Haldwani / Herakhan
Trip Start
Nov 20, 2007
1
20
22
Trip End
May 04, 2011
Nainital,
Uttarakhand,
India
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Babaji is supposedly an avatar - a direct manifestation of the divine. He was not born of woman but is said to have materialised in the human form of a boy of 16 or so years of age. In 1970, a local villager after being guided by a dream discovered him in a small cave in the bottom of Mount Kailash, alongside the Gautam Ganga river in Herakhan, a very scared spot in Hindu mythology. Babaji is said to be a direct incarnation of the Hindu God Shiva. His teachings are consistent with the essence of all religions - Truth, Love and Simplicity. Along with this he taught karma yoga - hard work for the highest purpose and with full awareness. He instructed that the continuous repetition of the mantra "Om Namah Shivay" was the fastest way to evolve one's own consciousness. He 'left his body' in 1984. Though the documented teachings of Babaji are sparse and not exactly inspiring to the sceptical reader, stories of how he affected (and continues to affect) the lives of his devotees are often remarkable.
It is said that one can only make it to Herakhan if one has been cleansed of one's sins. After two months of traversing India we felt pretty well punished and considered that to be equivalent. From our small hotel room in Delhi we heard Herakhan's call loud and clear. There was however one last hurdle to overcome before we could go there - to work out how to get to Haldwani, the nearest town to Herakhan. For some bizarre reason, Lonely Planet has no description of the town. Very strange, as Haldwani is the local transport hub for the Kuamon region, not exactly an insignificant place, and certainly worthy of a mention we would have thought. Lonely Planet does however detail a place called Haridwar which seemed to match the description of Haldwani we found on the net. This, combined with the common occurrence of Hindi place names having two or three alternative English translations, was enough to convince Jonathan that it was just a case of same place / different name. So we booked our train tickets for Haridwar. It wasn't until Louisa was flicking through Lonely Planet that evening that she spotted a single mention of Haldwani on one of its 1200 pages. Not wanting to dismiss this possible sign from the divine, we did a bit more research and discovered they were two entirely different places. Luckily we had noticed in time to change our tickets without too much embarrassment.
Another mini-riot as we boarded the train the next day, complicated by the fact our allocated seats weren't together. A ten-minute wait for the smoke to settle and we were on our way to Haldwani. Like seasoned travellers we threw caution to the wind and rearranged ourselves to sit together, befriending the back half of the train. 15 mins into the journey a pair of large brown eyes peer over the seat in front of us and in a Hindi accented voice inquisitively asks, "How many buildings are there in the United States?" Bemused by the random question we took up the challenge and whittled away a few minutes working out an estimate for him. Not another peep for about hour or so at which point he pops up and hands us a sweet with the cutest little head waggle in response to our thanks. Another hour later he gets out of his chair and hands out more sweet treats to the travellers seated near us. Fascinated by Jonathan's laptop we invited Jyotimar to sit with us and in between watching Jonathan work he practised his English with Louisa. He taught us a little hindi and we exchanged songs and childhood games. By the end of the trip he had orchestrated interactions between the various adult travellers through which we received some useful recommendations and helpful advice for our stay in the Kuamon Region. Later we were invited to share in some delicious home cooking by a woman. She somehow managed to feed six of us with the food she had brought with her. It was the best Indian meal we'd eaten so far, tastier than the restaurants we had frequented, and she beamed when we told her so.
Rose
Altogether our favourite train journey so far. While checking in at our hotel in Haldwani we met an older German couple going to Herakhan the next day. It would be their third visit so we organised to meet for breakfast the next morning, hoping to glean some information. It was 11:30pm by the time we got to our room, but parched and peckish, we ventured out again. Feeling free from the cushioning constraints of the guidebook we wandered the dark empty streets hoping to find a place still open to eat. After a few twists and turns we saw a bit of life left in what we assumed was the town. A vegetarian restaurant full of customers caught our eye, as we did theirs. At that time of night it was well past the bedtime of travellers and the restaurant was full of locals. With only 5mins before closing, we ordered some roti and dahl, and hurriedly feasted on our second delicious Indian meal of the evening.
