After a rocky start to our last part of our Indian adventures we set off on the 3 hr local bus journey to Omkareshwar. I was more than ready but I sensed and knew that Laura was not. She was an absolute trooper. We still do not know what the problem was exactly, but despite the need to battle through the usual hecticness of Indore, rickshaws and carrying her overly weighted rucksack we made it to the station, and were directed in an amazingly, not Indian fashion (the guy came to correct himself on the correct bus number- unheard of!)
The bus went with ease, we were allocated a seat (also unheard of) and had a relatively comfortable ride. We had seen many pilgrims in Varanasi and all over India visiting various holy rivers and en route we saw many more. These guys wore orange T-shirts and barefooted carried a stick with two urns of water. The same guys seemed to be heading to and from Omkareshwar. "Bowl Bom!" they cry and echo to each other and other random passers by also repeat in earnest. Making our way to Omkareshwar it became aparrent that this is where these guys had been and had been walking back the 86km to Indore, in the sun, barefooted.
We rolled into Omkareshwar and the 'station', a dust bowl patch of land with nothing more than a few stalls selling "puja" (prayer) offerings. Instantly bombarded with people pushing to get on the bus. There are people EVERYWHERE and lots of them! We are unable to get off the bus because, as usual people want to get on the bus first. So I do my usual "right let's go!" barge for it and after a strong shove by a man twice the size of I, shout very loudly 3 inches from his face to let me off the bus. We squeezed through, collected our bags and began a trek down a road to somewhere called "Majaraja guesthouse", unsure exactly where it was or how far.
After 20 minutes walking we are flagging and losing enthusiasm. Another guesthouse beckoned, but after a quote of Rs 400 we declined, stood firm and headed towards the main square. These place is really "starey" and it is clear that most people have never seen a westerner before. It is really damn busy though and we wonder whether such a small place can hold so many people! What is going on!? To avoid lugging bags around in vain I leave Laura, perhaps foolishly in the middle of the main square to find the guesthouse. There is no space at the guesthouse as there are only 9 rooms, but a man, I assume is the helper catches me up when I walk off dejectedly and wondering how we are going to find anything else. The lady at the guesthouse tells me that we landed on the climax of the 30 day Shiva festival and that things will get quieter tomorrow and more so the day after and if we cannot find anywhere that we can come back and they will let us stay in their actual house with them. I return to find Laura surrounded with people looking at her gaumlessly to relay the news. Ignoring the crowds we focus on blocking everyone else out, the photos, the comments to each other and wide eyed stares. Eventually some kind of event organisers shoo everyone off continually until the throng dissipates, bar the stragglers.
We decide to wait for a bit and then return without trying to find anywhere else and take the guesthouse up on their offer. What a good move we realise later. The man who chased after me helped us set up our beds and we were sorted!
That night we make for an early night and just head out for chai before bed and things are a little crazy. People everywhere, flashing toys reminiscent of Disney World, drums beating, screams and loud, excited chatter from all around, enclosed in one square. A procession begins to come towards us from further up the road. Chanting and wild, epileptic dancing, flailing to a cacophony of different vibrations begin to arrive in the square. This is too much for Laura, so I head through the masses to try to buy some water for us before we retire. I get caught in the parade and give a little jig, which is instantly picked up by all around, the stares begin and people try to drag me into the core of the movable dancefloor. I resist being persuaded and physically dragged in by Sadhu's (holy man/monk) and pilgrims alike, secured water and pushed back through to find Laura. Back at the guesthouse I realise that we had been actively looking for a Hindu festival, but that we couldn't find any in the Lonely Planet or heard of any in fact. Inadvertently we had stumbled across one in miraculous fashion and I was going to go to bed! I can't and knew I would regret it. So leaving Laura I head back out to get right in the middle of the action. That I did. Like Holi (the festival of colour) coloured dust is thrown about as a blessing and a man carried shrine is taken from the top Ghats (bathing steps leading to the river) to the temple on Omkareshwar's island (the Island is in the "Aum" shape). I dance like a lunatic and everyone wants a piece of dancing with the foreigner, the drummers gather around me and play as hard as possible, so I am immersed in the loudest, most intense drum orchestra ever, literally from all angles, being covered in dust and flailing like the best of them. At points I am literally being pulled in different directions and my arm burns from overly tight grips, so after exhausting myself pull back and call it a (mad) night. A few guys follow me back and have clearly been smoking too much Bhang (marijuana plant all ground together), usual questions ensure as do a few cigerettes and more chai before finally bed.
