Kharsali Village

The Gharwali village of Kharsali in the hills of Uttarkhand.

Going to the Source

Visiting the Yamunotri amidst the jumble of Indian tourists on horses and those being carried in palanquins and baskets, was not just any pilgrimage for me. I was not only going to the source of India's second holiest river but also to the source of my birth name, a 3 syllable vibration which has defined me for 27 years.
At a height of 3150 meters, surrounded my trees, rocks and a gushing river, pilgrims shouted the many names of God as we all feverishly climbed to the source of the Yamuna river. Through the plumes of smoke of fresh chapatis and boiling chai, we finally arrived at the most chaotic scene of any place in the natural world. A temple which was structurally unsound leaned over the torrents of the ice cold Yamuna, half naked bathers frolicked in thermal baths, loud speakers blared devotional song, and the smell of horse urine and feces permeated the air. Here we were lead to puja by a Brahmin priest. Shoeless and clueless we all sat down and followed his instructions. His incoherent chants filled the already full air, as we threw things over our shoulder, drank the water of the Yamuna and received the blessings of this holy place. I pushed and pulled and fought my way through crowds to see the statues of the goddesses, ring the bell and dip my feet into the water.

Likening this journey to that of the inner self I was pleased that so many people had reached "the source" with still so many on the way. What is this fascination we have with the beginning of all things? Whether it is our planet, our race or our spirit, it seems we are all trying to better understand the place we are in now by returning to the place we have come from.

And since that place is formless, timeless and encompassing both the infinite and zero, a pilgrimage to a source in the physical world could only represent a fraction of what that other destination might be like.

I just hope I can get a hot cup of chai when I arrive there too.

The Saint of Kharsali

While working as a teacher at a Vivekananda school in south India, a child went missing. Bhakti Priya decided to pray to God and if her prayers were answered, and the child returned, she would spend the rest of her life in devotion to the Absolute.
Some time later the child did return and so Bhakti Priya set off for the Himalayas where I found her some 9 years into a 12 year penance. At the age of 52, she had the glimmer of a child like curiosity in her eyes and a look of deep satisfaction in her face. Wearing the ochre colored robes which in India signifies ones choice of renunciation, and now known as Mataji (Great Mother) her wild locks of free flowing hair danced in the Himalayan winds.
Raised in the modern town of Bangalore and further educated in America, now sitting in her modest wooden room with a small fire burning, it was hard to imagine what should propel a person to so drastically change their life.
As the sun set on the quiet town of Kharsali, I ate a modest meal of potatoes prepared by Mataji, as she explained how she never accepts money from anyone because the blessings which manifest from God are abundant. One time while living under a rock at Gangotri she ran out of milk powder and sugar with which to make her chai. After considering what to do to remedy the situation and finally forgetting about it, some troops from the Indian army rolled through. When their camp was left days later, they gave their leftover milk powder to Bhakti Priya. This was just one of the examples she shared of the greatness of God. "The mind is powerful, it can create everything." Mataji assured me. I asked myself if I could be capable of such a life, which at times seems so lonely. But while Mataji's path to God is renunciation she also made clear, "Whatsoever you do in this life, just don't get attached."
All day children and adults visited her, touching her feet and bringing their hands to their heart in deep reverence. This is a country which not only respects but supports those who give their life to devotion of God. However India is changing rapidly and everywhere signs of this modernization are evident. In response to this rapid decay Bhakti Priya warns, "Humanity is coming to the end of a material age. We must change or perish."
And with a little giggle, she shifted the logs in the fire. The glowing embers illuminating her face.

Don Juan Carlos and I in Rishikesh

Hari Om

Rishikesh was made famous to the outside world when in 1968 the Beatles came here to meditate at the Ashram of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. This holy city on the banks of the Ganga has always been a place of local pilgrimage but has since attracted yoga practitioners and spiritual seekers from the rest of the world alike. The gates of the famous "Beatles Ashram" are now locked, but my friends and I were able to coax our way in, and there we descended upon the Blissful forest. Amongst dry brush and decaying buildings were half naked Sadhus, who with all their worldly possessions in one bag, have chosen the path of renunciation in an effort to attain total liberation from the attachments of the material world. Amidst the almost other worldly meditation pods of the Ashram, two Babas followed us in and led us up a small winding staircase to the roof of a pod which looked out into the forest.
Without a common language but smiles and giggles, we sat in a circle and stared out of the small window on to the overgrown brush. One Baba started to pack a chillum. Tipping his head back and raising it to his forehead in thanks, he drew the smoke into his mouth and let it out with a deep look of satisfaction on his face. This is a Sadhu's life.
When it felt like we had really lived that moment together, felt their world, eked out every drop of human connection that we could have with no words, we left.
On the banks of that Blissful forest, as I took my first dip in the Ganga, the mysterious Sadhu continued walking until he disappeared around the mountain.
On his way to some liberation I suppose.

Green Energy in India

This man is sharpening knives by pedalling the bicycle!

Two Pilgrims in Passing

The radiant smile and deep belly laughter of Rama Nand, also affectionately referred to as "Babaji", is as noticeable as his great white beard. We were already half way through the dinner he had invited me for when I realised who he was.

For those of you who have been to Kathmandu, Varanasi or Delhi, you may have come across Pilgrims Books, a haven of esoteric knowledge and peace amongst bustling polluted streets. Nearly 30 years earlier, from rather modest beginnings, this man who now sat before me, sold a small collection of books from the sidewalks of Varanasi. Then he opened a small shop that could only accommodate one person at a time. "It represented the presence of God, the presence of the one always there", Rama Nand joked as the room filled with his giant laughter.

By 1984 a shop opened in Kathmandu and the printing and publishing of books has taken place in Delhi for over 20 years. One can find genres that range from the metaphysical to travel to older collectible texts.

Rama Nand gave me a tour of his apartment which was littered with materials that he had collected over the years, some hundreds of years old. It was clear that this "Babaji" was in fact a book junkie of sorts!

Earlier I asked him why, despite the fact that he wore the robes of a holy man, did the locals of Delhi refer to him as a Baba? "Perhaps they can see that my relation with all things in the world is reflected in my work and my conversation." Though later he humbly added, "Still I feel I know nothing."

What is clear to me is that "Babaji Rama Nand Book Junkie of the World", lives the words that he collects, prints and sells and he is less of a Pilgrim than he is the destination itself.