by Shweta Bhardwaj
The River Ganges or Ganga as it is sacredly called in Hindi is considered to be the life line of India. For centuries it has been revered as mother goddess. This powerful river, after it starts from its source at Gaumukh, flows into the rest of India, nurturing every part of land that it touches. Haridwar is an important pilgrimage city in Uttarakhand. Being one of the oldest living cities in India, it is mentioned in the ancient Hindu scriptures. In Sanskrit ‘Hari’ means lord Vishnu and ‘dwar’ means gate. Hence, gateway to lord’s abode. (As it is the entry point to the four main centres of Hindu pilgrimage, viz. Badrinath, Kedarnath, Gangotri & Yamnotri)
It is also the city where the strong and mighty river Ganga (after emerging from the mountains) touches the plains and runs in a calmer flow. Lots of people come here to find their inner peace. Some stay for longer period in various Ashrams (spiritual monastery) and follow Yoga and study ancient Hindu scriptures. Some like me, prefer staying for 2-3 days and soak in whatever that this place offers. Every time I visit Haridwar, I prefer to simply sit quietly at the Ghats (a series of steps leading down to the holy river water) in the mornings and evenings. Sitting there and dipping your feet in the cold river water compels you to sort of meditate and turn over in your mind. Believe me it is a feeling that forces you to yearn for calm & peace. The touch of cold river water, gentle breeze and Sadhus meditating, helps to take you to the state of tranquil & quiet. Early mornings have a serene calmness about this city with prayer chants being sung almost everywhere you look.
Haridwar has been a centre of attraction for learning various arts, science & rituals for many ages. Home to multiple small temples scattered all over the city, Haridwar is famous for its evening ‘Ganga Aarti’ (ritual of worshiping river Ganga) that happens daily around 6:00 pm at the main Ghat called ‘Har ki Pauri’. If you are there, then you must head towards ‘Har ki Pauri’ (footsteps of God) in the evening and attend the ‘Ganga Aarti’. It is a prayer that is sung to River Ganges every evening as per Hindu rituals.
Watching Aarti here is an indescribable experience that one can understand only if one experiences the same. It is a beautiful spectacle of sound, light and prayer recitals that definitely compels you to ponder thoughts like – God and you! Supreme almighty’s impression/presence in things around you! As soon as the aarti starts, the lamps, recitals and the entire atmosphere takes you to a more spiritual level. After it finishes, people present their offerings of flowers and diyas (lamps) into the river and within minutes the Ghats lit with tiny diyas floating into to river.
I had heard a lot about these rituals from my father earlier. So, during one such visit with the family at Haridwar, I was ready with my camera and reached the famous Ghat on time. There were lot of people around, tourists (who could be distinctly identified holding their camera), locals who come daily to attend the aarti, Sadhus and Pundits. While waiting for the Aarti to start, I noticed a funny looking man dressed in bright red and orange clothes, holding peacock feathers in his hands. He was walking aimlessly yet smiling at every person. He wore a vibrant coloured pagri (head gear) on his head, wore kajal (kohl) in his eyes and long tika (mark) on his forehead and stood out differently to the rest of the crowd. I requested him for a picture and he gave a broad smile, gestured with a stately pose for my camera and then went away.
In Haridwar if you look around you will find a lot of Sadhus and holy men, dressed in dhoti kurta giving the impression that they have abandoned their families to achieve spiritual pursuits. Once the Aarti was over it was already dark but the movement of people, vendors and Sadhus continued as usual. We also started walking towards our hotel room.
Haridwar is one city that will definitely strum your mind’s strings on spirituality and would leave such an impression that you may want to come back again for sure.
A Spiritual Trip to Haridwar- Rishikesh By Train and Private Car
If You Go:
♦ Haridwar is on NH 45 and is well connected to all major cities of India. One can reach Haridwar from New Delhi directly via Bus, car or Railway. By road it is approx 209 km.
♦ One can find lots of affordable hotels to stay on websites like Trip Advisor and Expedia.
♦ Haridwar is a religious place, so avoid non-vegetarian food and drinking alcoholic beverages here.
