Sunday, December 23, 2007

End of the Season

Highlights of the end of the season in Kedarnath involved weather, hanging out, landscape, chasing, and ghosts.



Wearing a dhoti in Kedarnath.



View of Kedarnath close to the end of the season.


Three Bhupendras and I at the end of the season.

The weather went from bright sunshine, so warm that I would often sit in the shade, to successive days of hard rain, to a snowstorm that lasted for three days and then melted away in a couple of weeks. Then bright sunshine again for several weeks. At the last, the mercury at night headed below freezing for a couple of days and my water buckets started freezing on the top. The day the procession left Kedarnath we were all slipping and sliding for the first two kilometers until the sun came out and passed the point called Devdarshini, or Deodekhni ("sight of god"), the point from which Kedarnath comes into view or from which it is last seen. A couple hours later I was sweating and it felt like I had never been cold.

The procession leaving Kedarnath.

Procession one kilometer away from Kedarnath.

After my own personal Mount Everest (Vasuki Taal, see previous posts), I didn't do any more serious trekking. I did discover the pleasures of the evening walk out past the heli-pad and down along the green, stepped plateau that lies on the opposite side of the Kedarnath valley from the footpath from Gaurikund. It felt very Middle-earth-ish, and there were all these rocks that looked as if they were going down to the river to drink. At the very end of the plateau there are a series of rock faces whose curves I find both compelling and inscrutable, a puzzle that I want to both solve and caress. I took photographs there as well but mostly black and white film, so y'all will have to wait to see those beauties, if in fact they turn out.

I also underwent a series of small crises in my work. They probably shouldn't have been crises as such, but towards the end of the season the weight of the entire year started weighing on me more and more, so that was probably a factor as well. Actually there hasn't been a time here when that weight hasn't been there. Hmmm. Being here is both intensely rewarding and very difficult, so I suppose that is all par for whatever this course is. One crisis was that there were many people who had said that they would have to time to sit and talk with me at the end of the season, and then didn't. So there were a number of episodes in which I and Bhupendra would think we had scheduled an interview or conversation only to find that the person had become busy, or gone somewhere, or couldn't be bothered. It turns out that there is a slice of the local Kedarnath population that wasn't so interested in giving me time if no economic benefit was forthcoming. Money matters started coming to the fore in the last couple of months. I was at times quite discouraged that, whether guised as a joke or put baldly as request or demand, that people would suddenly ask me for things, money, clothing, etc... I was understood by most to be much richer than I actually am. This is how people think about most foreigners but I like to think I'm special and different, so it was a bit depressing. The corollary to this was the slowly dawning understanding (yes, I'm often quite thick-headed) that the best avenues for information depended more on friendship than anything else. So during those last couple of months a couple of things were happening. I was on the one hand realizing that many people in the local community weren't particularly interested in helping me with my research, and on the other hand enjoying the deepening of acquaintance into friendship. The difficulty was that for a couple of weeks, relationally, I really didn't know whether I was coming or going.

Reports of a ghost were also circulating the bazaar at the end of the season. I don't recall whether I previously mentioned this or not, but in the beginning of the season there was a tragedy involving a local youth and a helicopter (details intentionally omitted). Because he was unmarried he was not cremated but rather buried (or placed in samadhi) in Kedarnath itself. In the last two weeks of the season this youth apparently began harassing locals. One sadhu who normally stays in Kedarnath until the bitter end left a week early because the youth wouldn't leave him alone. People were saying that the youth's family should have done a fire sacrifice to put his soul (atma) at rest when he died, but didn't. There were actually three nights at the end of the staying when I was the only person staying in building in which my room was located. People kept asking me-- aren't you scared? I replied that so far the ghost hadn't bothered me and that I wasn't scared, which was mostly true. The first night I woke up suddenly and there was this strange throbbing noise/feeling coming from just above my head which was quite frightening. However, being sleep-besotted I decided that this was just the noise made by the friction between my hat-covered head and the top of the sleeping bag combined with an over-active imagination. Distressingly reductionist, I know.

The season ended with a good deal of dhoom-dham, of pomp. On the last night the temple opened at about two o'clock in the morning so that devotees could have a last darshan and puja. I was surprised to find that many of the devotees that come at this time are regulars -- they come every year at the beginning and closing. So the sense of instant community that one often feels at pilgrimage places was strengthened by the fact that many people did in fact know each other. Just before sunrise came samadhi-puja (the ritual in which Kedarnath is in a sense buried, or perhaps a more functionally appropriate translation would be tucked in for the winter). Various materials and substances are placed on the ling in succession : ghee, specially adorned blankets, ghand (scented ointment), rice and rice husks, various fruits, dhotis (long rectangular cloth that is often worn as a kind of pant by men, especially for participation in rituals), and finally bhasma (ash made from cow dung). The press of devotees was intense and I had actually resigned myself to hanging back and asking what happened because I didn't feel that I had any right to be at the front of the line nor did I have anything approaching the devotion evinced by everyone around me. However,a local recognized me and in front of everyone (not all were pleased) seated me quite close to the entrance to the temple's inner sanctum where all the action was happening, proclaiming loudly that I had lived in Kedarnath for the whole season and it was my right. So at the end of the season I ended up right at the center of everything, my view of the samadhi puja framed on all sides by a press of bodies and devotion. It was a special night. I spent several hours with two local friends chatting and ended up hearing all sorts of local gossip and explanations about various Tantric practices. Then I helped two middle aged foreigners, one French and one Balinese, to find a room. At the end of the season only a couple of lodges in all of Kedarnath were still open and all were bursting at the seams so there was a good deal of negotiation in which I assisted by translating and being the social lubricant. So at the end of the season I became the "local" who helps the "outsiders" to find a room through his local connections. This is a trope of sorts at Kedarnath during the season. And in so doing I made yet another friend, a Garhwali saddhu whom I had actually met before. But during that first meeting I hadn't known that he also was a singer and composer of Garhwali songs. I was sitting in the canteen of the lodge where I had just gotten the foreigners the room with the owner of the lodge, his mother (who comes every year for samadhi puja) and the saddhu. The owner's mother said that you should really hear this guy sing, so we all prevailed on him to sing several bhajans about Kedarnath in Garhwali. They were beautiful, simple and full of plaintive longing, and I was strongly struck by the special quality of the night and the fantastic amount of luck I've received to be in Kedarnath for such special moments.