It turned out to be 1am before retiring to bed, which made the next morning slightly more difficult, especially as we hadn't put the mosquito net up for 2 nights now due to Laura's fatigue and me getting immersed into the situation. I awoke with over 50 bites all over my body. So, so itchy! Either way I had picked up cream from the Indore chemist and so that was a welcome relief. That day Laura felt slightly better and we had a walk around the market stalls, then picked up a juice from a juice bar. We were going to walk down to the Ghats when the heat made her feel bad once more so I took her back and then headed out alone once more. Down at the river people playfully splashed around in the holy water, but again, I arrive and all eyes and conversation switches. I get in and have a swim, which initiates an impromptu swimming effort upstream from all the macho looking boys. Flapping against the water, like they are trying to hurt it their swimming is as poor as their tact. One man asks for the obligatory photo, which I decline and everyone laughs at (it gets really boring), then I have the same questions bombarded at me and everyone wants my attention, which I am trying to avoid. This time however people get really close and are splashing around me, 'swimming' that means kicking me inadvertently. The man repeats his request for a photo and asks why, then people direct splashing at me when I do not respond to their request. They follow me when I move. I feel a stone hit me in the shoulder, which shocked me as I have had the rest before, but that is a nasty gesture. I retort to the continued requests of the photo man that he is not my friend as he says and that is not possible when his friends are splashing me and throwing things at me. He replies that I don't understand Hindi.
"Throwing stones is an international language of abuse and hate, not friendship. It is shame that this country is so good and yet the men in it so bad. Why do you treat visitors in this way so that they feel like they don't want to be here. Why don't you tell these idiots that when I don't respond to their questions", went my tirade. I float off downstream to get away further, when more people see me and the same gawks ensue. Then a fairly old lady splashes me in the face with an evil look on her face. I splash her back with force and get out. "This is my trouble" I direct to the photo man, as I leave the river. He tries to get out in time and finally I can sense that he feels and sees the situation as a whole. It's too late, I'm well dressed and gone. It is a shame but I report to Laura that it was a mixed bag... the water and river was great, but the company less so.
That evening saw another extended session of puja and a broken conversation about where I can find my guru. Inside- I think was the answer. Rajinder appears to think I speak more Hindi than I do, due to my well placed Hindi words and familiar Hindi noises of 'yes' and 'no'. I feel slightly betraying of his trust, but cannot communicate the lack of my understanding either! Either way I feel that I am understanding enough to take something from the conversation and when "Babba" (an affectionate term that means father literally) talked he spoke with an incredible presence and wonder that meant more from how than what was said. Rajinder brought and organised food, put a plate together for Laura against my suggestion that she couldn't eat it. What a great place, just Rs 250 per night and chai and food is given to us for free!
The next day we decided to head out to walk around Omkareshwar, but Laura needed to eat before we walked around the island for 7km. We headed to the other guesthouse we almost stayed at, but before hand I sensed something was going to happen on the cliff. Babba was performing puja, but this time we were ushered to take part and throw offerings of incense onto the fire with the words "swaha" (I pray eternal words to the eternal God), after which Babba gave us both a blessing and a big bear hug. Some people just make you feel good and peaceful and this man does that better than no one else I know.
