Mendicant

I have a confession to make. I threw, nay dumped, the styrofoam plate that I had prasadam from last night on the temple grounds. No dustbin, no waste disposal. I contributed to land pollution. But I had no choice. And this is why.

I started the weekend with elaborate plans, but no expectations. We (Shubham and I) had planned to meet up with another friend, Ann, who was travelling down from Ramnagar to meet us, at Almora, and travel to a traditional Kumaoni ceremony called "Jaagar" that night. After getting to Almora, which is much closer to us than it is for her, and locating the place where she'd be alighting at after roaming the bazaar for nearly 1.5 hours, we finally met up post-noon. A quick lunch and a ₹200 fine for pulling my mask down during a phone call later, we headed to the most serene temple I've been to in the recent past - the Kasar Devi.

In my altered state, I hiked up the hill atop which the temple rests, not expecting anything at all but enjoying the walk up one step at a time. A little background - we had initially planned to go to Chitai Mandir, and changed plans after getting into the taxi after finding out that the Kasar Devi was closer and third hand information that the view from the Kasar Devi temple was absolutely gorgeous (it was). After getting to the temple entrance, I was greeted by this board:

With Hoffmann on my mind, and the sharp cold evening air stinging the insides of my nostrils, I took my shoes off and walked past the board to be met by another flight of stairs. Thinking about the significance of having to work my way up to experience this place, and the symbolic presence of the temple atop the hill, I finally reached the temple. It was no doubt impressive - the cold stone flooring against my sore feet waking me from my reverie to look up and see the impressive rock structure supporting the temple, with the dull sound of bhajans playing over a megaphone punctuating the serene atmosphere.

After sitting by the temple entrance for a while, taking in the cold breeze and the bucolic view, we trekked further up another flight of stairs to the Shiva temple that was right atop this hill. Only after getting there did I realise why Swami Vivekananda wanted to meditate here. I wasted no time in readjusting my shawl and sat down by 2 trees that were adjacent to each other, with my back against the cold stone walls of the temple's outer wall to close my eyes and meditate.

The stairs leading up to the Shiva temple (Taken from tripadvisor.com)

I was acutely aware of the fact that I didn't know what I was doing there. What even am I supposed to be doing while I meditate? Watch my breath? Listen to the sounds around me? Listen to what was happening inside me? With these thoughts coursing through my mind, I realised that I needed a teacher (and silently cursed the circumstances surrounding the pandemic of having deprived me of the opportunity to maybe find one in March this year). 

After watching the sunset from atop the hill, we climbed down and readily made our way to Chopra. As the car neared the village, the sound of drums filled the air even before the temple was in sight. After we got off and paid the driver by the dull red of his tail-lights, I stopped a few metres from the temple entrance to really take in the beauty of the upcoming night. It was pitch black save for the the pinprick presence of stars and the glow of lights from the temple itself.

Under the half moon night, sitting at a Kumaoni religious ceremony that felt like it needed to be recorded, more so because we were not allowed to, we sat there with complete darkness surrounding the temple premises, and a large fire with enough wood in it to last the night burning in the middle of the courtyard. There was some activity inside the sannathi, and a flurry of pandits walking in and out, presumably making preparations for the Jaagar.

A group of village elders sat by the outer wall of the temple, smoking and chatting, dank smoke wafting my way from their side. The temple clearing itself was filled with people with men on one side and women on the other, chatting amongst themselves or engrossed in their phones. The children were seated on a crude stone bench right in front of the fire, facing the sannathi. I went and took my place right at the back of the gathering, seating myself on the cold stone parapet wall and wishing I spoke Kumaoni so I could maybe sit with some of the villagers. Soon enough 9 pandits walked out of the inner room, ringing bells and chanting, and an old man got up from the crowd and started encircling the fire, seemingly in a trance. I noticed him muttering under his breath, but could not catch any words.

As he circled the fire, the tempo of the drumming picked up, and 2 more men got up with loud screams and joined him around the fire. They danced around the fire, sometimes screaming, sometimes prostrating themselves before the Devi kept by the fire, sometimes blessing the pandits, men, women and children seated there. They would touch the burning logs with their bare hands, hop, skip and jog around the fire, always keeping up with the beat of the drums. Suddenly the oldest of the men stopped dancing and there was silence. He faced the villagers and pronounced his prediction(?) for the gathering.

And then there was another loud scream, not from any of the dancers though. One of the villagers had got ten up and was attacking the old seer. He grabbed him by the collar and screamed into his face, violently shaking him. As if on cue, all the men seated on one side of the temple were up, grabbing the assailant and pulling him away. It all happened so fast. The man was dragged out of the temple and given a few kicks. I heard someone say, "fenk de usko baahar" and surely enough, he was summarily thrown out of the temple.

As the men made their way back to their side of the temple and took their seats, the drumming resumed, and so did the dancing. I had to gather from the people accompanying me and some others that the assailant was either: a) displeased with the prediction that the seer pronounced, presumably thinking it to be aimed at embarrassing him or b) mentally disturbed. Either way, there were no further disruptions to the proceedings until the dancers finally sat down, the drummers left and the pandits started packing up the Devi idol.

The villagers got up and assembled on the periphery of the temple with their styrofoam plates for prasadam while I was left there with my thoughts. The ceremony itself lasted only about 3h, but the entire village was present there - young and old, men and women. It allowed the people to interact with God, instead of silently praying in their homes or individually in temples. It felt like a conversation, a dialogue almost. The Devi would enter the bodies of those who had fasted in her name for days and communicate with the villagers through them. And everyone held respect for the person through whom God spoke to them (at least while the Devi was in them).

The temple complex, as seen from the village the following morning

As the Jaagar ended, and the men and boys were having their dinner, a girl came up to us and said to Shubham, "Aren't you the guy who stole my spot at sunset point?" (in Hindi of course!) Turns out she was the daughter of the landlady in whose house our friend stayed - the one who had even suggested that we go to Chopra to witness Jaagar. Her mother had also recognised me apparently, because of my bald, shiny head! Fast forward to 1 hour later, where we are walking in the dark, towards their village because they had very kindly offered to let us sleep in their home that night (We had nowhere else to go anyway). They were immensely gracious hosts and I was wholly overwhelmed by how they had offered to let us sleep there, without us even asking around. No-one there knew that we were homeless for the night!

Our hosts for the night, in front of their house

On my way back home the next morning, the only thing stuck in my head was, "You were a mendicant yesterday". Each new day here is giving me more insights into myself. I did make some new acquaintances because of my mendicancy though, and that's something I'm thankful for today - the chance to meet more people who are kind and who go out of their way to help an idiot like me.