Category: 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

‘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.

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.

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.

My hotel in Ayodhya is on the surface normal. Yet, walking into reception on my first night I immediately saw its quirks. With four or five employees standing at reception, surrounding me, all equally keen to take my bag and welcome me in, I knew this was going to be an interesting stay. From the waiter who runs between rooms with trays full of food, or the struggle of receiving wifi from a portable device that is shared throughout the hotel, my stay has made me laugh.

Looking back, although at the time it was rather irritating, the Saturday night I spent here was quite funny. The hotel runs weddings and that was the night of a wedding party. From being empty, the hotel was suddenly full. The space outside was prepared with food, chairs, a stage and so many people taking selfies that it seemed strangely like a teenage house party. With music so unnecessarily loud that when it played my room would vibrate violently along with it, I knew it was going to be a night without much sleep. But the noise did not stop there.

The hotel rooms from the hallway are all identical, as one would expect them to be, apart from the glaring room number which everyone seemed to miss, or ignore. So, assuming they had booked the entire hotel, or simply not realising which room they were at, for the entire duration of the night I had people loudly banging on my door, shouting in and ringing the doorbell as if it were strange that someone could be sleeping in the middle of the night.

I suppose I was lucky to get my three hours sleep between 2:30 and 5:30.

Waking up the next day, and exiting my room, I was again reminded of those wonderful teenage house parties. The hotel was a mess, covered in flowers and confetti, the staff looked like they had been through a war, and the guests were sleeping, sprawled on the sofas in the reception and the restaurant. I laughed to myself, before setting out for the day.

Nandigram is about 20km from the hotel where I was staying, so I knew getting there was not going to be as easy as I would have wanted, especially given the lack of transport in and around Ayodhya. Luckily, the rickshaw driver that had taken me around the day before had said he would drive me, so at least I had a way there and back.

I was told by him the only place one can really visit in Nandigram is Bharata Kund, the place where Bharata spent most of his time during his 14 year leave from the kingdom. I had tried to find other places but Nandigram is not very well documented, so my trip to there was to visit this place.

It is special as it is said to be the location where Bharata performed funeral rites for Dasaratha, but also because it is where he lived after doing so.  Something which makes it one of two places in the world where certain funeral rites can be undertaken, which would appease seven of ones previous generations of ancestors, according to those who I spoke to. Additonally, Bharata’s qualities of selflessness, devotion and non possessiveness are said to still reside there.

The space itself was beautifully simple. A pool of water, surrounded by small shrines marked Bharata Kund, the water possessed a poise, and its stillness made one feel as though time itself was slowing down. Bharata, voluntarily left everything behind, out of his devotion to Rama. He ruled the Kingdom without ever being king, and that can be felt in the humility of Nandigram.

I spent a wonderful hour soaking this all up, but as is often the case, things can sometimes be too good to be true and it was at this point that the rickshaw driver started to pester me.

We had agreed a price at the start which by UK standards was cheap, but in India was expensive. I knew this at the time but struggling to find another way of reaching Nandigram I tried not to think too much of it. But as I spent more time there, there were persistent requests for more money, he followed me around as if trying to wear me down. He continued to annoy me so much and for such a long time, that for the first time, I think in my life, I ended up shouting at someone with a real force. After this he stopped asking for money so something must have worked, but it was a shame it happened in such a peaceful place.

In ‘At the Eleventh Hour’ Swami Rama tells Panditji that ‘deception is powerless to withstand the air of Nandigram’ and maybe my anger was so vivid due to an inability to hide it. In the same way, maybe the driver kept asking for money because he simply could not help it.

Looking back on the experience I am glad it happened when it did. This newly found forcefulness has so far stayed with me when I have needed it, and I have already found that I am being hassled less and less by those around me.

I feel with each day increasingly grateful to be having the experiences I am.

Valmaki’s Rāmāyana describes Ayodhya as a world-renowned city. It describes the unmatched prosperity of Ayodhya and all those who resided in the city that was unexcelled on the earth.

But, I have realised that Ayodhya is not the vibrant city I wanted it to be. The shops in the streets sell only cheap toys or objects for puja. They lack colour and energy, and feel consumed by the dust around them. It feels like India has given up on Ayodhya.

Maybe Ayodhya is still stuck in 1992, unable to move past the attacks that happened here. I wondered why when planning my trip I could only find one hotel, and it seems as though no one wants to invest in Ayodhya.

The only reason many do come to Ayodhya is because of the Rāmāyana, and the mandirs and shrines that do exist are Ayodhya’s redeeming feature. The oasis in the desert. Yet, at the same time, a supposed ‘love’ for the Rāmāyana has been used to justify violence. The actions of those people has held all of Ayodhya back from being able to live in its own light.

The Rāmāyana finishes with Rama returning to Ayodhya bringing in ‘Ramraj’. The rule of Rama, ushering in an age where no one would suffer and everyone is well, was meant to last 11,000 years. It feels as though that time is over.

But Ayodhya has two sides, and while it is in in many ways imperfect, amongst the tension that can be felt, there is a light. It exists within the temples themselves and within some of those who devote their lives to these places.

I hope this light, although fading, does not burn out.

I knew about the difficulties surrounding train travel in India. The first of such journeys I ever did was when I was ten years old, and the train had been delayed to such an extent, that the journey ended up lasting twenty-four hours.

My first train ride this time, however, went incredibly smoothly. I was scheduled to board the train at the first station stop so the train arrived early, I found my name assigned to the right seat and everything went well. It was only a four hour journey during the day so I was able to see India as I went along, and we were only twenty minutes delayed (which for India is, if anything, early).

The return journey was the exact opposite. I was catching the train halfway through its course and at Ayodhya station there really was nothing to do, apart from enjoy the company of the animals. I had arrived an hour and a half early, partly because I didn’t want to do too much wondering around with my full bag, but also because of the unpredictability of trains in India. Unsurprisingly, I arrived to find my train was already an hour delayed.

So, I decided to enjoy the zoo before me. Pigeons, monkeys, dogs, cows and even a goat all strutted around the platform. However, it did mean that no one could eat any food on the platform. As soon as anything was opened monkeys would try to take it from you, often successfully, as I found with the packet of crisps I was looking forward to. Dogs would stare with those eyes that are difficult to resist, and pigeons would fly overhead, as if waiting for a clearing so they too could enjoy some food.

So I was waiting for two hours over lunch without food before I found that my train would be another three hours late. By the time it arrived I had been waiting five hours and it was dark. I found my seat to have been already taken by a family of three generations, who claimed the top bunk where they were meant to be sitting was too difficult to reach, and not having much energy to fight I reluctantly agreed to the swap.

Getting onto the train halfway through also meant there was no room for my bag, so hauling it onto my bunk, where there was just about room for one of us let alone both, it stayed with me for the journey which should have been four hours but was more like six. Having not slept, I arrived at 1:30am grateful to finally be at my hostel after what had been a very long day.