Asia Travel - Part 33

The Stunning Caves of Ajanta and Ellora

Aurangabad, Maharashtra, India

by Margaret Deefholts

Modern India preens itself as a slick, techno-savvy nation confidently brokering deals on international markets, and racing at top speed along the electronic superhighway. Its cities throb to the beat of Indo-jazz and its glamorous models strut the fashion runway in Bollywood style bling.

But beneath this sophisticated veneer lies another less strident India. One which has endured for centuries—a world of spiritual beliefs and mythology celebrated in an exuberance of cave paintings and temple monuments, spread across the subcontinent.

Just a couple of hours drive out of the busy town of Aurangabad (in the state of Maharashtra), I stand on a high bluff, looking down at a horseshoe shaped basalt cliff pockmarked with entrances to 29 caves (above). Ant-sized people crawl along a paved pathway and in the ravine far below, the Waghur river snakes through the jungle foliage. These are the Buddhist caves of Ajanta, built between 200 B.C. and 650 A.D. Lost to the world until 1819, it was a British Army officer, John Smith, who stumbled on them while on a hunting expedition in the area.

It is a sunny, but pleasantly cool weekend in mid-November when my guide Amod and I arrive at the Ajanta Tourist complex. The area is swarming with Indian holiday-makers—with just a few foreigners in their midst. En route to the spotlessly clean modern ticket office and bus depot, I shrug aside persistent touts selling garish postcards and Bollywood music CDs, but am sorely tempted to linger in a small craft bazaar with stalls displaying bright Indian shawls and readymade garments, jewellery, leather handbags and attractive curios. But time is of the essence so I hurry on.

To keep air pollution to the minimum, no private vehicles are allowed beyond this area. A green bus powered by natural gas, pants to a halt at the depot. A crowd materializes elbowing me aside as they claw and shove their way into the vehicle. I look at Amod and shrug as the bus lumbers out, packed to the rafters with babbling, excited Indians. He grins. “Leave it to me—I’ll get you onto the next one!” He’s as good as his word. He fights to the front of the seething mass of passengers, sits himself down and reserves a spot for me on the seat next to him. Getting off the bus at the foot of the caves, we walk through a landscaped garden rich with bougainvillea creepers and the scent of frangipani blossoms (above).

AJANTA CAVES

As I stand in the shadowy interior of the first cave, I’m reduced to stunned awe. The walls of the hall are a riot of murals that have endured in varying degrees of preservation over the millennia. At the far end of the room a statue of a benevolent Buddha gazes down at visitors. I’m riveted by what is probably the most photographed image in Ajanta, a painting of Bodhisattva Padmapani (left). The elegant prince, bedecked with pearls, holds an open lotus, signifying the awakening of the mystical inner self. With his golden skin, gentle smile and dreamy almond shaped eyes, he radiates a timeless serenity.

The word “buddha” means awakening (to enlightenment) and the Bodhisattvas whose images throng the walls of Ajanta’s caves are those aspiring to attain Buddhahood. Prince Siddharath Gautam, who achieved full spiritual enlightenment in the 6th century B.C. is the founder of Buddhism, and these caves were once inhabited by thousands of monks seeking to follow his eight-fold path of righteousness. Five of Ajanta’s caves were prayer or assembly halls enclosing stupas (symbolic representations of the Buddha); the rest were halls of residence. Buddhists, Jains and Hindus lived in harmony back then, and a great majority of Ajanta’s artistic masterpieces were created by under the patronage of a Hindu king Harishena who lived in the 5th century A.D.

The murals are painted with red, yellow and brown pigments derived from vegetable dyes and from powdered stones such as blue lapis lazuli. Unfortunately many of them are chipped and peeling, ravaged by time and weather. Yet for all that they rivet the eye. Mythical tales, unfurl across the walls, the scenes seething with movement and colour; royal processions of elephants and horses and oxen drawn carts, common folks in everyday attire, beautiful women, languorous lovers and stalwart warriors. The details are exquisite—the sheen of tiny pearls adorning a princess, and ceilings chequered with intricate flower motifs, birds and geometrical designs.

Above the confusion of people milling through the cave, and the chatter of a group of school children, Amod asks, “Can you guess how the artists would have created such beauty, working in these dark caves?” I shake my head. He fishes out a small mirror from his jacket pocket. “They used these,” he says. “Large mirrors were angled to reflect the sunlight pouring into the entrance of the caves.”