3-Night Spirituality and Kama Sutra Tour from Varanasi to New Delhi
About the author:
Shweta is an HR professional and a blogger, currently working as a freelance travel writer. She loves to write about places that she visits, people that she meets and every day things that touch her. She has a travel blog at www.travel-lanes.blogspot.ca
All photos by Shweta Bhardwaj:
Early morning at one of the Ghats at River Ganges
View of a Sadhu sitting at a Ghat across the river
A person meditating near the steps in the evening
Offering of flowers and diyas
My camera’s favourite subject at Har ki Pauri
The entry towers at Angkor Thom are among the most photographed relics in Cambodia. Stuck in traffic on the causeway bridge leading to a towered entrance, Lee told us about how the statues—fearsome demons on the right of the bridge, confident gods to the left—had been decapitated only a few decades ago by the Khmer Rouge. Simulating a dagger across the neck, he alleged thieves are still smuggling pieces across the border to Thailand for black market sales.
It would be difficult not to notice the intense poverty and hardship of Cambodia, even in an area like Siem Reap, exploding with resort hotels. People beg in heartbreaking fashion. Tuk-tuks are kitted out with signs to notify that this particular driver will not take passengers to underage sex dens. The maiming effects of the Khmer Rouge are evident everywhere. For us, the extent of poverty didn’t fully resonate until the ride south to the waterways of Tonle Sap: Houses along the roads were simply raised platforms with roofs, no walls to block us from seeing in.
Lee tried to talk us out of it, but he conceded to our wishes. The progression of places we’d chosen that day meant that he was going to have to use a pot-holed dirt road rather than a new, nicely paved one. And, we got a flat in…somewhere, Cambodia. Lee unhooked the trailer, and a roadside worker carted it off by hand. We were not in Siem Reap anymore. From the depths of a dirt road to nowhere, a bike drove by with two full-sized upturned pigs strapped to the back, grunting over each pothole. There was no other traffic for the hour it took to get back on track.
Leading up to our trip, Emma and I had read an incredible memoir, ‘First They Killed My Father’, about a young girl who survived capture by the Khmer Rouge and life in camps where kidnapped children were forced to be soldiers, brainwashed and made to do unspeakable things. Aki Ra was one of these child soldiers, but in 1997 he went back to villages where he had once set up thousands of mines and, working by hand and homemade tools, started defusing them.
When we reached the end of the pavement, Lee pulled over, unhitched the tuk-tuk, and told us to climb on the bike with him. The road ahead was far too rough, so there we were, Lee on the front, Emma squeezed between us, and me with my hands vice-gripped to the back of the seat. Truth be told, the road was so rough that, for the bulk of the ride, Lee drove in the ditch and on the embankment running alongside the street. I don’t really remember how long the ride took—less than an hour—as I was concentrating on not popping of the back.
After four days of chauffeuring us around, Lee dropped us off at the front of our hostel for the final time. Both Emma and I, at the beginning of our trip, prone to bonding a little more readily than a local tour guide might be, had tiny lumps in our throats. We asked him how much for the week, and in true Southeast Asian style, he replied, “What do you want to pay?” I guess he’d seen it all before.
I arrived in the Kingdom of Bhutan, a land-locked country sandwiched in between the giants of India and China, expecting to capture images of a gentle country where Buddhist traditions and conventional culture trump modern materialistic trappings. This is a nation known for its varied terrain: from the subtropical plains and forests in the South to the lofty snow-drenched Himalayan foothills and mountains of the North.
I’ll admit to not recognizing the structure of a giant penis on a commercial building at first, thinking it was some elaborate design that I just didn’t get, but a fellow photographer soon pointed it out and identified the ejaculating phallic symbol for me. Initially, I was somewhat taken aback by the penile projectile, but then I began to philosophically contemplate why decorated penises adorned many buildings and homes, and what could it possibly mean. I soon found out from our Bhutanese guide.
Turns out there was a certain individual called Drukpa Kunley, aka the “Divine Madman” a Buddhist master who lived from 1455 -1529 A.D. He is fondly remembered for his most outrageous teachings that were designed to challenge preconceptions. He taught that the ‘divine thunderbolt of wisdom’ comes by way of shock value; an unorthodox combination of drinking, sex rituals, and provocative humor and dance. Because of this, he used his penis quite often to achieve insight and eventually became known as “The Saint of 5,000 Women” due to his penis prowess. In other words, he offered blessings to women in the form of sex. He didn’t discriminate with women as it didn’t matter if she was married or not, virgin or experienced.
It is important to note that the ubiquitous phallus paintings and wood carvings are not considered as pornographic or erotic symbols to the Bhutanese, rather they are imbued with protective qualities that ward off evil spirits. After all, the penis proved to be a path for spiritual nourishment and enlightenment for the much revered Divine Madman and his ‘Flaming Thunderbolt of Wisdom’ was used much like a sword to conquer evil spirits as well. A nifty combination.