The next morning was a bit of a blur, with chores to complete we were still unsure of our plans, whether we'd be ready to head straight to Herakhan or have to spend another day in Haldwani. Relinquishing the responsibility of making decisions we relaxed into the day and observed our path to Herakahn unfold. Surprisingly the morning flowed effortlessly. Somehow we managed to complete our chores, repack, eat, shop and checkout in time to share the taxi ride to Herakhan with our German friends.
The German couple (wish we had caught their names) had organised a visit to the old Babaji temple a little out of town for puja. This was our first real experience of a full puja ceremony. After washing our mouth and hands we entered a little temple where a shrine to Babaji sat.
Clearing the land
(Figurine covered in flowers, incense, candles, photos laid out on a little altar) A few prayers were given, an offering from our friends which the keeper received on behalf of Babaji and responded with Babaji's thanks. We were then given a blessing accompanied with food, drink, and flowers and paste on our foreheads. In between there were intricate performances of the hands and phrases we couldn't quite catch. We exchanged a few hesitant looks as we fumbled our way through the ceremony taking the lead from our new found friends. To conclude we knelt at the altar before exiting the temple. It was an intimate prelude for what Herakhan had in store for us.After the brief interlude we proceeded to Herakhan. Amazing scenery held our attention as we climbed over a range of foothills to the Himalayas. It could have been a mountain pass in NZ or Switzerland except the earth and dust held a warm red tone. Narrow winding, single lane roads snaked up one side of the hill and then down the other. Drivers honked their horns with some caution before turning into each blind corner. Terraced fields on the steep edges of the hills, pine forests, monkeys, birds, handmade stone retaining walls framing the road either side, solitary mud brick and stone houses rested in the middle of it all. We caught a glimpse of the sacred Mount Kailash and then the Gautam Ganga river. We could just make out the ashram from the river's edge and we felt a sense of peace settle as our eyes swept across the amazing scenery that would be our home for the next five days.
An ashram is known as a 'place of striving' where most people go for spiritual and personal development. A community centred on a set of beliefs or teachings of a particular guru with their own code of conduct and daily timetable. Our only experience to date being strict meditation retreats, we were surprised at the relaxed atmosphere of the ashram. Expecting to be separated and immediately thrown into a rigid timetable we were pleased when the manager showed us to our room and informed us that we had the next day free to get adjusted before officially starting the ashram's programme. We spent the first part of the morning exploring the ashram which housed its own library, hospital, massage centre, Italian restaurant and chai shop. Most of these are found at the front of the ashram within the two levels of concreted courtyards enclosed by brightly painted square plastered block buildings which were the living quarters of the devotees. Our room was a generous size with good light and a view over the river. The heart of the ashram was through a terracotta passage way. As you emerged, a temple stood to the left and a cenotaph sat directly in front of the rectangular courtyard where we would gather for arti (chanting). The speckled path separating the pale grey courtyard and a narrow cottage rose garden ended in a T junction. To the right down a level, a corner of a building protruding into a tiny courtyard was Babaji's private room. The pokey little room, now a memorial is where we would go each morning to receive our chandan.
6 Temples
(sandalwood paste on the forehead) The most talked about 108 steps were to the left of the path and carried you down to the river's edge, past the chai shop and Italian restaurant rivalling each other for the magnificent views of the valley and surrounding hills. As you step off into the garden you could be mistaken for thinking you are in private grounds thanks to the careful maintenance of karma yoga duties. The area was defined by rock retaining walls that segregated different flower genus including scores of spent and blooming poppies. Riverstone paths rambled through the garden leading to the earthy toned dwellings of the ceremonial masters and the small terracotta temple for the dhuni (fire ceremony). At the foot of the ashram is the holy river, Gautam Ganga, within an expansive riverbed of grey, white, pink and purple stones and boulders. Clear, crisp, clean waters flow on either side of the river's edge leaving a long but narrow islet in the middle, where local villagers have set up chai shops, partially built from the surrounding boulders. Further down river is the sacred tree said to have been planted by Sati, the wife of an ancient Hindu god. The bottom of the tree is surrounded by heart shaped stones found in the riverbed and placed at the foot of the tree by wistful worshippers. Surprised by the number of these distinctively shaped stones that had been placed in the vicinity of the tree; we wandered further afield and were taken back by how frequently we discovered similar stones resting alongside the river.