Even more astonishing is the fact that several caves were scooped out of the rock with hand held tools, working from the ceiling downwards. In the process, sculptors created free standing larger-than-life sized images of Buddha and detailed bas-relief friezes of worshippers and attendants along the walls.

On the twisting road heading back to the plains, Amod points out a site where a replica of the Ajanta caves is under construction. When completed in a year or two, it will offer cheap tickets for those who merely want to bring their families to romp through the pseudo caves and frolic around in a park setting. The result? Reduced traffic and environmental damage to the ancient site, and an opportunity for genuinely interested visitors to enjoy these extraordinary murals in an uncrowded, tranquil setting.

ELLORA CAVES

Not far from Ajanta, and about 30 km out of Aurangabad is another series of 34 man-made caves excavated from the rock face of the Charanandri hills. They came into existence between the 5th and 10th centuries AD, and although they bear little resemblance to Ajanta’s murals, they are no less astounding.

The caves, 12 of them Buddhist, 17 Hindu and 5 Jain, sprawl over a large area. It takes the better part of day to cover all of them on foot. Amod accompanies me to two of the Buddhist caves, and saves the third, the Hindu Kailasa temple, as the pièce de résistance of the tour. A balmy breeze kicks up small dust devils as we trudge past a series of dormitory caves used by the resident monks, and approach the Kailasa temple, courtyard. The entrance appears to be a modest portal flanked by two large stone elephants.

Amod watches me intently as we emerge onto the inner courtyard, and his face breaks into a huge grin, as my jaw literally drops. India’s wealth of temple carvings, dazzling as they may be, are so ubiquitous that after a while, one tends to become blasé. However, I’d defy even the most jaded traveller to be unimpressed by the extraordinary grandeur of the Kailasa Temple.

Imagine, if you will, over 7000 labourers excavating over 200,000 tons of rock face, with nothing more than hand held tools, to carve from the top down, a monumental central edifice 100 feet high, flanked by 60-foot free-standing pillars and huge elephants. The entire complex is perfectly symmetrical, so the 8th century architect would have planned its layout down to the last mathematical detail even before a single hammer hit virgin rock. It is a feat of engineering unequalled in India before or since. Not surprisingly it took 150 years to complete.

The Kailasa temple (right) is dedicated to the Hindu god Shiva whose abode in the high Himalayas is at Mount Kailash. Designed to resemble a chariot, the temple is in three parts: a dome-shaped sanctum enshrining a Shiva lingam (a phallus shaped stone symbolizing Shiva’s power), the main temple which is a large pillared hall, surmounted by four rampant lions, and a secondary smaller temple just above the main entrance.

I shade my eyes against the sun and crane my neck to look at the outer walls soaring three floors above me. Larger than life sized statues of gods stand sentinel on each corner of the main temple; every inch of the lower section is banded horizontally with rows of bas-relief figures taken from the great Indian epics, the Mahabharata and Ramayana. No room for error here as stone-masons and sculptors would have chiselled into rock face working from the top of the temple downwards to plinth level. Corridors are hewn into the hillside and flank a pedestrian corridor at ground level, but as Amod and I approach the back of the temple, we are dwarfed by an enormous rock overhang. It is squared away but remains an unsupported part of the parent cliff, and I can’t but feel a queasy sensation as I walk below it.

On our way out a little girl steps forward shyly and offers me a marigold flower. Her parents beam, and Amod takes a picture of me standing with the family. Behind us, sitting in the lotus position and tended by adoring elephants, is a large stone sculpture of Gajalakshmi, the goddess of wealth. She is a fitting symbol for the rich historic treasures of both Ajanta and Ellora.

If You Go:

Aurangabad Tours:

Aurangabad Private Tour: Ajanta And Ellora Caves Sightseeing Day Tour
Aurangabad Private 3-Day Tour with the Ajanta and Ellora Caves
Buddhist Caves of Ajanta Ellora
A Visit to the Fascinating Ellora Caves from Aurangabad
UNESCO’s Ajanta And Ellora Caves – A Two Night Heritage Immersion From Aurangabad With Private Transfers

Aurangabad: Accessible by air from Mumbai (45 minutes) and Delhi (3-1/2 hours). The 7-hour journey on board the air-conditioned chair-car on the Tapovan Express from Mumbai costs $10 and arrives mid afternoon. Where to Stay: $75 – $120 price range: The Taj Residency, the Hotel Ambassador Ajanta and Quality Inn The Meadows offer the best in comfort and amenities, but aren’t up to ultra luxurious standards.