In the morning the traveling form of Kedarnath came out of the temple and everyone had their pictures taken with it. Everyone was busy either getting ready to go, grabbing a little breakfast, and watching the journalists interview the various luminaries who were present for the end of the season (the head officer of the Badri-Kedar Temple Committee, Uma Bharati - a famous politician , local politicians and elected representatives). The doors to the temple were sealed with lots of seals and signature and documentation, and the dholi (palanquin) headed down the mountain.

Processions are a very important and visible feature of life in Garhwal and one can learn a lot from watching processions especially if one has other processions with which to compare. I have seen 4 such processions in entirety, one partially, and read a book that was basically about one important such procession (Mountain Goddess by William Sax). Some features of the procession were standard: the dholi is carried by particular people designated for the task but at various times outside devotees or other locals are allowed to take a turn, which is an honor. The dholi stops at certain designated places every year where it is worshiped and those coming with the dholi are usually welcomed and fed. The dholi also stops or slows down for devotees so that they can either have a quick puja done for them by the people traveling with the dholi or garland the dholi. Somewhat special to the Kedarnath dholi is that, in addition to the two Garhwali drummers who accompany the procession at every step, the 17th Garhwali Rifles military band also meets the dholi at the entrance to every town and play their bagpipes and drums as the enters and leaves the town. Someone told me that the Garhwali Rifles have had a special relationship with Kedarnath since they served in (and survived) Kargil. There was also a complement of journalists and photographers (Sahara, India Today, a group of friends working on a coffee table book about the Char Dham) but they mostly traveled in cars or motorcyles and rendez-vous'ed with the procession at key moments (which I must admit made me feel rather self righteous!).

The Kedarnath dholi resting in a private home on the second day of the procession. The image on the wall is of Ram Darbar (the court of the king / avatar Rama). The image (and a surrounding tent) was erected in preparation for the multi-recitation and expounding of a Purana sponsored by a particular family, known as a katha.

Villagers welcoming and worshiping the Kedarnath dholi in front of a Hanuman temple on the first day of the procession.


The Kedarnath dholi's last stop before arrival in Guptkashi proper.

I was particularly attentive to several features of the procession. One, I was reflecting on how much I have learned in changed since I walked from Ukhimath to Kedarnath in April. So walking with the procession was like retracing a memory but with newer, more experienced eyes. This is of course more about me than the procession. :) Two, I was very attentive to the mood of those around me. It seemed to me that the overall mood was one of happiness and satisfaction -- the season has come and gone, we've made enough money to get through to next year, all is well. While there was of course a good deal of devotion to the traveling form of Kedarnath it seemed to me that what people were welcoming was not only a form of Shiva but also the tangible symbol of the (intact) prosperity of the region. Bhupendra agreed with me when we discussed it. Particular people (especially the Kedarnath pujari and various officials whose had just completed six months duty in Kedarnath) were also feeling hugely relieved that they had gotten through the season without anything untoward happening on their watch.

At the beginning of the season the Kedarnath dholi procession takes two nights and three days: first day Phata, second day Gaurikund, and third day Kedarnath. The distance is about 40 kilometers. At the end of the season the first night halt is in Rambara, the second Guptkashi, and then on the third day it reaches Ukhimath in the early afternoon. Guptkashi is really only about an hour's walk (or one "up-down") from Ukhimath so the last day the procession doesn't actually have that far to travel. And from the night before in Guptkashi one gets the feeling that the dholi has begun to arrive. In Guptkashi again I was particularly struck by how much has changed for me here. Now I am someone whom lots of people know. So Bhupendra and I stayed in a hotel managed by a friend of mine, I ate dinner with the army band, and in the morning was breakfasted by a Kedarnath tirth purohit friend who manages a lodge / pilgrim rest house in Kedarnath during the season. And as we started coming into Ukhimath the crowd swelled into the hundreds and friends were greeting me, school children were pointing and saying (oh yeah, that's that foreigner who lives here, etc...).

The actual entry of the Kedarnath dholi into the Omakareshvar temple area in Ukhimath was, relative to the Madmaheshvar processions and relative to the departure of the Kedarnath dholi at the beginning of the season, fairly restrained. There were crowds, and the Kedarnath pujari returned certain special items that had been in Kedarnath to the Rawal (Jagadguru Bhim Shankar Ling, one of the 5 Jagadgurus of the Virashaiva community of whose five most sacred places Kedarnath / Ukhimath are one) for safe-keeping and performed a puja at the Rawal's feet. The Rawal is also sometimes called "the form of Kedarnath that walks". But scarcely an hour later the crowds had disbanded and the temple courtyard was almost empty. I drank chai with some friends just outside the temple precinct and one of them pointed out to me that a special kind of Garhwali song was playing over the temple loudspeakers, a kuder geet. I don't know much about this type of song but it's on my list. The little that I do know suggests that as a genre these songs have an emotive and existential bent, but that's not confirmed.