The next morning we decided to take a walk in Kathmandu. Durbar Square was our first and natural destination. The word Durbar Square may be equivalent to German Marktplatz. Several Nepalese cities have Durbar Squares, which are usually made up of royal and religious buildings. The Kathmandu Durbar Square, which is not free of charge for foreigners to enter, can present a variety of royal courts, temples and monuments (most of them belong to different historical periods), as well as numerous guides and street sellers, who would stalk you all the time and offer their goods and services. Tourists who have some understanding in history and religion, especially that of Indian subcontinent, can be very happy to explore every corner of the square. But even if you do not posses this kind of information, no worries at all. Dozens of guides are always ready to lead you by explaining the history and meaning of each edifice.
Although the Durbar Square contains a lot of historical buildings, it would take too long to explain each of them. But one should certainly visit the Kumari residence. Kumari is a living goddess mainly worshipped by Hindus. In Nepal Kumari is a pre-pubescent girl regularly determined as a result of interesting and complex selection process.
For people, who are eager to see Mt. Everest and some other peaks, I would highly recommend you to take a mountain flight operated by a bunch of domestic airlines in Nepal. As I mentioned above, even small hotels can arrange mountain flights, which can make your job more convenient. You will be taken very high, above the clouds, to the Roof of the World. Kind stewards will show and explain you every of a dozen Himalayan peaks. You can even get a chance to enter to the pilot`s cabin, where an indescribably wonderful and magnificent view will open in front of you. I am sure this mountain flight will be one of the most memorable moments you will recall with a pleasure the rest of your life. But Nepal is not only the Everest. Proud of their history, every Nepalese may tell you their country is the birthplace of Gautama Buddha. The founder of Buddhism was born in 6th century BC in Lumbini, a small town in the southern part of the country. Today Lumbini is a worshipping place, where many Buddhists from all over the world, not only from Nepal come to pay their tribute.
Hanoi is a contrast of old and new with some intriguing contradictions. The National Museum is housed in an old colonial building. The 900 year old Temple of Literature was a center of Confucian learning and thought. The French-era Opera House is beautifully appointed … and located opposite the Hanoi stock exchange in a square that includes a Gucci store and the Hanoi Hilton, that’s the hotel, not the prison which is across town.
But Hanoi’s Old Quarter is a source of wonder too – vibrant, vigorous, visceral. Delicious pho (pronounced “fa”) dished up in noodle soup restaurants. Egg coffee served on a balcony overlooking Hoan Kiem Lake. Sidewalk food stalls, bakeries, bars and coffeehouses proliferate. The narrow streets are packed with mini hotels and hostels, family shops, crafts and trades, and small businesses – the never-ending hustle of street life.
I’ve been curious about the impact of the “Vietnam War” on this country. Vietnamese history cites many wars, not just the one we talk about. There are earlier wars against the Chinese and the Mongols, conflicts between the Nguyen lords of the north and the Champa kingdom of the south, the war of independence against the French (aka First Indochina War), the civil war (aka Second Indochina War or American War) between north and south divided politically by the 1954 Geneva convention and geographically by the 17th parallel, and most recently the 1980’s war against the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia.
Reminders of the civil war can be found everywhere. In Hanoi, they are present in all the museums. In Hue, capital of the Nguyen Dynasty, a large national flag flies from the Citadel which dominates the Imperial City and Forbidden Purple Palace. The national flag flew here for 28 days when the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army captured the Citadel during the 1968 Tet offensive.
Hoi An is a wonderfully historic city, and also a UNESCO World Heritage site. Night lanterns light up the streets of the old town with its Chinese clan houses, pagodas and covered bridges. I stumble upon a house that belonged to one of the early revolutionaries in the city. His grandson proudly shows me photos of grandpa with General Giap, chief architect of the French defeat at Dien Bien Phu, and of the strategy that led to the North’s victory in the civil war.
Nha Trang is a sun, sand and sea beach town. It’s predicted to grow exponentially. The Long Son pagoda is full of families praying for good fortune in the new year, and paying their respects to their ancestors. Clouds of incense carry their prayers heavenward past the enormous white Buddha atop the hill overlooking the pagoda. The Tet celebrations culminate in a spectacular fireworks display from barges off the beach. Thousands of people are out to watch, young and old. The beach is vast, and there is much construction in progress. Signs in Russian and English vie for attention.
