March 31, 2009 Delhi

After a sweet farewell with the family with whom we were staying in Kolkata, we took the overnight train to Varanasi ( Benares ). The train stations are overwhelming. People spread out on blankets sleeping on the floors, dogs walk about. It always seems confusing and teeming with sound, sights, and life. Such a contrast with what the only Unitarian woman minister in the Khasi Hills told us was difficult about her trip to Boston . She stayed in the guest house of the UUA headquarters. She said the building was empty, so quiet and lonely.

At Varanasi we walked along the Ganges River , watching the dhobi wallahs wash laundry, beating the clothes on rock washboards. Every day of the week, every week, year after year after year, people pray, bathe, wash clothes, and play in the water. Water buffalo relax in the river. Women shape cow dung into bricks that dry in the sun on the river banks. At one of the burning ghats, we witnessed seven cremations and the ritual process that follows when the priest with his back to the river throws a last clay pot of water over his shoulder on to the fire – pot and all – and walks away. We sat and watched the flow of life as ashes blew on us like snowflakes. We watched as a youth of about 12 – 14 years old did the clean up work as goats ate up the marigold garlands and dogs sniffed through the ashes. The place felt peaceful and commonplace. The rituals did not seem intentional and precise, but more like everyday work. The human body –small and wrapped – burned to ashes and dispersed by the end of the day.

Everything in India feels to us like the Ganges River – activity without ceasing. A tender sight was an old man who came up to a cow who had chosen to sit by the river next to a shrine to Shiva. He touched the cow so tenderly with such devotion and love. He stroked the horns and then touched his own forehead. He petted the ears and touched his head. He stroked the face, the back and as he moved to leave, the cow stretched out a front leg as if to ask for more.

We watched the evening fire rituals along the water, prayers like dances with bells ringing and people chanting. In the morning we rowed out in a little boat as the sun rose. Again the pray-ers, the bathers, as well as people practicing laughter yoga and hatha yoga. We wandered the alleyways around the town, losing our way in narrow passageways. As we walked, people offered help and we twisted and turned around corners and walkways. When all seemed lost, we came out right where we needed to be.

After Varanasi , six of us traveled in a minivan around to remote Buddhist sites in the towns: Bodhgaya, Rajgir, Nalanda, Patna , Vaishali, Kushinagar (Kasia), Lumbini, Kapilvastu, Sravasti. We visited the sites thought to be where the Buddha was born, where his father ruled, the place he sat under the Bodhi tree, preached his first sermon, where he taught, where he converted a robber, spent 24 rainy seasons, where he announced he would soon die, where he died, and where he may have been cremated. We saw sites and ruins of once great monasteries and universities where Buddhist communities and sanghas grew.

Sitting under the Bodhi tree brought back memories of so many beloved trees. Circumambulating shrines and touching bare feet to warm earth felt good. It was a privilege to witness pilgrims and monks from Buddhist communities in Asia practice their devotions, hear their chants, walk and sit with them. At one temple, we took the beginner’s meditation in zasen zen.

Hindus view Buddha as the 9th incarnation of Vishnu. It’s been powerful to witness devotions and all the lives influenced by the Buddha’s teachings and to feel the impact on us as we experience the places where he was born, enlightened, taught, and died.
It was challenging to travel in a minivan and see similar size local vehicles and even smaller packed with two to three times as many passengers with more on the rooftops and holding on to the back rails. We constantly confront our privilege and struggle with how to deal with people trying to offer a flower, beads, blessings, postcards for money, how to tip with people continually offering little services, and how to be with people asking for money. There have been many friendly, fun times, talking with children and adults. Some people asked to be photographed with us.

The roads are extremely rough and rugged and traveling took much longer than the kilometers would have had us think. We had flat tires, engine trouble, saw overturned huge trucks, heard explosive tire blow outs, and witnessed too many near misses. The drivers here are skillful and find a way to weave in and out of impossible situations.

The drive between Buddhist sites is through rural agricultural areas, beautiful fields of grain and tribal villages with mud huts and thatched roofs. We witnessed so much life as we traveled.

At Lucknow we took the overnight train to Jansi, arriving around 4:00 in the morning. In the station, we watched a cow on the railroad platform going up to groups of people, maybe looking for handouts. Then it strolled by us, past the station entrance, continuing to the exit gate where it strolled out.

We made our way to Orccha and happened upon a Brahmin ritual to bring rain. Bill tried snapping his fingers, rubbing his hands, clapping, slapping his thighs, and stomping his feet. The priests were using milk, ghee butter, fire, and water. Later there was thunder, a big wind and dust storm and a few drops of rain.

After the visits to the Buddhist sites, we traveled to Khajuraho and visited the peaceful green grounds with flowering shrubs and the beautiful temples with sculptures depicting so much life. At one of the temples women and children were offering puja, prayers, flowers, and water. Another was full of playful monkeys. By dark the temples were lit and almost magical.

We are now back in Delhi for a few days visiting the Red Fort and the huge Friday Mosque or Jama Masjid where foreign women, no matter how covered their heads and bodies, are being asked to wear gaudy, bright colored printed smocks. This was difficult and began many conversations between us and with other travelers and attendants at the mosque.

In Delhi we are fortunate to be staying in the flat of a cousin of our friends. So good to glimpse what people’s daily lives are like and to walk, not to tourist sites, but around neighborhoods.

We miss you and hope life is going well for you. You are in our thoughts.

Love,

Barbara and Bill