After several hectic days of trying and succeeding in finding new accommodations within Ukhimath and trying unsuccessfully to get my internet connection fixed I left Ukhimath for a trip to Madmaheshvar and environs. This is another form of Shiva located at the head of another valley one valley to the east of the Kedarnath valley (they are separated by a valley in which one finds a famous goddess shrine, Kalimath, and another local form of Shiva called Rucya Mahadev). Madmaheshvar's logistics are similar to those of Kedarnath: for half the year worship is performed on site in Madmaheshvar and for half the year it is performed in Ukhimath. However, the arrival of Madmaheshvar into Ukhimath at the end of the season is a much bigger deal than the arrival of Kedarnath. It is also the occasion of the biggest (three days!) mela in the area, the Madmaheshvar Mela. I went to Madmaheshvar for several reasons. I wanted to get some comparative data on processions so that I could contextualize the Kedarnath procession and I also was hoping to record several more payeri geet. It was also a personal challenge on a physical level -- I wanted to prove to myself I could do it. As it turned out, the procession itself wasn't so strenuous with the exception of the first two hours of the first day in which we basically trotted 9kms down a very very steep path in about two hours (which made my thigh muscles very sore). Payeri are a particular kind of Garhwali song that are a subset of mangal geet (auspicious songs). Payeri seem to be sung when deities or sacred figures (such as sages or ancient heroes) are going somewhere (i.e. in a procession) and their content is usually a description of the deity's journey addressed to the deity (O Shiva, now you are coming into the village of Grija! O Shiva now they are doing your puja in Girija! Oh Shiva now you are leaving Girija, etc...) That is to say they seem to be songs of invocation, address, and movement.


The Madmaheshvar dholi in the midst of an extremely fast descent down the mountain on the the first day of the procession


Same descent, different angle.

The Madmaheshvar procession is different than the Kedarnath procession in several important ways. There is almost no media coverage and no Garhwali rifles. The procession in its present form is almost certainly older than the Kedarnath procession in its present form. There is a particular ritual in which a lamp belonging to each household of the village in which the dholi has stopped is lit in front of the dholi at the beginning of a puja. Then at the end of the puja these lamps are taken carefully, still burning, into the home. This is not done in the same intentionally collective fashion, or almost at all, with the Kedarnath dholi. More importantly, the entire mood of the procession and the participants in it is much more local, much more relaxed, and reflective of a both stronger and much less formal relationship with the deity. This is of course in spite of the "fact" that, as numerous people insistently remind me, both are forms of Shiva and so really there is no difference. The difference is one of place (sthan) or area (kshetra) rather than divine personality or aspect. That having been noted there are lots of differences. As I said, the environment is much more informal. This informality is reflected in less stringent adherence to timings, more joking, less propriety. This intimacy, the intimacy that people display with close relatives, is particularly evident in the way that the inhabitants of the villages closest to Madmaheshvar ( who also have traditional duties relating to the worship, conveyance, and protection of the deity and its procession) behave with the deity. The dholi itself behaves differently: it shakes from side to side (the Kedarnath dholi does not). It responds to requests and makes decisions about property divisions. There is a phenomenon called ghat pukarna in which someone goes before a deity and pours out their sorrows and asks the deity for help. This year this happened with the Madmaheshvar dholi and not with the Kedarnath dholi.



Lighted oil lamps and worship-trays ready for puja in front of the Madmaheshvar dholi in Rhansi.




The Madmaheshvar dholi getting ready to leave Girija.



The Madmaheshvar dholi comes into Fafanj village. The old women at the top of the image are singing payeri geet.

I spent total about 6 days in the Madmaheshvar valley, a wonderful trip marred only by a very depressing incident in which I thought I was a guest but was understood as a customer and after which ensued nastiness and a 6 hour period during which I almost headed straight to Delhi and got on a plane back to America. Excepting these six hours it was extraordinary. The Madmaheshvar procession takes three and a half days and spends the night in the following three villages: Gondar, Rhansi, and Girija. Then on the fourth day it proceeds to Ukhimath and arrives at about 3 in the afternoon. Greeting Madmaheshvar as it returns to Ukhimath, especially as one gets closer and closer to Ukhimath, is a far weightier affair than greeting Kedarnath (which is itself pretty weighty). But more people greet Madmaheshvar. The rituals are elaborate, the mood more devotional and more intense. Occasionally women will shriek and begin to sob when the dholi comes near: I've heard several explanations for this. Apparently (and it doesn't only happen with Madmaheshvar) this happens as a result of the combination of several factors : devotion, the recent or not so recent death of a family member, other life difficulties, and the possession of the weeper by the ghost of the family member who is for whatever reason not comfortably settled in the afterlife. This happened at least 6 times with the Madmaheshvar dholi (and is common) whereas with the Kedarnath dholi it happened only once and is, I would contend, much less frequent. Thousands of people assemble to meet the Madmaheshvar dholi several kilometers away from its ultimate destination. The Rawal himself doesn't wait to receive Madmaheshvar in Ukhimath but travels approximately 1 kilometer to the village of Mongoli to perform a puja for Madmaheshvar. When the dholi arrives into the Omakareshvar temple precinct the entire area is packed with at least 3-4 times the number of people there were for the Kedarnath dholi, in addition to the several more thousands of people hanging out in the nearby mela ground. The Madmaheshvar murtis (images of Madmaheshvar that are worshiped in the temple and travel with the dholi) were transferred to a larger dholi which then circumambulated the temple 11 times --- some people say always 11 and some say it depends on the year-- before finally entering the temple. The entire temple chakki (open space just in front of and below the temple) was decorated and covered by a large tent. The gradual dispersal of the crowd was much much slower because no one was going home but simply exiting the temple and joining the mela. Participating in the Madmaheshvar procession and mela was especially poignant for me as it marked my completion of a calendar year of relation with Garhwal, Ukhimath, and Kedarnath (even though I did make trips out). In November 2006 I participated in the last day of the Madmaheshvar procession as an almost total outsider, and here I was this time walking with my friends, recognizing and being recognized, being given chai and hand shakes. I understood much more (but by no means all) of what I was seeing and hearing. There was still a fair bit of staring but it was mixed with a good amount of recognition as well. The Madmaheshvar procession was the biggest index of how much I've changed in a year (that and the fact that I'm about 3-4 notches smaller on my belt!).