The guesthouse had a restaurant which was good and a change of scene. Immediately we were approached by a french lady, who was traveling alone. We could tell she hadn't seen Western faces for a while and missed it. We learned of her trip to 'horrible' Mahabaleshwar due to the fact that no one could speak English and that she was due to leave the next day in a grossly overpriced taxi to avoid a train she was booked on due to the station. For a lady on her own that is understandable, but she had visited Indian before and so we enquired why she returned. She didn't know, which we found strange, but a lovely person and we ended up eating and chatting all afternoon about various adventures, which is nice to do with other travelers every now and again. We could tell she was pleased to have the company and confided that she felt down the last few days and we could sense that we were charging her batteries, which was good to know.
That evening though the Mandir (temple) near Ganesh guesthouse we were sat at wailed pratana (a verse or prayer) with an irritating pace and fervor that was unrelaxing and a little psychotic. The restaurant did good food, but we then realised how much better we were off by standing firm and going on. I'd like to say we were driven to our guesthouse by intervention, even when space was unlikely and we were almost beaten by the situation. We took our new friend round to our guesthouse to see the view and from what Laura relayed that made her time in Omkareshwar and we were more than happy to know we had injected some good into someone else's experiences.
That evening we reflected on what had happened so far. Laura finally ate something of volume and solid and felt better that day and we were in our second to last night already! If only we had more time here, but we knew that was the wrong way to look at this situation... we had to do the walk tomorrow as it was now our last chance.
The next morning Rajinder, as he had been doing brought us chai and some snacks. We headed out to the island when we bumped into Rajinder. He was carrying wood and rattled off something quickly in Hindi to which I replied "tikque" and shook my head from side to side. He led us over the bridge towards the island and gestured up with the wood. We followed him and matched his quick pace. We were told to wait 5 minutes. None of this was in our plan, we wanted a quiet walk around the island without anyone, especially Rajinder who spoke to me in normal Hindi, expecting far more from my language skills that was remotely possible. This was getting wearing, as constantly double guessing and listening to someone speak who you do not understand is hard at times. Either way we waited and then followed him at his fast pace towards the Sangen (fork) in the river, stopping occasionally for a Sanskrit translation into Hindi- none of which we understood. He had clearly been here before as he said "hare om" and various forms of religious hello to many people who looked at him fondly in return with many welcoming gestures. We reached a chai spot where we were introduced to his friend, sorted a spot away from the onlookers and chilled out of the sun for a while. Across the path was a temple, our next stop apparently. We walked in a Laura and I walked around. Rajinder walked straight up to the priest in charge and then brought us to join them at the smoking floor. Rajinder seems to know everyone! It turns out that the Sadhu at our guesthouse knows this Sadhu and their temples are connected somehow.
We eventually realised that the heat of day is getting stronger and that we need to move now if we are to make it, much to Rajinder's some kind of protest. He motioned that he was going elsewhere so we left him and headed off alone. The day was baking, but despite this there were many "village people" (read people who stare at you as they haven't seen a westerner, giggle to each other and the men act all macho while speeding up and slowing down to ultimately circle you) following the same pilgrim path. We climb further up and there is no where to hide from the now 11:30am sun. We remember what it is like to be this hot again now.
Towards the top of the hill Rajinder bounds up to us with his usual contented smile and together we make it to the top of the hill to a bar that sells cold water and coke. How good is a cold coke when you are literally burning on the inside and out? Very. At this point Rajinder looks more unsettled and anxious to move, but we are taking it easy, out of convenience, ease and need. At the top of the island the old 12th Century Mandir was its usual
That day we stayed around the guesthouse, feeling zero compulsion to do anything bar take in the amazing scenery and feeling of the whole place. Every moment the air was filled with various chants and readings of the Vedas (Hindu scriptures) or Ramayana (story of Rama and Sita- come on GCSE Religious Education takers!) overlapping each other in harmony and volume throughout the day. We took in the colourful view of the orange pilgrims bathing and collecting the water from the river to take home with them while bathing in the river's holy water. The bridge on our other side saw various people throwing flowers, rice, water from their home town, coconuts and other offerings into the river, while boats chugged away in a far louder volume than necessary for such small boats. India, all consuming, all go and all the time.
