Rishikesh
Time to bid adieu to Badri Vishal. We started off to Rudraprayag at 7.30 am. The place is
famous for Rudraksha trees. Rudraksha beads are available ranging
from Rs.150 to Rs.41 lakhs. The costliest one is having 21 faces (I don’t know
what exactly it means). Former Srilankan President Mahinda
Rajapakshe desperately wanted to buy one prior to the last general election
and he got it finally from T’puram for Rs. 40 lakhs. The Rudraksha is the harbinger of peace and fortune and the seller informed
me that ekmukhi (single faced rudraksha) is often sourced from Kerala.
Each one costs Rs.2500/-. We had purchased original 108 beaded rudraksha-mala for bargain-less price at
Rs. 400/- each. Now, friends and relatives had reason enough to be happy.
We had a brief stop-over at Joshimatt. Adi Shankaracharya had set up one of his five mutts there. The
mutts were intended to be Centers of Excellence, each in its own right where brahmacharis (young students) were
always learning and disseminating sacred texts. Sadly enough, present day Mutt is almost
defunct with no intellectual activity going on. A few brahmacharis were loitering around who pounced on us literally to sponsor
poojas. We were asked to squat on the
floor, in front of a small shiv-ling in a half-circle. The senior Brahmachari recited various ashtakams and we repeated it utterly
wrong. The young sanyasis-in-the -making were least bothered. A couple of poojas in quick succession and we
decided to wind it up unilaterally. Taking the long and winding road downhill,
we inquired about the Paramacharya (The
Head). We were told that he was on his way to participate the Kumbh (a major religious festival)
leaving the controls with the apprentices.
We were moving towards Rishikesh. There was the felt need of
a night-shelter. Rajan took us again to a shady place which was going to charge
us exorbitantly. We refused point-blank. As a result, we had to hit the road, deserted
after dinner-time. Darkness, thick as a blanket, was spread all over. Suddenly it
started raining, heavily. We felt as if
we were traveling in a space-shuttle. No-one spoke. We were to press the
panic button but Rajan cared a damn.
Another fifteen
kilo-meters and we started seeing the lights of Rishikesh through the rain. It
was an immense relief. Like a ship-wrecked crew seeing the not-so-distant
shores suddenly by the sight of air-borne birds.
Finally at Rishikesh, the westernized town and we checked into a
decent hotel. The next morning we were going to take bath in Ganga in its
lonely splendor! Eighteen kilometers away, she spread herself on the vast
plains, one of the safest locations for bath! Colorful stones were spread all over the place and you could collect them to
distribute among your folks.
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| Rishikesh - putting you at ease |
I took a whole-hearted bath while sun was rising. The water
was not just flowing outside my body. It was flowing through me. Obviously the
most refreshing bath I had ever taken.
By the bank, Swami Harichandra
Purushottamji had built his ashram and that was the reason why the whole
river was deserted. It was a private Ganga flowing! We visited Swamiji. He was a Malayalee, from Omallur and had set up the ashram sixty years
back. He owned a school, a hospital and other gadgets for social-service, managed by
a trust. The Guest House that he built way up, boasted of inmates like Dr.A.P.J.
Abdul Kalam and a private road connected it with the Ashram . Honestly, rooms with a (holy) view! When the devastating floods caught them unawares,
Swami and his men ran up to safety. The Ashram was almost submerged
in no time with water and sand.
Swami had an accident in Feb. 2015 at the Ashram premises
and he broke his leg. Seven months later, he was still bedridden when we met. In spite of that, he was all fun and
innocence.
I have all those
jokers except Diabetes, he declares.
He gave us roasted cashew nuts to eat. Before finishing with it, Swami’s Manager Misraji from Lucknow butt in to announce
the arrival of a well-heeled Malayali family from Bangalore. We were edged out.
Undeterred, we proceeded to visit Vasishta Gufa. The place was amazingly serene with oil lamps
trying hard to keep the darkness at bay. The silence itself was communicating! The ambiance, so relaxed! We felt as if everything around us was a single entity impregnated with life. There
was a tiny Shiv Ling at the far-end on a rock platform. Somebody had just
left doing Pooja.
Diyas, fresh flowers,
incense and an undulating energy field.
We really felt like meditating. Yes, we did.
The high-point of my Himalayan sojourn was the gufa experience, I must say.
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| Laxman Jhoola |
We went back to Rishikesh and strolled around the town till
evening. Only Laxman Jhoola impressed
me. It saddened me too. The British
engineers were given full credit for the 240 ft span, jeep-able second
suspension bridge over Ganga. Even the Supervisor’s name was mentioned in the
plaque. The kind-hearted King who built the original bridge of 284 feet span, Rai Bahadur Surajmal Jhunjhunwala who
ruled circa 1920 was not found worth-mentioning. The bridge was a gift to his
subjects. Unfortunately, the bridge got washed away by the great flood of
October 1924 which undermined the left abutment. A new bridge was sponsored by
the King’s son Rai Bahadur Shewpershad
Tulshan and was built by the British engineers during 1927-29.
The cost of rebuilding this new bridge as nearly as possible
on the site of the old bridge had been contributed by Rai Bahadur Junior to
perpetuate the memory of his father and no toll or tax was ever imposed.
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| Ganga-Arati at Rishikesh |
It was time for the Ganga Arati. One and a half hour long
Arati started at 6.30 pm. We reached the place at 6.00 pm itself and found the river-side
steps almost full. People of all ages, all origins were floating paper-boats with
lighted diyas, incense-sticks and
flowers on the River. With utmost care and patience. It was touching to see the
aged couples helping each other to light the diyas, gently taking it to Gangama and releasing them. Lovers too launching their dream-boats together.
Some of the boats got overturned in the no-so-gentle current.
Suddenly the music started. Different young sanyasi groups,
probably brahmacharis were singing
excellent bhajans at the mandap (permanent stage), one after another.
Somebody had lighted the havan
(sacred bonfire) in front of the singers and people bursting out into
dancing! Everything had an order. My son held me tight
to prevent his father from joining!
Toward the end, everybody stood up and recited the mangal-arati together. Camphor was
ignited.
My mind was full as a cloudless sky. Or was it empty, soonya?
I didn’t know.
Perhaps both were the same.
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Photo credits: R.Jayakumar