Since then I've been trying to tie off a couple of loose ends before heading down to Delhi and then London for my best friend's wedding and time at the British Library. Most importantly there is a song sung during the Kedarnath procession that I've been trying to understand and record. It is a song about a Garhwali hero and king named Jeetu Baguwal who once made a pilgrimage to Kedarnath. Further there are several important sites on the other side of the valley (where most of the pilgrimage priests are from) that I hadn't yet seen, namely Basukedar (reputedly where Shiva lived before coming to Kedarnath) and Phegu-Devi (the form of the goddess who is the village deity for a group of villages that are the original homes of many of the tirth purohit families). I've also being trying to lay the groundwork (it seems somewhat successfully) for access to some of the historical materials associated with the traditional rights of Kedarnath tirth purohits. These materials have been submitted as evidence in various lawsuits so getting access to them is a little tricky but looking at them will give me a better idea about the last several hundred years of history in the area.

So I'm now at a moment where I'm doing a lot of stock-taking, a lot of cheshbon nefesh ("soul-accounting"), both intellectually and existentially. The original plan for my dissertation was to look at what for the moment could be called the construction of experience in Kedarnath and in particular at what these experiences might express about Kedarnath as place, as divinity, and as fusion of place and divinity. I was going to do this by looking at the various building blocks of these experiences : stories, rituals, images, the physical experience of journeying to and living in Kedarnath, etc.... Much of my commitment to this set of research goals remains unchanged. However, different goals have begun to emerge as well. One is that, perhaps as an inevitable outgrowth of the fact that I've been doing this research while living mostly in Garhwal, I'm reflecting more and more on how to attend to the specificity of local attitudes and experiences of Garhwalis in Kedarnath. This is not the same as deciding that I'm going to focus solely on Kedarnath from a Garhwali point of view. Part of what interests me in Kedarnath is that it is a point of interaction between different sorts of people. I also am getting more and more interested in history, that is to say how things have come to be the way things are and how that history (and/or perceptions thereof) effects the present. But I'm not making this my main research task because it in itself would be a rather different task and require a lot of chasing after documents that are difficult to obtain and understand even for local experts.

This is also true at the local level. I've slowly come to realize over this course of this year that in the local scenario there are also several important and different groups who have a significant presence. Speaking generally they are the following :

1) the community of pilgrimage priests who are descended from a registered group of 360 families and who are MOSTLY located in the Kedar valley itself.

2) shop-owners, lodge owners, and horse and pony drivers many of whom are from the Ukhimath side of the valley (which according to some is also the beginning of the Madmaheshvar valley and not part of the Kedar valley). They often have a stronger devotional relationship to Madmaheshvar than Kedarnath.

3) Employees of the Badri-Kedar Temple Samiti (association). Everyone is jealous of them because they have permanent government employment for the rest of their lives. These employees might be from either group 1 or group 2 and in some cases come from even farther away. There are several members of this group who are from the Gopeshvar / Tungnath side, the area to the east of Ukhimath which officially belongs to the aspect of Shiva known as Tungnath rather than Madmaheshvar or Kedarnath. There are some posts in the Samiti that can only be filled by people from group #1, and the Samiti also gives wages to traditional rights holders for the performance of their duties, thereby converting them from rights holders whose authority stems from tradition to employees who perform a job for money.

A year ago at the beginning of all this I started in Ukhimath, which makes sense in some ways since Ukhimath is the winter seat of Kedarnath, the seat of the Rawal, and the base of operations for the Badri-Kedar Temple Committee. Bhupendra is also from Ukhimath. What I didn't know then was the group with perhaps the most presence and traditional relationship with Kedarnath, the Kedarnath pilgrimage priests, actually are based on the other side of the valley and have a somewhat different set of local traditions.

Interestingly enough, both Ukhimath-ites and pilgrimage priests are more cosmopolitan than the average Garhwali villager, but for different reasons. Pilgrimage priests tend to be more cosmopolitan because in Kedarnath their work brings them in contact with people from the rest of India (and foreigners) AND more importantly they usually spend 2-3 months every year traveling to various parts of India in which their patrons reside. Ukhimath residents are cosmopolitan in a different way. First, (in addition to those who work in Kedarnath and get that exposure) Ukhimath is a minor tourist destination in the area (though nothing compared to Kedarnath or Tungnath / Chopta) and so people get exposure to Bengalis and foreigners in their own homes. This means that (unlike with the pilgrimage priests) it isn't just men who are getting exposure to different sorts of people but the whole family. Second, because Ukhimath/Kedarnath is one of the 5 most sacred places in India for the Virashaiva community, Ukhimath is quite accustomed to welcoming groups of devotees from Maharasthra and Karnataka for Virashaiva related functions. Indeed, the population of the closest village to the Omkareshvar Temple in Ukhimath are almost all descendants of one sort or another of several former Rawals (who are required to be a special kind of Virashaiva to hold office). So in Ukhimath there is a sort of at-home cosmopolitan-ness that one doesn't find in smaller, more rural Garhwali villages in the area.

