Khajuraho and the Day from Hell

Wednesday, November 19 We woke up to a rare November sight - rain. It had been in the air the night before but everyone was quite amazed at this inappropriate weather. Armed with rain-gear, umbrellas and our wireless sets Mama-Ji led us through an amazing sight - the equivalent of the Kama Sutra in sculpture. It's always good to get one's day off to a sexy start. Khajuraho is another UNESCO World Heritage site made up of a series of temples built during the Chandela dynasty which was at its height from 950 to 1050 A.D. On the temples are sculptures depicting all manner of gymnastic and creative (if somewhat dangerous) erotic positions. Men with women, men with men, men with animals, men masturbating, numerous men with one woman being held in a most uncomfortable position, you name it, they'd thought of it. To think of the very severe restrictions which now exist in India, where any public display of physical contact between men and women is frowned on, and where women are hidden behind saris and veils or burkhas and where arranged marriage is the norm, is to understand what the impact of Muslims, British and time can do to change society's concept of sex. Somehow after the tour most couples in our group probably wanted to do nothing more than to return to the hotel and try their skills at these creative positions. But that was not to be. We were off to the airport for a short trip to Varanasi. Or so we thought. Having gone through the most thorough security I've seen at any airport we sat in the small Khajuraho airport awaiting our plane. And we waited...and we waited...and we waited. Luckily we had seats in the very small waiting area, but subsequent tour groups which arrived were left to mill around and as time passed and the small vending stand was swamped the mood grew restless and just a wee bit edgy. After five hours it was finally announced that no planes would be arriving today or probably tomorrow - fog was the stated reason. At this point it was 6:00 p.m. and we were expected to be in Varanasi that night. Prakash and Lisa went into overdrive and before too long all luggage was retrieved from the airport and we boarded the very same bus we had left earlier and were promised a ten-twelve hour bus ride over pot-holed roads with rain and the usual dare devil bus and truck drivers. This was when we came to appreciate our merry group of travelers. We laughed, we joked, we groaned but we all understood this was the only alternative. To salve our souls while awaiting the various license permissions which would allow our bus to traverse the roads from Khajuraho to Varanasi we went to a near-by hotel where drinks were poured for everyone and box lunches were created. We boarded at 7:00 p.m. and every three hours we stopped at some roadside rest stop which gave us all an opportunity to see the 'real India'. For the women a hole in the ground with places for one's feet, for the men not much better. Thank god for Eau de Purrel with which we slathered ourselves after each such stop...and thank god for our sense of humor. Our box lunch, as imagined by India standards, consisted of a bread-on-bread sandwich with a minuscule 1 cm. slice of cheese; a boiled potato; an apple which was off-limits for reasons of health and a few other items I've buried in my memory. Ten hours later having gone over pot-holes so deep that we literally were levitated out of our seats, passing every known vehicle in the rain and with three changes of drivers to assure that they remained alert, we arrived bedraggled but alive at 5:00 a.m. The Taj Ganges Hotel looked like heaven on earth and Lisa allowed as we deserved a bit of sleep. She gave us until noon to rest, shower and gather our wits about us. This was the true Indian experience as none of us had planned it. But we'll all remember our ride through the countryside probably longer than we'll remember the names of the Mughal emperors. It was this event that told us we were in good hands with Lisa and Prakash since for them this must have been a minor nightmare. We all sat like good little children while our two 'parents' figured out the logistics for our night from hell. We appreciated them all the more and understood what they had done to make our trip as smooth as possible. Thursday, November 20th As usual, Lisa and Prakash had re-jiggled the schedule such that all promised events would occur, but not necessarily in the same order. Our first tour of the day was to Sarnath, the Buddhist pilgrimage site. This is one of the four important places in the life of Buddha. Sarnath means "deer park" and it is here that Buddha first taught the Dharma - his first important discourse. We went first to the temple built in the 1930's where wall paintings told the story of Buddha's rise from mere mortal prince, to prophet, to death. There were a group of Buddhists from Asia, the men dressed in saffron robes, who were being led in prayer which gave the whole place a holy atmosphere. We then walked around the grounds where there was an enormous bell given by Richard Gere, and where there are various memorials given by Buddhists from around the world. What is amazing is that it began here in India in the 3rd century a.d., and yet it is an almost non-existent practice here having taken hold more strongly in Asia. At the end of the 12th century, Sarnath was sacked by Turkish Muslims. The site was subsequently plundered for building materials and has remained in ruins until the present day. The site was entirely deserted until 1836, when the British began excavations and restoration... and that is what we would see. We explored the excavations, which reminded me of seeing ruins in Greece. A few walls, the outlines of structures, but a rich imagination required to think of this as a busy, thriving series of temples. At the site were various Buddhist groups, one group wrapping a huge yard-wide golden ribbon around the large Dharmekh stupa, others being led to various sites where they were leaving gold-leaf mementos on the ruined walls of important buildings. We went