15 March - Bodhgaya
Trip Start
Nov 20, 2007
1
15
22
Trip End
May 04, 2011
Bodh Gaya,
India
Monday, March 31, 2008
We take the overnight train to Gaya with warnings of caution from the travel agent in Kolkata not to talk or make eye contact with anyone, not to eat anything as it could be drugged and to separate our cash. Advice like this is abound especially in the guidebooks and it is difficult to know if you are being overly cautious or rude, missing an opportunity to experience some cultural exchange. Fortunately, no unsavoury incidents transpired, apart from a few uncomfortable stares. After a night of intermittent sleep, calls of 'Chai Chai' got us up in the morning as the train pulled into the station at 5:15am
Flowers at Mahabodhi
.As the first light of Jonathan's birthday spills onto the road, we catch glimpses of horses with straw laden carts, cattle, cycle rickshaws, cyclists and people walking along the roadside shrouded in cloth shielding them from the early morning dust all making their way on the 15km journey into Bodhgaya.
Shattered we were grateful to find a place who allowed us to check in at 6:30 that morning. After a quick nap it wasn't long before the noise outside beckoned us from our room and we ventured out to see what the town had in store for us. We were greeted with roadside carts of bags and clothing and Jonathan elatedly purchased his birthday present, a bag he has been after since spotting one on the shoulder of a fellow meditator in Thailand. Not to mention every second monk as well. A hidden store of silks catches our eye and Louisa manages to escape with only 3 silk scarves after having the shop's entire stock spread out on the floor in front of us.
We spend the afternoon at the Mahabodhi Temple. The temple and surrounding gardens were a bustle with many monks, pilgrims, large tour groups and families. The atmosphere was serene, calm and peaceful with everyone immersed in their own thought/reflection/contemplation
Meditation at Mahabodhi
.We sit undisturbed, watching monks and laypeople perform their rituals and prayers and we take time to meditate at this special place and bathe in the intense energy present. The currents guiding us to drift in and out of heightened states of awareness. The maya of space-time occasionally rippling before your very eyes.
We put on some traditional clothes for a special birthday dinner at a local Indian restaurant, as fate would have it, one of 2 places in town that sells alcohol. We try the local lager which would have been better left in its dusty bottle. The lingering taste would discourage us from partaking in a nice cold beer for the remainder of our 2 week stay in Bodhgaya. At dinner we were entertained by an unexpected and striking display of psychic connection. For some reason, Louisa began asking a series of questions about people and events at tables out of Jonathan's view, and the answers spontaneously appeared in J's mind as rudimentary images. After the brief interlude, presumably triggered by the remnant energies of the Buddha-field, or perhaps a glitch in the Matrix, we returned to the more traditional form of verbal communication.
Our resolve to go with the flow leads us the following day to the local Dhamma Bodhi vipassana centre. This wasn't part of the original plan, but out of all the places on earth to practice the meditation technique taught by the Buddha, this would have to be the most inspiring. We sign ourselves up for the first five days of the ten day course - calling on our rights as old students to sit on a part time basis. A bit of a communication breakdown and the teacher never becomes aware of our intention to leave early
Stupa sunset
. The following day we follow up with the teacher. He is very disapproving and he does his best to dissuade us from leaving early, determined with a passion to see we make the most of the opportunity available. We later learn of the foundation for the teacher's passion. Some 5 years ago, he was facing the prognosis of a six month life expectancy due to advanced cancer. He devoted two of those months to intense vipassana practice and follow-up tests revealed the cancer to be almost eliminated and curable with minor surgery.The centre is a tad run down but serves the purpose well the energy is very conducive to a focussed effort. Unlike the centre in NZ, the Dhamma Bodhi centre sports an ornate pagoda containing several tiers of individual meditation cells. The small concrete rooms, about 1m by 2m, serve to cut you off from any worldly stimulation and encourage you instead to remain focussed on exploring the vastness of the mind.
Five days meditation passes in the blink of an eye, and despite encouragement to stay at the centre, we both feel satisfied that we have gained significant benefit from our short course and opt to face the outside world again with refreshed self-awareness.