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I'm now at a moment of transition and reflection. I'm away from Garhwal for about a month and will have about another 4-6 months there. Ukhimath has also become a home of sorts: I have work, a place to live, an established identity, and friends. I feel connected to the landscape in ways I don't fully understand. I've now been gone a week and already it has become for me the place to which I'm returning. Yet even as this has been happening I've also had to start planning my re-entry to my university (which will be sometime in the summer of 2008) and the considerable portion of my life that is in America, which I find daunting as it involves things like teaching courses, saying I will present at conferences, applying for grants, thinking about the submission of articles, etc... I feel as if I have come down out of the mountains and stepped off the train into a different phase of my life, and am still getting used to it. My plan upon return to Garhwal at the end of January is the following: to swoop through the information I've gathered and focus on particular bits (interviews, texts, images, moments, themes) that I think will be appropriate for the work of my dissertation. That is to say, I have to pick particular examples and details to discuss whose content will suggest the range and shape of experiences in Kedarnath. I will then focus on these examples and details and make sure that I have them complete correct and fully transcribed before returning to my university that lies on the other side of several big oceanic ponds from here. Also, I'm going to set aside a good deal of time for studying Garhwali (and a bit of Hindi), something that hasn't received enough of my time in the past year. I'd at the very least like to be functional for day to day stuff and have a grammatical picture of the language before returning to the states this time.

Other tasks of the moment include finding the love of my life and being in the same place as her (whoever she is and wherever that might be), continuing to lose weight and improve my fitness and self-discipline, and continuing to think through the the difficult question of whether my Jewishness has any nafka minah (practical difference and/or implications, a Talmudic term) for how I am conducting my life as an American in deep relation with India and Indian religions. Paltry tasks.

Friday, October 05, 2007

Apple Toast

First off, logistics and the weather report. I’m still in Kedarnath, and barring unforseens will be here until November 11th, when Kedarnath closes and the procession departs for Ukhimath. The monsoon has been officially over for about a month, but weather up here doesn’t seem to have received the message. The month of September, which is supposed to be the best month for trekking, instead of being 30 days of clear temperate bright weather, was about 15 days of clear temperate bright and 15 days of rain, much of which was continuous. And now in Kedarnath it is officially cold, and I’ve been watching the snowline come gradually lower and lower and it is fairly certain that within several weeks there will be snow here as well. Nowadays when the sun is out it can be so strong that one can’t sit in the sun for so long without getting sunstroke, and when the sun isn’t out the temperature starts to approach 0 degrees celsius (32 f), and I have to say that with the wind and other intangibles it feels much colder than that. But, on the good news board, Bhupendra and I put plastic over the windows and we have an electric heater (when there is electricity), and have gas and kerosene, and are as ready for cold weather as anybody here.

It’s been a long time since I wrote (especially if you missed the posting on loneliness that I took down because everyone thought I was lonely which of course I am but wasn’t the point of the posting, thus the taking down of it). What has happened? Well, there was a lot of monsoon induced funkiness, for one. There has been a great deal of hanging out without a lot of hard information to show for it, which one could either chalk up as the gradual accrual of symbolic capital or something else much more perjorative (choose your own adj. ). I’ve definitely become an official citizen of Kedarnath. The other day I made a first visit (there are still many places and people here that I have yet to meet and see for the first time) to the “Pandit’s Tea Shop”, a particular tea shop just across the river from Kedarnath proper where pilgrimage priests drink chai, play cards, and wait to see whether any patrons from their particular areas of responsibility have come. So I went there for the first time and said to the proprietor that I knew he’d seen a lot and probably knew everything that happens in Kedarnath and that I wanted to interview him. He said that of course he did, and he knew everything about me as well! So I sat there for several hours, and anwered lots of questions about America (spent lots of time on health insurance), at the end of which it was declared that I am an official member of the Pandits Chai Dukan! :)

I also did things like watch 18 year olds gambling fiercely, with flowers. I watched half of an Indian Pakistan cricket match on the roof of a building in the bazaar, until it started to rain. I got to play in a cricket match that took place in what must be one of the most amazing places a sport has ever been played: at approx 12,500 feet, just behind the open air temple of the protective deity of the area, Bhairavnath, in a small side valley whose bowl shape kept out most of the wind. I actually managed to hit a couple even though my batting style is somewhat unorthodox. I watched deities come on pilgrimage with people from their villages. I took a couple of trips out of Kedarnath as well, most notably to Madmaheshvar, another form of Shiva who is for locals the most important and powerful form of Shiva in the area, perhaps even more so than Kedarnath who tends to hover over the entire area like an old paterfamilias but doesn’t get involved very much in peoples’ lives (except of course to be the base for the economy of the entire region). Going to Madmaheshvar involved a two day walk up a different valley, and Madmaheshvar itself is quite small – a temple, 4 or 5 lodges and a couple of private buildings. But during the 3 days we were there it was filled and overflowing, as an entire local village came to Madmaheshvar (the first time they had come together as a village for 45 years) to be cleansed and forgiven for an offense to the god that had happened some years before. No one wanted to say what the offense had been. Every family did their own puja, and finally after several other expiatory rituals there was a collective fire sacrifice, and then several deities possessed several mediums / oracles and the good news was declared that the village was in the clear. On our way back from Madmaheshvar we stopped in Rhansi, where every year for two months (Shravan Bhadon) in the temple of Rhansi-Mai they sing the entire story of the Mahabharata, taking it an hour or two at a time after evening arthi.

I’ve been steadily getting fitter as well, which means that it only takes me twice as long to get somewhere as it does a twenty something fit Garhwali. Two days ago I managed a ten hour approx 14 km trek to Vasuki Taal and back again (or, if you will, the lake of the serpent king) which is situated between 15000 and 16000 feet, meaning that it is high enough above Kedarnath that the valley floor seems like it is almost in another county. I don’t think I ever need to go higher than that. Climbing mountains is a powerful experience: there is fear and exaltation and spurts of religiosity take one unawares, and one always wants to just keep going higher and higher. But I think I’ve had my fill for the moment.

