The Magical Mystery Tour: part 1

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  Haridwar, Uttarakhand, India
Saturday, April 25, 2009

It is best seen at dusk.  On the banks of the Ganges near Har-ki-Pairi (Footstep of God) Ghat, thousands gather as the night comes on.  They sit on the steps that lead down to the sacred river, or mill about on the two footbridges that span it.  Near the most sacred section, shoes are removed, as for a temple, and orange-robed monks and uniformed officials collect donations to enter. Along the banks, and on the bridges, among the beggars, cotton-candy sellers, fan-vendors and monks, women sell woven baskets of flowers and candles offerings for the gods, lit and released with prayers and wishes in this sacred spot where Vishnu left heavenly nectar and a footprint behind.  As the sunset fades, hundreds of lights drift out, catching speed as they move towards the center and tumble along the rapids.  Old men and children, fathers, mothers and whole families release puja, stepping slowly down the stairs, family members grasping one arm as they venture into the tumbling current of the Ganges, reaching their other arm before them to gently set their prayers afloat.  Haridwar is a sacred city, and even among the yells of vendors and the carnival air that comes from the selling of cotton candy and cheep plastic panes that light up and whir, you can feel that it is a holy place. 
 
Kate and I only had a day in Haridwar, a disturbing amount of which was spent sleeping in the quiet room of an Ashram owned by the family of some friends of a family that Kate knows (see Delhi post for descriptions of how convoluted these chains of hosts have become).  The Ashram was a quiet place at night, though loud during the day, when the school that occupies it fills with 300 yelling, running boys.  We only had one evening to take a tuk-tuk down to the river, and walk amongst the crowds of worshipers. 
 
We had only time in the morning for one temple, Mansa Devi, this morning.  We reached it by walking up the 1.5 k  path that winds up a hill underneath the (far more advisable) cable car.  The walk, and the heat, would not have been nearly so bad were it not for the fact that our water bottle was snatched by a monkey when we were only a quarter of the way up.  He pushed Kate from behind, and when, in her surprise, she loosened her grip on our water, he had the bright bottle in a flash.  I watched him try to sink his teeth or claws in for a few minutes before Kate reminded me that this was a monkey we were dealing with, and they're not exactly known for losing interest in shiny objects.  At the top we found a crowd like the one we had seen before, hundreds of worshipers, merchants and priests.  Bells were ringing, priests were taking offerings and marking heads, women and men were pushing forward to have the grain they bought at the bottom of the hill as an offering to be taken by a priest.  The atmosphere was noisy and excited (I was told twice, by two separate priests, not to look so worried) but it was also joyful, and respectful.  As the man who runs the Ashram reminded us last night, this is a very religious country.  In Haridwar that religion surfaces, and among the crowds, the merchants, the beggars, the rickshaws and the monkeys there is something unquestionably holy about Haridwar.  Something I will have to come back to see again.

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