Haridwar - The Gods Must Be Crazy

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  Haridwar, India
Friday, June 3, 2005

Haridwar is only a few hundred kilometres from Shimla - as the crow flies. Unfortunately you can't strap yourself and your 25kg backpack onto a giant crow to get there. You have to catch a bus to the scorching city of Chandigarh first, in the wrong direction, and then catch another bus to make it to the city beside the Holy Ganges.

The four hour ride from Shimla to Chandigarh was smooth sailing, almost enjoyable if you can say that about getting on a bus in India. The bus was pleasant, the lunch stop was pleasant, the views were pleasant. Had I been taken to another country overnight without knowing it?

Arrival in Chandigarh brought us back to earth with a thud. After an hour wait we had to catch a six hour public bus to Haridwar. The bus can only be best described as "Indian Quality".....

The term "Indian Quality" was discovered while in McLeod Ganj. The hot water heater (called a geyser here in India) in the Tibetan-owned guesthouse read...
For your own safety and the safety of others, DO NOT leave Geyser switched on for more than on hour at a time. It is Indian Quality.

There are many "Indian Quality" products here in India - the internet connections, the food, the roads, the service, the rooms. But the Public Bus probably best sums up all that is Indian Quality.

We arrived at Haridwar around 9.30pm after a journey of short distance, but high speed. We had to stop at some town in the middle of god knows where while a body was dragged from the road due to an accident. The bus was searched a number of times by armed Police who were obviously on the lookout for someone. The driver almost got into fisticuffs with a passenger for what reason we don't know why. The driver had access to the louded airhorn system in the history of buses throughout the entire globe, and was not afraid to use it, even when it wasn't required. It was the only thing that appeared to work well on the bus. It was crowded and dirty.

It was all that is Indian Quality.

Haridwar is a Hindu holy place by the holy river, The Ganges. The locals believe it is spiritually cleansing to dunk yourself in the river at least once is your life, and Haridwar is the preferable place to do so for two reasons - it is near the 'birth-place' of the river in the Himalayas, and it sure as hell beats dunking yourself in the filthy polluted waters further downstream after most of the country has washed themselves, their laundry, their cows and their backsides in it.

It seems there are two Westerners here in town - a tall, shaven head Australian fella with blue sunglasses, and a blue-eyed redhaired American girl. That'd be yours truly and Goatgirl. Everyone stares, firstly at Goatgirl, then at me, and then not surprisingly back at Goatgirl. It is disconcerting but makes us feel like Bollywood stars. I am perhaps the new Tanya Zaetta.

After a strange breakfast at the grandly air-conditioned hotel (cucumber and tomato and tomato sauce sandwiches?) we headed out into the heat of Haridwar. We're back in the Indian Summer in a big way - it is scorching. The Ganges runs down the length of town, with most of the action within a few streets of the river. There are alleyway bazzars and frantic streets - cows, people, motorbikes, cycle rickshaws, saris, turbans, confusion wherever you look and wherever you go. This is the real India we are told. The heat and crowds and atention make it a little intimidating.

There are two major temples in Haridwar - Mansa Devi Temple and Chandi Devi Temple. Both are up mountains at the opposite sides of town, and both are reached by "Indian Quality" cable car systems.

Mansa Devi is a frantic place. After arriving off the cable car you and many others are ushered towards the first area, where you must take your shoes off. I'm the only one with top quality (ie. non-Indian Quality) walking boots and I'm convinced they will be stolen even if this is a holy place. A local paints an orange dot on the chakra point on your forehead (the Third Eye). Then you are merely one drop in the crowd, which sways and pushes round corners past the statues of the gods. Everyone pushes to make offerings to the gods. I just hope my wallet is still in my pocket. There are over a billion people in India and all seem prepared to rush and shove past their fellow man/woman to pray a little bit harder or offer a little bit more to the gods. I wonder if the gods actually approve of the shoving.

Somehow we don't seem welcome, although we are sold tickets to go.

After a ride down on the Indian Quality cable car, we are directed to an air-conditioned bus to take us through the town and across the Ganges to Chandi Devi. The key word here is air-conditioned. It is the first vehicle I've been in in India that has had A/C, even though its over 40 degrees in most places. We did consider hijacking it and keeping it for good.

Chandi Devi is less-crowded than Mansa Devi, and is less-interesting to the non-believers such as I, but just as un-welcoming. Goatgirl and I decided not to stay long due to the oppressive heat and lack of smiling faces. Back in town an air-conditioned restaurant sucked us in like a vacuum for the remainder of the afternoon, while the chaos and heat of the Haridwar streets continued outside.

By dusk we were down at the Har Ki Pairi Ghats, which is the holy centre of the city. It is a combination of temples and concrete walkways right on the Ganges river edge. The Ganges actually flows further around from this area, but the river has been dammed so that a canal of water is always flowing at speed through the Har Ki Pairi, even during the dry season.

If ever the words "Religious Fervour" can be used, it is here.

At dusk there are thousands and thousands of people here. From middle class local holidaymakers to the crazy Saddhus, all are here, to bathe in the Ganges and be spiritually cleansed. The Saddhus are homeless, robed men on an apparent spiritual quest. Some are allegedly on-the-run criminals, while others appear drugged out. Some are also on a genuine religious journey. Its just hard to tell them apart as they all look the same - filthy, sandles, walking stick, hessian sack on the back with worldly goods inside, orange or (formerly) white robes, long beard, long hair, yellow teth, Hindu face paints.

There is a ceremony at dusk, with music and chanting, while the locals light fires around temples and dunk themselves into the flowing holy river. There are chains down by the concrete banks so that people don't get swept away too far. The people are crammed into a tiny space. Families appear to play 'ring-a-ring-a-rosey' in the water, holding hands while jumping up and down and dousing themselves. Some drink the water. Others throw flowers, floating candles or milk into the water as offerings to Shiva. Beggars constantly ask for donations. Police whistle moving the crowd along. People stare or come over to talk or take a photo with you because you look strange. Some young men try to swim across the current to the other side, flailing like moths around a light. I can assure you that based on their skills there will be no Indian swimming gold medallists at the next Olympics.

It is like no other place I have ever been in my life. It is like watching thousands of people go into a religious frenzy, all at once. It is like watching thousands of brainwashed zealots go off their nuts.

We returned to Har Ki Pairi in the morning to get a feel for the Hindu activities in the daylight. The watery obsesion continues during the day, with thousands of people again by the riverside, bathing. Crying and screaming babies get splashed by their delighted parents. Its hard to explain to a bub that the reason why dirty water is being thrown at you is because you need a good spiritual rubdown. And although it is near the start of the river, it is definitely dirty. God help those down the river at Varanasi who go into the murky depths there.

I remain spiritually uncleansed.

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