The other day I saw a document that took me utterly by surprise. The pilgrimage priests here keep records of their patrons in books that are called bahi, and these bahi usually go back at least three generations and sometimes as far back as several hundred years. There is one pilgrimage priest here whom people call Padre, as traditionally some of his patrons have been English, and he had mentioned that he has some old bahi that have English names in them, so I asked to see. So a couple of days ago I had a chance to sit down with him, and had a look. One of the names had a bizaarly personal resonance for me: Evans-Wentz, professor of comparative religion at Oxford, 1911, author of The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries. The thing is, I KNOW this book. I can easily and vividly remember, in the first throes of my academic awakenings, going to the Haverford College bookstore and looking in the Folkore and Mythology section and drooling over the various titles, and purchasing several, one of which was this book. Right now it is on one of the bookshelves in my parents’ house reserved for the books of mine that I chose to not bring to Emory. How about them apples?

Ah yes, apples. Naming this piece apple toast was not a non sequitur. Last week I was feeling (particularly) bored with the available food and decided to make someting new. So I took apples and sugar and cloves and raisins and boiled them until they were nice and smushy, and then Bhupendra and I used them as filling inside roti-like dough envelopes, which we then fried and dusted with lemon sugar. Bhupendra christened them apple toast.

p.s. I'm looking for places to crash in London around the end of December and first part of January. Any suggestions?



This is me plucking a brahmakamal (a brahma-lotus). These flowers only grow above 14000 feet and are offered to Shiva in remembrance of the devotion of Brahma, who tore out one of his eyes when he found out that he did not have the correct number of flowers to offer during his puja.

This is a brahmakamal.

Here is the valley whose slope we then ascended in search of flowers. Getting to this valley and up one of its sides was one of the most difficult things I have ever done in my life, as for reasons of purity we had to proceed both barefooted and fasting. It took me about 10 hours to cover perhaps 10-12 kilometers, barefoot.


This was a posed shot. In it, for fun, I am wearing a dhoka, a thick woolen garment worn by lots of locals who swear by its warmth.



An image, or murti, of the Kedarnath form of Shiva as worshipped and garlanded during the 11 day recitation of the Shiva-purana in Kedarnath.


The Madmaheshvar temple.


The approach to Madmaheshvar.



Budha (old) Madmaheshvar, up the hill and on top of the ridge from Madmaheshvar.




The valley up which one walks to get to Madmaheshvar.



Clouds, as seen from Budha Madmaheshvar.


More clouds, same place.



On the way to (or from) Vasuki Taal. I particularly like how many layers one can find in this image.


Clouds entering the Kedarnath valley.

Vasuki Taal.

The photographer just above Vasuki Taal.


Vasuki Taal, again.

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Waiting in Line to See God


In Kedarnath now the high season has ended, as the school holidays are over and the monsoon has begun. Locals slip away for a few days to see family, and now everyone is talking about all the exciting things that will happen in the month of Shravan (now it is Asharh), when lots of Garhwalis will come here and the Shiv Purana will be recited and locals will head up into the mountains above Kedarnath, having bathed and with bare feet, to bring back Brahma-kamal (Brahma-lotuses) that are one of the special things offerred to Shiva here in Kedarnath. It is said that VIshnu himself offerred Brahmakamal to Shiva here and, finding himself one flower short of the required number, completd the count by plucking out his own eye.

So now I'm looking back over the high season, feeling myself in the present of no longer being at the beginning of living in Kedarnath, thinking about how to proceed. Thus, I have the opportunity to write about something I've been meaning to write about for some time: the phenomenon of waiting in line at the Kedarnath temple. During high season, when 10,000 pilgrims a day are coming through, there was a great deal of tension surrounding the line, or queue. You see, the temple has two doors, a front door and a side door. Most yatris go in through the main door, and during high season would have to wait about 1-4 hours to get in. Some yatris, for reasons of money and/or prestige and/or connection, enter through the side door, from which everyone else exits. Enter the phenomenon of "gusna"-- or as we would say in American "butting [in line]". Many pilgrims, without even blinking, try to either butt in line or enter through the side door. Sometimes they give money to locals and are helped in their endeavor, and sometimes, either by invoking the privileges of age, gender, socio-economic status, simply forge ahead until someone stops them, at which point they either plead, get angry, claim a disability, or lie ("I was here before"). As a result, other pilgrims get extremely angry, the police have their hands full keeping control over the line and their own tempers, and various local factions (such as the organization of pilgrimage priests and the governmental body responsible for administarting the site) come into conflict about who has the right to grant entry through the side door. Knock down drag out shouting was common and there were even several instances of fisticuffs.