Ajanta: Group, or individual tours to Ajanta (about 2 – 3 hours drive from Aurangabad) can be arranged at hotel travel desks, or through the India Tourism Development Corporation office in Aurangabad. Entry to Ajanta costs around $5. A private car and driver may be hired for the day at a cost of roughly $30. Private vehicles are not permitted beyond the Ajanta Tourist Complex; instead affordably priced “green” (natural gas) shuttle buses ply to and from the caves. There is a fair amount of climbing involved, but those unable to tackle several flights of steps may use the services of porters who carry people up in sedans. Negotiate rates ahead of time, and expect to pay around $12+ for four hours. Flash photography isn’t permitted and shoes need to be removed before entering some caves. The caves are very crowded on weekends and school holidays, and closed on Mondays.

Ellora: The Ellora caves are only 30 km from Aurangabad, but if covering all the caves, which are rather spread out, visitors are advised to hire a car and driver for the day. Entry costs $5.00. Ellora is closed on Tuesdays.

About the author:
Margaret Deefholts is an author (“Haunting India”) and an award-winning freelance travel writer and photographer. She is editor of Travel Writers’ Tales and a member of Travel Media Association of Canada and the B.C. Association of Travel Writers. While much of her focus is on the Indian subcontinent, she also writes about her adventures in Britain, Europe, Australia, the U.S. and Canada.
Web Site: http://www.margaretdeefholts-journeys.com
Contact: margaret.journeys@gmail.com

Photo credits:
First Ellora caves photo by VgBingi from Pixabay
All other photos are by Margaret Deefholts.

China: Beijing is Buzzing

What to See, Where to Go, What to Do

by Marilyn D. Pennell

Beijing is buzzing with activity as it prepares for the 2008 Olympic games. If you’re headed there for either business or pleasure, you’re in for an unforgettable journey into the history and culture of a 5,000 year old civilization. China’s capital city is packed with magnificent historical sites and out of the way alleyways teeming with life, just waiting to be discovered.

One of the first stops on your itinerary should be Tiananmen Square, the world’s largest public square and the site of the 1989 pro Democracy student protests. During the summer, about 20,000 people visit the square every day.

Walking among the throngs, you’ll encounter visitors from all over the globe trailing behind tour guides like eager puppies. A delightful sight is that of local residents flying kites and posing for photos next to the stern looking military sentries who stand guard. Much like the guards at Buckingham Palace, the sentries never crack a smile, but it’s fun to try to get them to grin anyway.

A visit to the Mao Mausoleum, located in the square, is an eerie and strangely moving experience, Be prepared for up to an hour’s wait to get a thirty second glimpse of the embalmed body of the former leader of the PRC.

Mao’s body has been on public view since his death in 1976. Rumor has it that there are actually two or more “Maos” i.e. the real embalmed body and a wax replica or two. What is perhaps most impressive in the mausoleum are the people of all ages who come to lay flowers at Mao’s feet, a testament to his enduring legacy. If you ask a Chinese friend or a person on the street about Mao, he or she is likely to say that he was “Sixty percent right and forty percent wrong.”

At the north end of the square, you’ll be greeted by a huge portrait of Chairman Mao hanging above the Gate of Heavenly Peace. This is the entrance to the Forbidden City, a 200-acre complex that stretches over a maze of courtyards, towering gates and majestic halls. Yellow, the symbol of the royal family, is the dominant color. The roofs are built with yellow glazed tiles and even the bricks on the ground are yellow.

In imperial China, 24 different emperors of the Ming and Qing Dynasties lived here with their families and courtesans. It could take anywhere from two hours to a full day or more to soak up even a small part of the 500 years of history and culture that this vast labyrinth represents.

Even if you aren’t a history buff, a visit to the Forbidden City will stir your senses and make you feel as if you have wandered onto the set of the film “The Last Emperor.” It’ s easy to imagine the Emperor’s concubines and the palace eunuchs rustling through the vast halls built with striking traditional architecture. The curved roofs, colorful lacquered eaves and walls of red, gold and green are exquisitely crafted. Look up and you will notice the fine decorative details of dragons, delicate flowers and calligraphy etched on the brightly painted ceilings.

