, it is the path that I had least expected, the one that twists and turns and bumps and curves, that ends up bringing me real joy.

The forty minutes I spent walking to Dhanushkodi Point were some of the happiest of the Trail, and ones that I will never forget.

As I approached the end of the road, I started to see the beaches that would mark the end of my journey. Filled with another wave of excitement, ignoring the heat, I continued on my way.

I soon reached Dhanushkodi Point, marked by a small statue stood at the end of the road with the beach visible beyond it. I walked past the statue, and descended the three steps that brought me onto the beach. A tear fell from my eye and rolled down my cheek.

I bounced along the beach revelling in my elation until I stood at the last point I could. The two seas met at this point. The waves of the two bodies of water raced towards each other, before colliding into the other’s might.

I sat on the beach, reading my Rāmayana, reflecting on the adventure I had had. After a while I felt as though it was time to leave and so I walked off the beach. I turned around to appreciate fully my surroundings, and to take in all I could before leaving, but when my eyes were met with the sight of the beach I felt myself unable to turn away. Its magic engulfed and overwhelmed me. It was one of the most extraordinary feelings I have ever felt, and one that I am unable to describe to you.

After some more time of being unable to move my eyes from what lay before me, I was finally able to turn around, filled only with warmth. I knew then that I had finished the Trail of Rama and holding that feeling in my heart, I began my journey home.

जय श्री राम
Jai Srī Rāma