That evening the guesthouse helper who we were introduced to as Rajinder sent up a Sadhu into room 1, who we had noticed the night before in passing sleeping outside. We learnt that he was blind and so the guesthouse helper did all he could to make his stay pleasant, set up his bed, guided him around and set him up outside that night for the evenings puja. This was all while dashing around ensuring we had something to sit on and that the sweeping had been done! My Hindi was coming along and that night the lady who was talking to us in broken English complimented my "excellent Hindi" and was surprised to know that I had been learning it for just 3 months. Ace! This supported a few previous comments from others and so I was chuffed. That night Laura retired early and I sat out on the cliff with the two men, trying to understand their deep spiritual conversations. I understood about 10%, through gestures, words, and intonation, but deeply wanted to be a greater part of the conversation. Either way I knew that this was the moment I had been looking for in Sikkim and felt blessed this situation was given to me against all the odds. That night I sat for 6 hours next to a small camp fire, watched puja being performed with the blast from a conch shell horn and myrrh incense thrown onto the fire. I was even offered a pipe of Bhang from the Sadhu, which couldn't be refused given the circumstances.
It turned out to be 1am before retiring to bed, which made the next morning slightly more difficult, especially as we hadn't put the mosquito net up for 2 nights now due to Laura's fatigue and me getting immersed into the situation. I awoke with over 50 bites all over my body. So, so itchy! Either way I had picked up cream from the Indore chemist and so that was a welcome relief. That day Laura felt slightly better and we had a walk around the market stalls, then picked up a juice from a juice bar. We were going to walk down to the Ghats when the heat made her feel bad once more so I took her back and then headed out alone once more. Down at the river people playfully splashed around in the holy water, but again, I arrive and all eyes and conversation switches. I get in and have a swim, which initiates an impromptu swimming effort upstream from all the macho looking boys. Flapping against the water, like they are trying to hurt it their swimming is as poor as their tact. One man asks for the obligatory photo, which I decline and everyone laughs at (it gets really boring), then I have the same questions bombarded at me and everyone wants my attention, which I am trying to avoid. This time however people get really close and are splashing around me, 'swimming' that means kicking me inadvertently. The man repeats his request for a photo and asks why, then people direct splashing at me when I do not respond to their request. They follow me when I move. I feel a stone hit me in the shoulder, which shocked me as I have had the rest before, but that is a nasty gesture. I retort to the continued requests of the photo man that he is not my friend as he says and that is not possible when his friends are splashing me and throwing things at me. He replies that I don't understand Hindi.
"Throwing stones is an international language of abuse and hate, not friendship. It is shame that this country is so good and yet the men in it so bad. Why do you treat visitors in this way so that they feel like they don't want to be here. Why don't you tell these idiots that when I don't respond to their questions", went my tirade. I float off downstream to get away further, when more people see me and the same gawks ensue. Then a fairly old lady splashes me in the face with an evil look on her face. I splash her back with force and get out. "This is my trouble" I direct to the photo man, as I leave the river. He tries to get out in time and finally I can sense that he feels and sees the situation as a whole. It's too late, I'm well dressed and gone. It is a shame but I report to Laura that it was a mixed bag... the water and river was great, but the company less so.
That evening saw another extended session of puja and a broken conversation about where I can find my guru. Inside- I think was the answer. Rajinder appears to think I speak more Hindi than I do, due to my well placed Hindi words and familiar Hindi noises of 'yes' and 'no'. I feel slightly betraying of his trust, but cannot communicate the lack of my understanding either! Either way I feel that I am understanding enough to take something from the conversation and when "Babba" (an affectionate term that means father literally) talked he spoke with an incredible presence and wonder that meant more from how than what was said. Rajinder brought and organised food, put a plate together for Laura against my suggestion that she couldn't eat it. What a great place, just Rs 250 per night and chai and food is given to us for free!