A well entrenched path leads across the river through the chai shops to where a temple has been constructed beside the cave from which Babji emerged. We crawled into the cave and spontaneously sank into meditation. Half an hour passed by unnoticed, as we bathed in the energy that was strongly present.
Herakhan
Uphill from the cave lay the six brightly coloured temples built by Babaji, and the much larger ceremonial dhuni (fire pit). For the rest of the morning we wanted to prepare ourselves for the unknown ceremonies. e.g. arti, kirtan, dhuni and satsang. Ceremonial practices can be quite intimidating when you're unfamiliar with proceedings. The air is often thick with apprehension and there is the fear of doing something deemed "taboo". Still that is also part of the fun, the unknown. Most of those who stay at the ashram are well versed in these relatively common Hindu ceremonies, and as a result the management assumed we knew what we were doing and didn't offer any detailed instruction. So, to help quell our mild unease, that evening we enlisted the help of our German friends to accompany us through the ceremonies. We started with the fire ceremony. Here fire is worshipped as the living divine consciousness and the dhuni (fire pit) as the temple. It is believed that whoever meditates and gives puja here shall be relieved of all ailments, physical, mental or spiritual. The ceremony was similar to the puja at the old temple with the removal of shoes and washing of face and hands, ringing bells before bowing and entering the small room which contained the fire pit. We entered to sit around the dhuni as the crackling fire was tendered by the master of the ceremony. Prayers were then given while devotees sat and meditated or at other times stood and chanted. The fire was built up to a roar and offerings were placed.
Babji's cave
During the ceremony we too were given offerings in the form of purified flowers and food. Towards the end we were presented with a dish of flames waved in circular motions and we performed a gesture as if taking the essence of the flames and pouring it over our heads. A couple of times the smoke of the fire was so overwhelming it caused our eyes to water and throats to constrict. Although most of the times we had one eye on the others in order to mimic their actions, the elaborate ritual was an amazing experience.Next were the Kirtan and Arti. We were ushered into the temple and each placed in a spot where a bell hung above our head. Before we registered what was happening, people had reached up and with the slightest movement of their hand were ringing their bell. With a shrug of the shoulders we followed suit. We had no idea what we were doing as there didn't seem to be a set tune, but for the next 5 mins we enjoyed filling the air with our random clangs. Out in the courtyard for the arti, we chanted mantras in Sanskrit aka devotional singing. Not knowing the words we sat for the hour and an half and meditated, but we were keen to take part in the harmonious sounds once we possessed the lyrics. It was an exhausting day and we considered the evening to be good practise for the official programme that would start the next day.
The dong rang throughout the ashram at 4 am. Fighting with the comfort of the warm bed, we dragged ourselves up, wiped sleep from our eyes and shuffled down the 108 steps to the Gautam Ganga to take a dip in its icy cold waters. Once you got past the early hour, stumbling in the darkness and braving the howling dogs, the early morning dip was very refreshing. At least eye opening.
Babji's cave 2
We took our freshly washed faces to Babaji's room for the chandan ceremony. Waiting in blackness in the courtyard, our eyes were drawn across the river to the orange luminous glows dotting the hillside. Each day there seemed to be a new set of fires lit to clear patches of earth for farming. We wait our turn to be called into the room and in a couple of minutes 3 bold lines of yellow sandalwood paste cool our minds, an orange dot, kumkum, open our third eye and a few grains of rice, symbolising the purity of the soul, adorn our foreheads. On our way back to our room for an hour's meditation, the black sky was beginning to show the symptoms of morning. By the time we met for arti an hour later the sun rays were stretching behind the mountains. It would be another hour before it peered over the hill and flooded the valley for the rest of the day with its scorching heat. Our morning ceremonies end in a Satsang (meeting and discussion) where we listen to a reading of Babaji's teachings, mainly motivation for the day's karma yoga. There was little discussion and the main focus of these meetings was the day's karma yoga organisation. By 8:00am, 4 hours into the day we were ready to have breakfast, usually tomato and cheese toast and piping cups of chai at the Italian restaurant (Named after the staff not the menu). Sometimes we were lucky to get a day old newspaper so we could catch up with what had been happening in the outside world.