The Temple of Heaven south of the city center should be your next stop. It was originally built as a site for imperial sacrifices and prayer for good harvests. Followers of numerology and feng shui will be impressed with the fact that the temple grounds were designed with these concepts in mind. The three tiers of the altar represent the heavens, earth and mortal realm.

What seemed to attract the most attention the day I visited was The Circular Mound Altar. Here groups of students, seniors and the middle aged gathered, hopping up and down on a circular disc, laughing, stamping and yelling. I’m not quite sure what this was all about but it did seem to make the sound reverberate. It was a very hot July day so maybe people were praying for rain!

Take a step back in time to the days the Empress Dowager Ci Xi, at the sultry Summer Palace on the shores of Kunming Lake. Ci Xi a notorious and controversial figure in the history of imperial China. She came to the imperial court as a concubine and rose to power under the rule of her young son, The Tongzhi Emperor and her nephew, the Guangxu Emperor. At one point during her rule, she imprisoned her nephew, the Guangxu Emperor in order to establish herself as ruler.

On a bright summer day, the palace grounds are overflowing with throngs of people strolling along the promenade in their summer finery, shielding themselves from the sun with pastel parasols. The lake is covered in sweet green lily pads. Exotic multicolored dragon boats glide along as if floating on air and are available to the public should you desire a ride.

But don’t try to hitch a ride on the Marble Boat. This “boat” is a two story, stationary building constructed of marble and stained glass. Ci Xi allegedly had the “boat” built with embezzled funds. Legend says that it was her favorite place to have tea.

If you like people watching or want a more relaxed visit, go on a Sunday. This is when the locals come out to play. You can watch local people paint calligraphy poems on the sidewalk using buckets of water and big bristly brushes. On Sundays women perform traditional Chinese dances, couples enjoy ballroom dancing and people of all ages practice the slow and graceful movements of T’ai Chi.

One of the most memorable scenes on my Sunday visit was a group of older men playing “Jingle Bells” on traditional Chinese instruments, while a woman in a red dress sang classical Chinese songs nearby and another group of men and women played a lively game of Chinese chess.

The old Beijing is quickly morphing into the “new Beijing.” Though much of the ancient charm is still evident, every day old buildings are being torn down and rebuilt, much to the chagrin of many locals. So, to discover hidden gems, one has to search and spend some time away from the crowds. These are just a few of the many “small delights” you may find along the way.

To experience the old Beijing, a visit to a “hutong” is a must. Hutongs are narrow back alleys formed by rows of siheyuan, or traditional courtyard homes. Here, life is lived on the streets. It isn’t unusual to see groups of people sitting in the alleys playing cards, hawking vegetables and cooking food on outdoor grills. Though it may seem a bit touristy, a good way to see and experience the hutong is a tour by pedicab. My tour included a stop at a traditional courtyard home where our group helped make a lunch of Chinese dumplings with the family who lives there.

The most visited religious site in Beijing is the Tibetan Buddhist Lama Temple. What makes it special is that it is a place to appreciate the fervent and moving devotion of Buddhists in China. The atmosphere is almost intoxicating. The smell of incense floats among the pagodas painted in red, green and gold, as worshipers light joss sticks and clasp their hands in prayer.

BEYOND BEIJING: THE GREAT WALL

What’s so great about the Great Wall? There isn’t enough space here to list everything that makes this iconic creation the stuff of legend. It stretches along a winding path from the Yellow Sea to the Gobi Desert, through five provinces and two autonomous regions. Whether seen from a distance or up close, breathtaking is about the only word that can come close to describing it.

The three main public entry points are all about a drive of an hour or two from Beijing. The Great Wall at Mutianyu is located about sixty miles from Beijing. This is the section of the wall that former President Bill Clinton visited. They say his name is inscribed on one of the cable cars.

At Mutianyu the walk from the parking lot to the lowest point on the wall is a strenuous hike. Fortunately, you can also take a cable car. At the wall, after hopping off the cable car, I was a bit surprised to see groups of Chinese businessmen on cell phones, a man dressed up like Genghis Khan and grannies with small children out for a day of hiking.