I had my own experience of all this. My father was having a cataract operation on the 30th of May so I decided that I would have a puja done the day before, feeling my distance from my own family at that time very keenly and thinking that it couldn't hurt and could only help. So I went and got in line at 5:30 (the temple doors open for general darshan at 6 am). By the time I got to the door, two and a half hours later, I was extremely annoyed, my temper frayed to the point of breaking by the numerous times I had had to verbally and sometimes physically prevent people from entering the line either directly in front of me or directly behind me. The worst was when a woman approached me and said, oh I've come back from putting my sandals and started to get in line directly behind me, and steadfastly stuck to her lie in the face of all I could muster, then succeeded in getting into line 5 spots behind me. The second worst was when local pilgrimage priests approached me twice and asked in low voices if I would let one of their clients come in front of me, to which I angrily refused. So as I entered the door to the temple I felt very troubled: in such a state, what is the use of doing a puja? This doubt continue, and grew, as I proceeded in line through the anteroom and up to the doorway of the inner sanctum, the garbagrha. Then, everything changed. At the same moment I saw both the Kedarnath linga and the priest who would do my puja-- my annoyance and anger were somehow transmuted into strong relief and for reasons I still cannot parse I started choked weeping (much as I tried to hold it back). Some of what I was feeling at that point, as I listened to the mantras said by the priest and clutched his knee as I fought for position in the crowded space, was a very strong memory and love and concern for my father, and the rest of what I was feeling I simply cannot name. I then left as quickly as I could, did parikrama (circumabulation) of the temple, and went back to my room without speaking to anyone and stayed there for several hours, sitting in the dark. Several days ago I told this story two a group of pilgrimage priests whom I was trying to interview (I say trying because it was really more them interviewing me). Their response was that I had experienced "sakshat darshan"-- actual, before the eyes vision of Shiva. I responded that for me this wasn't conclusive, that my experence didn't contain any information, emotional or cognitive, that denoted Shiva per se. They waved away my objects-- you had sakshat darshan, they said. That's all there is to say about it.

I've waited in the queue quite a few times by now, and observed many more, and I've formulated a theory about people's behaviour that I've told to others here and they seem to find it plausible. There are different moralities at work in the queue. According to one, in going before Shiva one's person and behaviour should be pure and one should suffer at least a little (i.e. by waiting in line in the cold). Access to the divine should be utterly democratic and not contaminated by privilege. According to the second view, darshan (seeing and touching Shiva in this case) is powerful and precious, and if getting that darshan means pushing in front of others in line, paying to jump the queue, lying, well then that's not even worth a second thought. I came to this conclusion after a great deal of observing, especially observing that the majority of those who had jumped the queue by one means or another, or who were trying to, did not seem to feel they were doing anything wrong at all.

So the second part of my theory, then, is that one can read the foundation story of Kedarnath, the story of the pursuit of Shiva by the Pandavas that I described in I think my first or second post, through the typology of the queue I've just set forth. In many versions of that story the Pandavas grab Shiva (who has assumed the shape of a buffalo as he slees from them, unwilling to give his darshan) by the hindlegs as he dives into the earth, and it is his back portion that has become the lingam here in Kedarnath. In some versions Bhima, angered by Shiva's behaviour, hits that back portion with a mace and then later, repenting, applies clarified butter (ghee) to the wound in an attempt to heal it. I ask people about this story, do you think the Pandava's behaviour was appropriate? Most reply yes, the Pandavas were trying to get darshan of Shiva and they did what they had to do. But some reply no, their behaviour was innapropriate-- one shouldn't try and get darshan by force, it is disrespectful. It is because the Pandavas chased Shiva and did not wait respectfully for the right time that they only received darshan of his backside.

----

In other news, the monsoons have arrived below and promise to arrive here soon, which presumably means even more indoor sitting, conversation having, chai drinking time. I have moved in to the second phase of my Kedarnath time, which involves spending more time with locals and not just trying to have conversations with pilgrims. Also, physically, I've been getting fitter (I think it has to be mostly as a result of metabolic change as a result of high altitude living, and maybe also a bit to do with exercise). I would say that right now I look like a fit person who is starting to get just a little chubby, as opposed to an overweight grad student who has a hard time finding pants in his size. I'm hoping the trend continues. In the same vein, I've gotten (re)acclimatized to the altitude, and now can go for little walks and day hikes around the area without losing my breath, a very good sign for months to come. I also continue to struggle with the discipline it takes to wake up here everyday and go about my business, especially now that internet availbility has reminded me of the breadth and vastness of the world again. On the one hand, local friends keep saying things like "just stay here-- we'll get you engaged at the next Krishnajanmashtmi Mela". On the other hand, I am reminded that I want to study more Hebrew, and learn a bit of Urdu, and am missing riding my bike and playing tennis, and am reminded that someday I'll have to try and find a job. I am reminded that I'm no spring chicken (though by many standards I of course AM, if not a spring chicken, then definitely an early summer chicken). At the very least, I'd really like to be in the same place as someone with whom I'd like to be in the same place as (how's that for good grammar?). But, on the other hand, this time continues to be very good for me in many ways-- purification of self on many levels. So part of me wants to just unplug the internet and just be here, part of me knows that then that will just make things difficult for me in a different way, and part of me realizes that I just need to continually, processually make my peace with the fact that I live and breath in multiple worlds, and just keep on keepin on. Today, I took a "vacation", which meant that I slept very late, blatanly read an english novel in a restaurant in the bazaar, and spent much of the day in a kind of half snoozing / half daydreaming state in which I sometimes can make choices within dreams and at the very least sustain a kind of running commentary on my own dream life as I move in and out of wakefullness. Today's adventures were fascinating -- unfortunately I don't remember enough of what happened to write down. :( What I do remember is in late afternoon coming into wakefullness by hearing singing, played over the temple loudspeaker. In this case it was Ram Katha (recitation of stories about Rama) by the noted kathavacak Morari Bapu, a mix of story, sermon / drasha, and song. The song had the gentle swaying of the bullock cart beat of many devotional songs from the plains, and the sound, unlike the too polished, overly sweet and clean sound of todays' commercial devotional songs, was scratchy and there was earth and bark and longing in the voice, the voice of someone who has a a wonderful voice but the voice itself is not beautiful so much as character-ful, and it is what is coming through the voice that is beautiful. I recall once in Jerusalem talking with a friend about another friend's singing voice: he remarked that during services his voice was poignant and melodic but the rest of the time he couldn't sing a lick. Something like that.

Well, that's the news from Lake Wobegone, or perhaps more aptly, from Gandhi Sarovar (a local glacial lake), or as they call it in Garhwali, Chorabari Taal.

Gandhi Sarovar / Chorabari Taal

The same lake.