through the museum associated with the site which was one of the nicest museums I had seen in India. One of the important items which was located in the main entry hall is the Ashoka Lion capital made of polished sandstone - it is a four-headed lion which sat upon a large pillar and which has now become the emblem of India. There were some famous statues of Buddha and many small sculptures of animals which reminded me of Greek animal sculpture of the same period. It is as if people of a fixed period represent a dog the same way, no matter which continent they are from - or rather at a certain level of civilized culture, a sculpture is represented in a similar fashion. Filled with knowledge we returned to the hotel for a rest before our final evening together where our farewell dinner and our journey to its location promised to be the highlight of our trip. We were warned that our dining place would be on the Ganges and that mosquitoes would be rampant, so while we might have truly dressed for the occasion, we rather bathed ourselves in insect repellent, covered all known parts of our bodies and met in the lobby for our next adventure. There we were greeted by a series of bicycle rick-shaws where we were loaded two to a rickshaw for our ride through Veranasi to the ghats. What a hoot! You had to learn not to try and look at the traffic or you would have seen death approaching at every round-about or intersection. Between the trucks, cars, tuck-tuck taxis, rickshaws, goats, cows and pedestrians it was a r0lling nightmare on wheels. No matter which way one turned there was another surreal sight: a cow which had taken up permanent residence inside a fabric store to such a degree that the store now advertised its presence on a huge banner outside the store-front; men squatting by a tea shop chewing on paan (betel leaves) and spitting professionally into the street; a groom riding on his white horse to ride to his wedding and his waiting bride; and people - thousands of them. Afterall, this is THE pilgrimage site for a Hindu. It is where one goes to have ones ashes spread upon the Ganges, and if one is lucky where one hopes to be cremated as well. All manner of pilgrims were walking towards the ghats, stopping to pick up marigold wreathes, votive candles or any manner of offering to give in hopes of a better life. Along the waterfront are a series of ghats - each built by a maharajah for himself and his people so that they could come and bathe in the Ganges. The whole place looked not a lot different from the photographs taken by Daddy - only a few more neon signs to light the way, but otherwise it could be 1928. The same wooden boats are at the base of the ghats for the tourists and pilgrims to ride out upon the Ganges to place ones votive offerings, and ones ashes. For us tourists riding in the boat was a chance to look back at the shoreline of Varanasi and to appreciate the hoards of people. Hindus believe that bathing in Ganga remits sins and that dying here ensures release of a person's soul from the cycle of its transmigrations. Whereas I had believed that re-incarnation was to be wished for, it is in fact the opposite. One hopes that one is NOT re-incarnated since the next life may not be as good as the one you're leaving. It was just plain amazing and other worldly. The darkness, the neon lights, the noise, the prayers, the people, the swarms, the hawkers and the animals.... I have never seen anything like it ever! Our little wooden boat with its half-horsepower engine putt-putted its way past the cremation sites (one at either end of the whole line of ghats), we went under a floating pontoon bridge (with a good deal of comic chaos by our less than expert navigators), and suddenly we were at the base of one of the most elegant palaces in which one of the last Maharaja still lives. It is his private home and for the first time he had opened it up for us to have dinner on his open patio high above the river. The food had been brought in by the Taj Hotel where we were staying, and all we had to do was climb out of our boat, past the muddy shore and up the steepest set of stairs I have ever seen. One false step and one would find oneself tumbling back IN the Ganges which would have definitely not been a good experience. Once one entered through heavy wooden doors, there were still inner stairs to climb to get to the main level of the palace, and every few steps there was a welcoming swastika designed in marigolds. It has taken me a while to get over this symbol of India. For me it represents all that was horrid and evil, but in India at festivals and other happy occasions a swastika design is drawn to represent good luck and fertility. Even the camels of Pushkar had them happily tattooed on their rumps...but it does take me a minute to adjust to this other usage of a hated emblem. We had a wonderful buffet dinner in this magical place where many movies have been made. After dinner each person was asked to stand up and tell the one thing they would remember about this trip. Each person had taken in a different aspect of the trip. For those of a religious persuasion, the deep religious nature of the people had made a strong impression; for some it was the role of the hard-working women who toiled so endlessly and for whom in many cases life was difficult and arduous; for others it was the incredible strength of the family which is in evidence everywhere and which seems so much a part of an Indian's perception of self; and for all of us it was the wonderful guidance of Lisa, Prakash and Doranne who had made this adventure a singular and amazing experience. Each of us had a different experience, but no one left untouched by this amazing place. And thus our trip was ending. We carefully walked back down all the stairs to our boat, putt-putted our way back under the pontoon bridge and to the shore near one of the ghats where we then walked through the sleepy back streets of Varanasi, past sleeping cows and sleeping lumps of bodies before we arrived at our bus which took us back to our hotel for a good night's sleep.