Bells a ringin'
Over breakfast on one particular day we glance through a copy and noted one article reporting the rates of child labour in India. In the poorest parts it is stated that over 60% of young children are required to work 7 days a week, without pay, for people not in their own household. Another article describes how the richest man in India is about to build a Rs2Billion home in Mumbai. A 27 storey high-rise, every floor and each room different, with five levels of carparking. Apparently the most expensive home in the world. From the blissful perspective of Herakhan we ponder the stark contrast - India seems to be ever pushing the limits at both ends of the envelope.Lunch and dinner was a more social affair. While seated cross legged on hessian mats, we were fed simple vegetarian meals from the kitchen. The delicious nutritious meals were dished up from tin pails and onto our metal plates by the smiling kitchen staff.
Our Karma yoga duties filled in the bulk of our day. We were most fortunate to land the job of painting window frames, doors, sills and bars, grateful to be hidden from the mid morning and afternoon sun. However by the third day we were glad to pass the job on to someone else as the paint fumes started to take their toll. Louisa blames that for her terrible painting outfits and the amount of paint that landed on herself rather than the window frames. While Jonathan used it as a good excuse for his frequent on the job lie downs and also to sneak off early one day for a massage. However the workmanship couldn't be faulted and we both enjoyed working.
In the middle of the day, to break our 2 blocks of karma yoga, we had 3 hrs to ourselves. During this time the sun would be flaunting its power so it was a great excuse for a siesta, a dip in the river, a wander in the gardens, or amble along the stone river bed. Other days we would just sit and hang out in the beautiful surroundings while we read, sketched or strummed the guitar.
At 5:30, another hour of meditation with the option of the Dhuni. With the smoke inhalation a deterrent, we decided after our first fire ceremony to concentrate on our own meditation practice instead. From 6:30 - 8:00pm the sounds of harmonies, chants and wailing filled the valley as darkness settled. Our tongues rolled with Sanskrit pronunciations, our voices wailed with the best of them and our bodies rocked in time with the harmonium.
The Hobbit
Our minds frequently drifted back from emptiness to thoughts of roti and subji for dinner. Stuffed and exhausted the last hour disappeared and the 9:30 silence curfew descended upon the ashram. However, the dogs were exempt and their heated howls could be heard throughout the night.On our last morning Jonathan organised one of the ceremonial masters to perform mundan. This purifying ritual involves standing in the Ganga while having one's head shaved with a sharp razor. The hair falls into the river and is carried away by the currents, symbolising the purification of the ego.
It's easy to conceive how some devotees stay at Herakhan for months and in some cases years. The self contained ashram offers peace, tranquillity and a remarkable setting immersed in spirituality. We too were entertained by the idea and, though we would have liked to extend our stay, there wasn't enough free time in the day to pursue the things we really wanted to devote time to, like reading, writing, music etc. We had hoped to learn more about the devotional path from other devotees as we felt at times without the full understanding and meaning of the practices we were outsiders looking in. Unfortunately with so much going on we found little time left to meet and converse with the other devotees. Apart from a few casuals like ourselves there were a core of about 10 foreign and a few local long timers who all seemed part of the furniture, well entrenched and focused on their duties. For most of our stay the interactions didn't stray much further from the usual niceties.
Stone houses
"Om Namah Shivay." However on the last evening once we had finally come to grips with the programme, a few of the old timers engaged us in conversation. We learnt a little about their backgrounds and their devotion and we knew if we were to stay longer we would gain better insight into the ceremonies. Our experience of Herakhan gave us a good appreciation of the role of faith and devotion as a path to truth. Clearly such a path is perfect for some people, but we both agreed it wasn't the path for us. 
