Category: Chapter 3

I had decided to take a taxi to Chitrakoot from Allahabad. Given that the last taxi trip ended up taking eleven hours, I entered the car fingers crossed. It was only meant to be a 3 hour trip but in India I have come to know that anything is possible.

However, the trip was wonderful. The sun was shining, the roads were good, mostly, and there was no real traffic. The trip cost about £40, which for 140km is not bad, but I realised I was getting so many forms of entertainment included, that £40 seemed a good deal.

For example, I had my own music system free of charge. If it was not the radio playing nostalgic Hindi songs from films then it was the sound of the car braving the bumps in the road or, more likely, it was the sound of the horns talking to each other, as if arguing amongst themselves.

The ride also acted as a free rollercoaster. Cars swerved past each other driving on the wrong side of the road or through crowds that really should not have been driven through. They clomped over bumps at such a speed that I would often leave my seat, hitting my head on the top of the car. Sometimes the ride made me think that I might actually be safer on a rollercoaster than in the taxi.

And to add to all of this I had my free multi-genre movie system. Sometimes I would watch comedies as cows or goats strolled across the road, blocking cars from every direction. At times, I felt as though I was watching a drama when trying to sort a price out with the driver. Thrillers were in no short supply when at daring speeds along narrow roads my driver decided to overtake the long lorry ahead of us, with oncoming tractors and lorries who did not slow down. It was as if the two were playing a game, trying to see how close the cars could get without touching, or crashing. And sometimes I felt as though I was watching a romance as I looked out of the window, falling in love with what was around me.

Taxi rides in India are many things, but they are never uneventful.

In the Rāmāyana, when Rāma arrives in the ‘soul-captivating’ Chitrakoot, he is blown away by its sheer beauty. Sita cannot help but admire the brilliance of the nature around her. It is a place where there are a thousand different types of birds who all sing in harmony with the waterfalls and the wind around them. It reads that the three of them were not at all unhappy at the prospect of being away from the Kingdom, if they could be here. Their agony caused by their exile was overcome by their joy of being in Chitrakoot.

I was looking forward to being blown away by all of this. Realising that at least a few thousand years had passed since the events mentioned in the Rāmāyana, I was prepared to not see too much that was remarkable. Driving into Chitrakoot for the first time, through dusty roads without seeing the animals or the trees that were loved so much by Rāma, Sita and Lakshmana, was slightly disappointing. Comforted, however, by the energy in Rāmghat, which is located on the river Mandakini and is said to have been a place where the three spent time, I spent the evening looking forward to exploring, hoping there was more to be seen.

My first stop was Hanuman Dhara, named after the stream that flows through the cave. I set off in the morning when the sun was shining to see this wonderful sight, but I was greeted by another. Driving up and out of the built up town of Chitrakoot, the term built up being used very loosely, I was exposed to the hills of the Chitrakoot, and the nature that surrounded them. In that moment, I understood what the Rāmayana meant when it talked of the beauty of Chitrakoot.

Living on the Malvern Hills, one would think I would be used to seeing such a sight, but words cannot describe the hills in Chitrakoot. The hills stand strong amongst the gentle landscape, commanding all around them, with such a firm, but such a calm presence that they feel like the guardians of the forest. The sun shines on them from above, illuminating their strength with its light, showing all those around true wonder.

Not really sure I would ever be used to seeing them, but knowing however long I continued to look their brilliance would not fade, I stopped to just appreciate that which stood before me.

Carrying on I reached the foot of the hills housing Hanuman Dhara, and Sita Rasoi, the place where Sita would cook for Rāma and Lakshmana, which was on the top of the hill. Taking my shoes off at the bottom of the hill as is the custom, I began my ascent, barefoot, of the 600 steps to Hanuman Dhara. I reached the small cave after 600 steps and encountered a small shrine dedicated to Hanuman.

Very quickly however, the space filled with others who had also come to see the space. Sitting cross legged on the floor, as if I was back in Hawford, my primary school, in a lesson, we all sat listening to the Sadhus tell the stories of why this space was as special as it was. They explained that it was where Hanuman told Rāma that he had found Sita in Lanka, I will elaborate on this part of the story later. I was again amazed at the life in all those of all ages who flocked to this revered space, keeping the Rāmāyana alive. Leaving the shrine I was greeted by waves of monkeys who always seem to be alive and well in abundance close to shrines for Hanuman. I like to tell myself that it those monkeys that live to guard this space, as they guarded Rama all those years ago.

Ascending further up to the crown of the hill I reached Sita Rasoi, and was able to see all before me. I imagined that the land around me was covered in a wonderful forest as far as could be seen. I imagined hearing only the sound made by birds, the wind and waterfalls. I imagined being with those closest to me. If, in that moment, I experienced anything even slightly close to how Rama felt in those moments in Chitrakoot, then maybe I can start to understand where his happiness came from. Even though Rama had every reason to be angry, to be hurt, to seek revenge, to desire a kingdom, he was content where he was.

