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 at this point almost two weeks into my trip. I had visited amazing places and had once in a lifetime experiences wherever I went, but I still did not feel comfortable. Maybe it was being away from home, surrounded by a great deal of uncertainty that accompanies one when travelling to new places alone.
I was back in Varanasi to catch a train onwards and so I had decided to have lunch in a pizza place I had found on the river Ganga, before setting off. It was an outdoor restaurant with an impressive wood chip pizza oven in a beautiful setting. I was sitting eating, and still feeling uneasy when I stopped and had a thought.
I was in one of the oldest cities in the world, in one of the most beautiful parts of the world. It was twenty-five degrees and the sun was shining. I was on a year off from school travelling the world and to top it all off, I was eating pizza.
I realised that sometimes the easiest thing I could do in the situation I was in was worry. But, if I took a step back and just appreciated where I was, I was happy. I hope I can carry this thought with me, wherever I go.
After leaving Chitrakoot and heading further into the Dandaka Forest, Rāma, Sītā and Lakshmana encountered the repulsive man-eating demon Virādha. The demon sought to kill the wandering trio and a vicious fight ensued. Through their prowess, Rāma and Lakshmana prevailed. As he was dying however, Virādha revealed that he had been cursed long ago by Kubera, and his curse would only be lifted after being killed by Rāma. After, he would regain his normal form, and go to paradise. Thanking Rāma for freeing him from his curse, Virādha, whose real name was Tumburu, allowed himself to be killed by Rāma and Lakshmana. Before his death, he told the brothers that they should head towards Sharabhanga’s Ashram, and so they did, moving through the forest ‘like the moon and the sun in the sky’.
Sharabhanga’s ashram is located about 50km away from Chitrakoot, and so I went to see it on my way to Satna, which I was reaching by taxi. Turning off the main road, we drove down an orange dirt track, one that reminded me that in India even the dirt has a colour and vibrancy about it. Driving further and further away from the noise that pervades the roads, we eventually ended up at the Ashram, which was accompanied by only a few stalls selling chai just outside, and calm.
The Ashram
Sharabhanga was a great sage. He had accumulated so much tapas that he was granted access to Brahmaloka, the abode of Brahma, attained only by those who have realised Brahman. The God Indra had come down to earth to take Sharabhanga to the heavens with him. However, Sharabhanga, knowing that Rāma would soon be reaching him, sent Indra away, so he could meet with him, such was his reverence of the Prince of Ayodhya. Rāma glimpsed the golden chariot of Indra. However, knowing that Rāma should not see him until after his purpose on earth, the killing of Ravana, had been fulfilled, Indra left again for the heavens. The ashram where this all happened was the place I was going to see.
I walked through the gates and was greeted by the rather alarming bark of a dog who seemed to be guarding the door. After some Sadhus quietened him down, I proceeded to the Ashram. As I walked in I saw a small mandir and I sat down with a few Sadhus who were intrigued by my presence. It seemed to be a place frequented only by locals. I have tried my best not to draw too much attention to myself, but everything about me seems to be giving me away.
The Mandir which was closed off just before I could take a photo
In one of those conversations I am by now used to, with my broken Hindi, a great deal of gesturing and head-nodding, I told them that I was trying to follow the Trail of Rāma as in the Rāmāyana, at which point I showed them my book I was carrying with me. They all smiled, and told me to stay longer so I could have lunch with them.
My face beamed, realising how fortunate I was to be fed in such a place. I sat down on a straw mat with a few other Sadhus around me, and I was handed a thali of rice, daal, subzi and two roti, which were in places still lightly dusted with ash, as they had just been taken off the wooden fire. With only my hand I started eating, watched by those around me, who seemed to be pleasantly surprised that I could cope without cutlery. Like the space I was in, the food was divine. It was wonderful to just sit and eat, without the many distractions that I often think I need to keep me entertained.
Over lunch I was told about the events that happened in the Ashram, whilst also answering questions about how I found my trip, all in Hindi of course. I think that we all understood what the other was trying to say, but I can never be sure.
Finishing my food, I went to go and wash my plate, and for the first time during my trip my mind had wondered away from my bag I carry with me, containing my valubles. The stream was only a minute away, but, I told the Sadhu accompanying me I would just head back to get my bag, instinctively worrying about it. He looked at me with a stern face, but still with a smile in his eyes.
‘No tension!’ He said, as if being able to read my mind.
‘Free mind, no worry!’
I smiled, and enjoying letting go of my worry, I walked over to wash my plate. It was at this point I stopped and let out a slight grin, seeing how the plates I was eating off were washed. We took the outside of a coconut as a scrubber, dipped it in ash, and washed the plate, before rinsing in a small pool of seemingly still water. I laughed to myself and thought if I was going to get ill from anything in India, then an Ashram was the best place to do it. Luckily I have been fine.
