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.
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.
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.
The Streets of Varanasi
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monkey in AyodhyaThe 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 BhawanKanak 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.
‘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.
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.
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.
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.
Bharata Kund
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.