Unbeknownst to us, the day we emerge from vipassana is a public holiday and festival known as 'Holi'. We have to wait a good half hour for one of the meditation centre local volunteers to cycle the 4km into town and locate a rickshaw as the town pretty much closes down for the festival. Much to our surprise, a cycle rickshaw eventually pulls up, the sweaty, wiry driver covered in mud. We load our packs onto the tray and offer to help the driver walk the rickshaw until we get to a sealed road
Grubby girl
. He tries to explain to us why he is covered in mud, but he speaks little English. Once we get to the road however, the reason becomes apparent. Part of the day's festivities is for young local children to collect together supplies of mud and hurl them at passersby while yelling 'happy holi!'. Fortunately, while devoting full energy to keeping the fully laden rickshaw moving in the blistering heat, the driver manages to dissuade the first group of attackers. Further down the road he was less successful and we get hit numerous times. Louisa was worst hit, with mud all over her front and left arm. The driver happily offered his services to clean her up.When we make it into town, we see we've got off very lightly - instead of mud, the majority of children (and adult men) are squirting whoever they can with dye - blue and purple mainly. Some standing on street corners, some stationed on top of buildings like snipers. The majority of people are dressed in white, volunteering themselves as targets. By the end of the day there are very few people not wrapped in blue and purple rags, and the following week many of the newly coloured ensembles make repeat appearances, a reminder of the fun everyone had. We manage to avoid being doused in dye but we run into a number of tourists who took a more active part in the celebrations.
Eager to find a place to stay, and realising that many of the guesthouse receptions aren't manned because of the holiday, we accept our first offer of a room - a small but adequate room in Happy Guest house. At Rs150 ($5NZ) a night, there was no room for expectation of any sort. However, the stray dogs howling and feasting on the pile of rubbish outside our door most of the night was enough to encourage us to look for something slightly higher budget the next day
Happy Holi!
. We eventually settle in at RS Anukul Guesthouse - a light, spacious room for only Rs250 per night. Apart from the frequent blackouts (recovered quickly by the generator, an old truck engine) and a grimy bathroom (with overflowing cistern, constant leaks and pools of water), the guesthouse was perfect for chilling out, reading, writing and working on music when we were not hanging in town or checking out the numerous Buddhist temples.
The guesthouse had the added advantage morning Yoga classes downstairs. The classes are run by a Gopal Swami, and include asana, kriya, pranayama, mudra and a small amount of vipassana. A lot less intensive than our usual ashtanga sessions, but a good introduction to some other aspects of yoga we haven't tried before. We only take advantage of the classes a few times, partly out of laziness, and partly because the spacious room was ideal for practicing ashtanga.
Situated on a quiet street hosting a few temples, the neighbourhood cow and a few businesses, the beautiful view from our abode was of a lane that doubled as a rubbish tip. One morning we watch from our window as a little boy as young as 5 wistfully wander downs the technicoloured lane of rubbish. Avoiding the pigs feasting and a few wandering dogs he pauses every now and again to pick up bits of waste, turning them over in his hand to assess their worth. Obviously seeing more value in a scruffy sheet of plastic than we do, he palms the hidden treasure and continues his morning walk.
On our frequent walks to and from the town 5 mins away we would past makeshift homes of canvas and sticks
Japanese temple
. One was the local laundry where the ladies would be bashing wet clothes with rocks along a slab of concrete. We would often pass them at night, ironing the day's work by candlelight. Other glimpses of the village life include the street-side skinning of a goat, afternoon cricket on the pavement, and numerous holy cows ambling their way down the street.Bodhgaya is home to a large number of temples representing many different nations. Two of the more notable were the Thai and Japanese temples. The Thai temple, strangely enough, was reminiscent of the many temples we visited in Thailand. We took part in one of the evening sessions of Zen meditation at the Japanese temple. Was quite an experience with all the gongs, drums and chanting.
Keen to take a bit of time out from the constant travelling in Thailand, and finding the energy of the town fairly conducive to rest, we decide not to move on too quickly. In fact we end up staying 8 nights at RS Anukul before cementing our plans to move on, making our total stay in Bodhgaya about 2 and a half weeks.
During this time we become regulars at a couple of the local restaurants - OM and South Cafe
Treasure hunt
. OM does amazing spicy potatoes and has a good selection of desserts. South cafe would still have to be our favourite though, dark and a tad dingy. Located in a basement, but with a knack for turning even the most mundane dishes into something amazing. Not sure how they did it, but the tomato and cheese toast and the coffee were just divine and kept us coming back Not sure who the culprit was, but a minor stomach problem keeps J a bit quiet for a day but fortunately this time he doesn't need to be hospitalised!
Though it is a small town, every day was different and you never knew what to expect before you walked out the front door. Some days the village resembled a dusty shanty, hardly anyone around, and those who were seemed generally disinterested or offered a casual 'Namaste' without diverting from their path. On others it was madness. Busloads of international tourists, auto-rickshaws and 4 wheel drives hooting endlessly, touts persistently pestering, groups of youths stalking your every move as if tethered together by some zombie-mind with an odd fascination for the banal. Altogether very eclectic setting for what is such an historically significant place.
