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.

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

Snow and Land in Kedarnath 2

Snow and Land in Kedarnath

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 30^th. 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 27^th, 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 10^th 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.

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.

More New Images

The dholi goes to circumambulate the Kedarnath mandir.

This isn't the view from my window because I've covered the windows with
black plastic to keep heat in. But this is the view from the stairs that go to my room.

Kedarnath from slightly above.

Kedarnath coffee house: Bhupendra, me, a yatri from Tamil Nadu
Harsh the Photographer, the coffee house "barista"

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