After getting over this thought, I started washing my plate with cows wondering around behind me, in the sun, in the calm, and time itself seemed to stop. The only thing I thought about was the very thing I was doing in that moment. It was as if the ash I was using to clean the plate, took away my worries with it. Living in an ashram must at times be a wonderful thing.
The Sadhu who told me not to worry
Finishing cleaning and after conversing more with the Sadhus, who amongst other things asked me if I was married, I did my pranams and said my goodbyes.
Sharabhanga, after seeing Rāma, ascended to the abode of Brahma. After he left, other revered sages in the Ashram approached Rāma, and asked him for help. They informed Rāma that a great number of adharmi’s, those who do no act in accordance with duty, were killing sages throughout the forest, and they asked Rāma to protect them. Realising that his exile into the forest, was not the result of misfortune, but so that he could carry out this purpose, Rāma, without hesitation, agreed to find those committed to wrong, and to free the sages from their harm. The Prince of Ayodhya with his brother and his wife spent the next ten years fulfilling this purpose. They moved from hermitage to hermitage, staying in some places for many others, and others a single night. They philosophised with sages, practiced austerities, and fought off those demons in the forest who sought to harm them and sages around them. As this ten year period was up, Rāma one day felt a need to visit the Sage Agastya, just outside of Panchavatī in what is today Nasik. This was my next stop.
And so, with one last look behind me, appreciating what I knew had been a once in a lifetime experience, I thanked life and continued on the Trail of Rāma.
I have been home for some time now, which has given me room to think and reflect on the trip I have had.
In my very first blog, I wrote that I was not quite sure why I was drawn to the idea of this trip, but that I knew I was. I wanted to establish a sense of independence, explore India, differentiate between the mythology and reality of the Ramayana, and better understand myself.
Firstly the Ramayana. I may slightly cheat now, and tell you in all honesty, from a factual point of view, even after my trip I can’t really tell you if it did happen. From an historical point of view I could say that its probable that parts of the book have probably been exaggerated, and others were probably real, but written in such a way that now we are unable to understand it (which I probably could have told you before I left).
But, after doing what I have done, I can deduce only one thing, based not on evidence or facts, but purely on experience. That the Ramayana is alive. It is alive in the streets and the air and the temples. It is alive in the monuments built to commemorate it and the icons that portray its characters. It is alive in the songs that are sung and the stories that are told by all. But most importantly, it is alive in the hearts of those I have seen along the way.
Whether it is the pundits who have greeted me at ashrams, the people I have stumbled across, or the sadhus I have met. For these are those who rely not on on facts or proof, but on the truest of their feelings. If such a tale can inspire so many to embark upon so much, if such a tale can stand the test of time and be as alive as it still is, then surely these are things that are the truest tests of reality. Not those which instruct us that things are real, but those which allow us to feel it for ourselves. At every place I have been, I have experienced the Ramayana, and my only conclusion can be that it may not have conspired exactly as I have read it, but it is alive, and it is real.
Secondly, me. I can certainly say that I did enjoy my sense of independence, and my trip has filled me with a confidence that I can adapt and cope with any situation, as long as I trust myself to do so. I have also learned a great deal about myself. I have learned that I love to get things done, without perhaps enjoying them as much as I can. I have learned that I worry probably a little more than I should, which is probably down to a lack of faith that things will always end up how they need to be. I have learned that I am scared about how things may turn out. I have learned that at times I have felt entitled and I have taken things for granted.
But, I have also learned that while I can cope on my own, I love the presence of good company. I have affirmed that I love good food. I have learned that I am brave and adventurous. Whilst I have learned that I am fearful, I have also learned that I do not have to be. I learned that I did not want my trip to end, but that it does not have to, for the Trail of Rama is not just a physical one, but one that we all lead in our own lives. I have learned that it is a Trail I can walk through the choices I make. I hope it is a Trail that I can continue to follow, wherever I go.
The promise of the Trail of Rama is that it grants a freedom from fear and grief to all those who embark on it. Whilst at times on my trip I felt completely fearless, and completely free of grief, after being at home and continuing with daily life I know I am by no means free form either. However, I think I may just be starting to find out how to be, and I cannot ask for more than that. I guess that it takes, from my experience, a knowledge that sometimes whilst we can do all what we can to make sure things work out, we can do no more, but that that is okay. I guess it takes a trust and a faith that somehow and in some way there is something somewhere that is playing its part too, in our own wonderful tale called life.