My next stop was Sphatik Shilla. A small rock, sitting on the banks of the Mandakini river accompanied by a small shrine dedicated to Rama, marked another spot frequented by Rama, Sita and Lakshmana.

The place where I was staying was next to one of the busier roads in Chitrakoot and it’s constant bustle made me feel as though I needed some quiet. Sphatik Shilla granted me this quiet. The sun bounced off the dreamlike river as it went along its course and I was again reminded of the beauty of the place I was in. The only real noise around emerged from the Sadhu who occasionally would have to shout at a monkey that would try to take his food. I spent some time here reading the Ramayana, before moving onto Kamadgiri.

Kamadgiri, which means ‘the fulfiller of all desires’, is the mountain said to mark the original Chitrakoot. Rama lived here, along with a great many sages, whom he asked to remain in Kamadgiri when he continued moving to the south. Rama told them even though his physical form would move on, his spirit would remain at Kamadgiri for eternity. The auras of these devoted sages are said to still reside in the mountain, and it is these sages, so generous in nature, that grant the wishes of those who come and visit, giving the place its name.

The mandir at the entrance was filled with the incredibly powerful reverence of all those around, who then would embark on the a pradakshina, a circumambulation of a sacred place, of the mountain. It was a 5km walk barefoot. The walk was an experience and it was completed by many in a variety of different ways. Most walked, some cycled, some were on motorbikes, and some would even crawl along all the way, pushing along a small rock or coconut as they went. Not missing an opportunity to capitalise on this mass of people, there were shops all the way around, and in some places could even be found TVs, playing the Ramayana.

Although the mountain itself was fenced off, its elegance was clear. I could imagine many thousands of years ago, people living here, in a peace not found in many places. I only wish I could have spent some time on it, as opposed to only walking around it.

I wondered how many of those selling along the street, did so because they thought being so close to Kamadgiri would grant them all they wanted, and if so, I wondered about what they might wish for. I then, seeing as I was there, asked myself what I would wish for. When travelling I take a good few things with me, for practicality and convenience, but whenever I have to check I have everything I really need, I look for only my passport and wallet, knowing the rest I can do without.

I thought that maybe wishing for something I really wanted was like this. There are a million things I want because they are there, but after reflecting, I knew there was only a few things that I really desired, and they were not all what I thought they would be. I knew that if I had these, the rest wouldn’t really matter. So, after gently asking the mountain for my wishes, I carried on walking, soaking up the energy of Kamadgiri.

I spent the morning at Sati Anasūyā, the mandir dedicated to the Sage Atri and his wife Ansūyā. Ansūyā is famed because through her severe asceticism she made the Ganga flow, after a drought that had persisted for ten years, returning life to where it had once been. 

She spoke with Sītā, and enamoured with her virtue, offered her a boon. But, Sītā content with the love of Rāma, told Anasūyā she had no desires. Anasūyā smiled, and offered Sītā flowers, before asking Rāma, Sītā and Lakshmana to spend the night at their ashram.

After visiting this mandir which was filled with scenes depicting the Rāmāyana, I ventured into Gupta Godavari.

The story goes that Godavari, the river in modern day Maharashtra, knew Rāma was going to be in Chitrakoot. Her desire to see him in her physical form was immense. But, she was unable to do so having to abide by the laws of nature. However, whilst the river herself could not be moved to Chitrakoot, her spirit could, and in this form she went to see Rama.

Upon seeing him, she felt blessed. But, there was also a painful sadness, knowing she was so close to Rāma, unable to take her true form. As this pain enveloped her, a tear fell from Godavari, and landed on Rama. This tear was to become Gupta Godavari. The story expresses that even the Laws of Nature can be transcended by unconditional love.

The caves were an adventure in themselves, with the water coming up to my knees and with rocks all around I was reminded of caves I had visited on school trips years ago. There was a mysterious feel to them, but maybe that was just the result of the dark and the sound of the trickling water I could pick out.

There were small shrines in each cave where people came to have pujas done for them, and are probably what draws many to Gupta Godavari. Feeling I had explored enough, I exited the caves before sitting under a nearby banyan tree for a while. After observing the monkeys that seem to always be playing with each other, and the people who always seem to laughing with each other, I moved on from Gupta Godavari, and left Chitrakoot.

In the Rāmāyana, there is a passage where Rāma describes to Sita the beauty of the hills of Chitrakoot. ‘Parts of this king of mountains shine brightly, some glittering like silver, some blood red, some sparkling like the foremost of gems.’ The plants on the mountain ‘in their thousands sparkle like flames of fire on the top of the mountain at night.’ ‘The beautiful river Mandākinī with its delightful banks, is a stream inhabited by swans and cranes, and rich in flowers, hemmed in with trees of various kinds growing on its banks and laden with flowers and fruits.’

Leaving Chitrakoot, I began to understand why Rāma could have happily left his kingdom behind, so long as he could live in Chitrakoot.