From a little further up


This is where I live!

The view from outside my door / hall, now in green!

I know them from Jaipur and we met in Kedarnath!!!

My Kitchen.

Laundry Room.

Bed / Office

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

The Way That You See Determines What You Experience

The Way That You See Determines What You Experience

It has NOT been a quiet week in Lake Wobegone (oops, I mean Kedarnath). There was a helicopter accident that ignited good deal of local anger, specifically regarding the fact that people with money (who often come in helicopters) quite often both hop the queue for darshan inside the Kedarnath temple and also do not avail themselves of the services of the traditional pilgrimage priests. But, I’ve jumped to the end.

The doors to Kedarnath opened on April 30th. For most of March and April I had been going around to different places in the Kedar valley in order to meet people who would be in Kedarnath during the season. Specifically in April I went to a string of small festivals (“melas”) held in various towns throughout the Kedar valley leading up to Gaurikund, the trail head for Kedarnath. This means that for almost two months there was daily several hours of walking quite often (good for fitness, bad for joints and general restednes), and lots of my having to be charming and prove myself not to be an idiot but rather someone who should be supported and helped, many times a day for lots of days. It wore me out. Then, on April 27th, I and many others left Ukhimath with the procession to bring Kedarnath back to Kedarnath (there is a special murti used for the purpose of this procession). This walk took three days, with lots of stops, the last day being 14kms and over a mile of elevation coming into Kedarnath at approximately 11,500 feet. My pride wants me to go ahead and say 12,000, but I’m feeling restrained. I was there getting set up for about 6 days (with lots of coughing), then went back to Ukhimath for the departure procession of another form of Shiva, Madmaheshvar, and then was back up in Kedarnath again by the 10th of May, where I’ve been since.

Being here is hard. I share a room and bed with my friend and research assistant (with a really comfy mattress, thankfully), and we cook in the same room (I’m slowly and finally becoming a roti expert). The base temperature in Kedarnath is just above freezing and rainy, and sometimes from about 9 – 3 during the day it is gloriously sunny and everyone is just a little bit happier. It is also peak season because it is school holidays, and each day brings crowds in unprecedented numbers. Lines for darshan can be several hours, and the temple committee has had to re-adjust its timings so as not to turn people away without darshan. Police presence notwithstanding, at almost any given time during the day there is drama happening at some point in the queue as people try to butt in line using either money, seniority, physical infirmity, or sheer untruth as their persuasive tool of choice. Tempers run high, and it is not uncommon for one part of the line to be singing bhajans while another part of the line is almost coming to blows.

Y’all may or may not recall that my work is to try and understand people’s experience of Kedarnath as a place and of Shiva’s presence in this place, and at the same time pose the question of whether these two questions are really so separate. Because it is high season and all the locals are busy, I’m directing my efforts towards speaking with pilgrims, which is a little like being a door to door salesman for the first two minutes of the interaction, until (and if) bona fides are established and we start talking about “religion”. So this is again wearing, and I have to be very charming many times a day. On the plus side many times the interactions are quite special, and I am collecting addresses like mad. Some day I will make a Kedarnath-pilgrim trip all around India and I will be able to go for months without having to feed myself.

So I alternate between looking around and not really being able to believe my luck at being in such a place, and feeling tired and inefficient and cold and on stage too much and not really able to believe that I’m going to be living mostly here for the next six months (with well positioned breaks). It’s a bit mind boggling to me.

Also, in a second development, I’ve acquired a wireless internet card which means that even though my room is seven miles from the nearest bus I have internet. This means, among other things, that I’ve been able to take stock of how the rest of you are doing, and guess what? You are all getting on with your lives, getting into relationships and getting engaged, professionalizing, etc... It’s hard not to escape the feeling that I am living in an alternate universe, and growing and developing relationships in this alternate universe, and that when I come back I will be where I was when I left and everyone else will be forward. This is to some extent nonsense, Garhwal isn’t Mars, and I’ve got internet to prove it. And I AM learning and growing, etc... But nonetheless, the thought occurs.

Another thought occurs too: I’ve spent much of the last decade semi-steeped in traditional Judaisms and Hinduisms, which among many other things have this in common: where you are from deeply determines who you are, like should cleave to like, and life is to be gone through with a family. And my third community? The university, where where you are from isn’t necessarily who you are, and life is often faced without the comfort of a single (or even multiple) grand narrative stuck on the wall where you can keep track of it. The result is that even though, according to the best part of myself, I’m mostly doing fine and within striking distance of lots of kinds of actualization, that there are large parts of me that feel bad that I’m not, I don’t know, a sacred thread wearing rabbi, that I don’t have a wife and several children (either in Garhwal or Brooklyn, or maybe both), etc... Its all rather dizzying So Kedarnath is a poignant place from which to process all these things, a place where a bunch of famous, heroic, super powerful brothers only just managed to grab God by his backside as he was fleeing them, not wishing to give them his blessing. According to some stories they even hit him with a mace and then had to rub God with butter to make it better (you can read God as buffalo-form-wearing-Shiva if you’d rather—I’m using it for effect). By even the most mundane lights, I’m not living in a normal place.

So I guess what I’m saying is, welcome vicariously to Kedarnath. I’ll try and update regularly, especially with pictures. The best would be if you come to visit, but I know that’s mostly not possible. However, I will say for the record that the coming weeks and months will be, and are, good times for encouragement.

Jai Shri Kedar (Long live Kedarnath!)


p.s. I promise the next post will be more fun.

Friday, May 18, 2007

More New Images, Again

Yatris wait in line for darshan to the side and behind the temple.

The road to Kedarnath. The town and temple are hidden just beyond the
rise of the hill.

Just as above, but looking in the other direction.