The next day we decided to head out to walk around Omkareshwar, but Laura needed to eat before we walked around the island for 7km. We headed to the other guesthouse we almost stayed at, but before hand I sensed something was going to happen on the cliff. Babba was performing puja, but this time we were ushered to take part and throw offerings of incense onto the fire with the words "swaha" (I pray eternal words to the eternal God), after which Babba gave us both a blessing and a big bear hug. Some people just make you feel good and peaceful and this man does that better than no one else I know.
The guesthouse had a restaurant which was good and a change of scene. Immediately we were approached by a french lady, who was traveling alone. We could tell she hadn't seen Western faces for a while and missed it. We learned of her trip to 'horrible' Mahabaleshwar due to the fact that no one could speak English and that she was due to leave the next day in a grossly overpriced taxi to avoid a train she was booked on due to the station. For a lady on her own that is understandable, but she had visited Indian before and so we enquired why she returned. She didn't know, which we found strange, but a lovely person and we ended up eating and chatting all afternoon about various adventures, which is nice to do with other travelers every now and again. We could tell she was pleased to have the company and confided that she felt down the last few days and we could sense that we were charging her batteries, which was good to know.
That evening though the Mandir (temple) near Ganesh guesthouse we were sat at wailed pratana (a verse or prayer) with an irritating pace and fervor that was unrelaxing and a little psychotic. The restaurant did good food, but we then realised how much better we were off by standing firm and going on. I'd like to say we were driven to our guesthouse by intervention, even when space was unlikely and we were almost beaten by the situation. We took our new friend round to our guesthouse to see the view and from what Laura relayed that made her time in Omkareshwar and we were more than happy to know we had injected some good into someone else's experiences.
That evening we reflected on what had happened so far. Laura finally ate something of volume and solid and felt better that day and we were in our second to last night already! If only we had more time here, but we knew that was the wrong way to look at this situation... we had to do the walk tomorrow as it was now our last chance.
The next morning Rajinder, as he had been doing brought us chai and some snacks. We headed out to the island when we bumped into Rajinder. He was carrying wood and rattled off something quickly in Hindi to which I replied "tikque" and shook my head from side to side. He led us over the bridge towards the island and gestured up with the wood. We followed him and matched his quick pace. We were told to wait 5 minutes. None of this was in our plan, we wanted a quiet walk around the island without anyone, especially Rajinder who spoke to me in normal Hindi, expecting far more from my language skills that was remotely possible. This was getting wearing, as constantly double guessing and listening to someone speak who you do not understand is hard at times. Either way we waited and then followed him at his fast pace towards the Sangen (fork) in the river, stopping occasionally for a Sanskrit translation into Hindi- none of which we understood. He had clearly been here before as he said "hare om" and various forms of religious hello to many people who looked at him fondly in return with many welcoming gestures. We reached a chai spot where we were introduced to his friend, sorted a spot away from the onlookers and chilled out of the sun for a while. Across the path was a temple, our next stop apparently. We walked in a Laura and I walked around. Rajinder walked straight up to the priest in charge and then brought us to join them at the smoking floor. Rajinder seems to know everyone! It turns out that the Sadhu at our guesthouse knows this Sadhu and their temples are connected somehow.
We eventually realised that the heat of day is getting stronger and that we need to move now if we are to make it, much to Rajinder's some kind of protest. He motioned that he was going elsewhere so we left him and headed off alone. The day was baking, but despite this there were many "village people" (read people who stare at you as they haven't seen a westerner, giggle to each other and the men act all macho while speeding up and slowing down to ultimately circle you) following the same pilgrim path. We climb further up and there is no where to hide from the now 11:30am sun. We remember what it is like to be this hot again now.
Towards the top of the hill Rajinder bounds up to us with his usual contented smile and together we make it to the top of the hill to a bar that sells cold water and coke. How good is a cold coke when you are literally burning on the inside and out? Very. At this point Rajinder looks more unsettled and anxious to move, but we are taking it easy, out of convenience, ease and need. At the top of the island the old 12th Century Mandir was its usual