Bodhgaya would have to be the friendliest place on earth. Whether you're sitting at a cafe having a bite to eat, wandering the streets in the midday heat, or quietly contemplating the Bodhi tree, hardly a moment passes without the call of 'Friend!, Friend!'. Offer any sign of acknowledgement and you're immediately thrust into a familiar string of questions.. "What is your country, friend?", "First time in Bodhgaya?". On occasion the initiator is genuinely interested and is happy just to make your acquaintance
Holy cow
. Unfortunately, the majority of the time, there is a more selfish intent. The state of Bihar is one of the poorest in the country, and a western face is synonymous with money. The conversations all start happily enough, and can be a great way of learning a bit more about the area. All too often however, you get to a point where the script turns and you find yourself facing forceful requests to buy silks, CDs and trinkets or persistent pleas for money, sponsorship, assistance to buy books, biscuits or even Horlicks! It's a pity, because after it's happened a few times you become a bit suspicious of any attempt from a local to make conversation.One of the most entertaining exchanges was with a young chap of about 10 years old going by the name of Raul. A very cute, personable and intelligent boy. He initiated a conversation while J was out for a walk one evening. He talked about his studies, all the subjects he was taking. He demonstrated his abilities in speaking several languages, including Japanese, which sounded pretty fluent to J's rusty ears. He talked of a few of his other foreign friends with whom he maintained email contact. He offered to walk us around, show us his school and introduce us to his teacher. Sensing a potential scam, but not feeling threatened in any way, we accompanied him back to his nearby village.
We are lead directly past a local school, into a collection of mud-brick houses of random architecture and varying degrees of completeness, set upon a network of narrow, dusty lanes
Mahabodhi at dusk
. An impoverished, but seemingly simple and happy existence flowed around us. Woman in saris cooking on open fires, and sweeping the dusty floors. Children happily at play in their grubby garments. We felt a little like we were imposing but see a few other westerners being lead around by other children and nobody seems overly concerned about our presence. We are lead to a rooftop terrace and then Raul disappears, apparently to find his teacher. A couple of slightly older boys, a little uneasy in disposition, attempt to keep us settled by describing surrounding trees. After a minute or two we sense a palatable tension in the air and excuse ourselves. On the way out we bump into Raul and a man of early twenties exuberantly claiming to be the teacher. We laugh unabashedly and all know the scam has fallen through before its had a chance to take hold. We let Raul walk us back to the village, resuming the previous stream of conversation. Then Raul describes how he is studying English and has wanted to buy an English dictionary, but can't afford one. He asks if we would buy it for him. Sensing another scam, but at the same time swallowing his seemingly genuine pleas for compassion, we say that we don't have any money on us, but he can look for us tomorrow and we might be able to help him out then. We bid the boys adieu but the severing of company isn't instant as the other boy becomes insistent that we buy him some Horlicks. We eventually manage to cut him loose and venture off to get some dinner.
We ignite a conversation with a couple next to us who tell us of a scam they've fallen victim to - buying a dictionary for a cute young boy. As they since learned, the boy then takes the dictionary back to the bookstore and pockets 50% of the original purchase price
South Cafe
! The next morning Raul spots us and heads in our direction saying "Hello friend, will you buy me a dictionary today?" J responds with a firm "No, I won't be buying you a dictionary" and Raul's charismatic facade shifts to one demanding pity . "Why not friend, you promised, you promised!". J kneels down, looks Raul in the eye and says "Because I know it's a scam". "What scam! What scam! You promised to buy me a dictionary!", his voice takes on an angry tone. J then explains his understanding of the process that would unfold once the book is purchased. Raul begins fuming and rattling off a series of Hindi curses and stomps away. For the next few days, every time we cross paths with Raul, he voices his disapproval of us. What a change! He was such a charming young boy. We spend a couple of days pondering the many layers of the experience. Later, talking to one of the waiters at OM, we learn the same scam works with all sorts of merchandise from packets of chips to cans of Horlicks. He fills in many more details. We learn that Raul and his friends, despite their apparent intelligence, don't frequent school and are most likely illiterate. Instead they fill in their days wandering the streets looking for unsuspecting tourists. Part of the proceeds of their scams, which numerous shop owners partake in, are often spent on alcohol and cigarettes. The parents of the boys don't do anything to discourage them because of the extra money they bring in. Such a shame to think that these boys are forgoing their education - probably the only chance they have of emerging from their impoverished existence - for a few extra dollars.
We meet many fellow travellers during our stay including a number from the vipassana centre. While our original intention was to travel north to Darjeeling, in part to escape the rising temperature, we instead convince ourselves to make our next stop the holy city of Varanasi.