One of my sweetest memories of my meanderings along the Great Wall is of a young Chinese couple with their toddler-aged son. The little boy couldn’t have been more than two years old but he toddled along the rocky path like a trooper.

At the end of our afternoon at the wall, my travel mates and I had the option of taking an alpine slide back down the slope. Since I was loaded down with cameras, I opted for the cable car. But my companions, all of whom were sensible adults, said the slide was a great way to finish the day. If I had it to do over again, I’d take that slide, too.

If You Go:

Beijing Tours Now Available:

Private Walking Tour Forbidden City
Jinshanling Great Wall Group Tour with Lunch
Confucius Temple and Imperial Academy Walking tour

For More Information:
The China National Tourism Office at www.cnto.org or www.chinatravelservice.com.

Getting Around:
Your best bet is to hire a Chinese speaking guide since English is not widely spoken and the attractions are spread all over the city. The prices for guides are reasonable and you’ll enjoy the city more with someone who knows the lay of the land. Taxis are inexpensive though most drivers don’t speak English. Chinese taxis are not as roomy as Western taxis. Most can only fit four average sized people, at best. If you’re headed to the Olympic games a new Beijing subway line built to accommodate the games, will open in summer 2008. The line will run between the city center and the Olympic Green, the park-like complex where the new National Stadium and other prime Olympic venues are located.

Shopping:
If you like shopping, be prepared to bargain. It’s almost a game in China and the salespeople have fun with it. Bring small change. For silk goods and souvenirs, try the multi floor Xiushui Silk Market located in downtown Beijing. Beware of the knockoff designer labels – the market is notorious for fakes. But you can also find some quality silks here, though you should watch out for polyester being marketed as silk! If you’re looking for good buys in pearls and jade, the Hongqiao Pearl Market is terrific. There are five floors with all types of jewelry shops. I recommend Sharon’s Store for pearls. (This is where international celebrities shop). The market is located near the Temple of Heaven. For ultra modern mall shopping, go to the Wang Fujing Street area. Here you’ll find real designer clothing, Starbucks and of course, McDonalds. This is “western style shopping” – no bargaining allowed! The street has two major shopping malls, one of which, Oriental Plaza, sprawls a further two blocks to the east (and another 15 minute walk).

Travel Tips:
Get a business card written in Mandarin from your hotel before you venture out. If you get lost, it can be a lifesaver.
“BYOTP” i.e. Bring your own toilet paper. Public buildings in China usually do not provide it. So, don’t leave home without your own supply.
A good way to begin your tour of the Forbidden City is to rent an audio player with headsets at the entrance that can help guide you through the main hall of the complex.
When visiting temples in China, dress appropriately. Women should avoid low cut tops and shorts and men should wear conservative shirts and pants. Be aware that people come to worship so try to be sensitive with cameras. In general, Buddhist monks are not allowed to be photographed.

About the author:
Marilyn D. Pennell is an award winning writer, teacher and filmmaker based in Massachusetts. She recently circumnavigated the globe for four months as a faculty member on the Semester at Sea, visiting 11 ports on four continents. In July 2006 she traveled throughout China as a Fulbright Hays Fellows, studying its history and culture. Contact: Marilynvdp@hotmail.com

Photo credits:
First Tiananmen Square photo by clarkelz from Pixabay
All other photos are by Marilyn D. Pennell.

My Clockwise Trek Around Holy Mount Kailash

Himalayan Rhapsody: A Mountain Pilgrimage in Tibet

by Nayna Chakrabarty

Are you living your life on the edge? I used to prefer leading mine with a safety net. My outlook towards vacations took a U-turn from beach resorts, jungle adventures and spa packages when I was hypnotized by the golden hue radiating from the pristine, snow-capped mountains. It was then that I got my calling to come and seek the blessings of Lord Shiva.

Mount Kailash, in Tibet, is revered in Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism and the Bora faith. The Hindus regard this place as the abode of Lord Shiva, the God of destruction and regeneration, while the Tantric Buddhists believe this to be the home of Buddha Demchok. According to the Jains, their founder Rishabhadeva attained enlightenment here and the Bon religion, predating Buddhism in Tibet, consider this area as the center of spiritual power.

I knew that Lord Shiva is a God who is easily pleased if a devotee is ardent and sincere in his worship. With this faith, I packed my gear and headed to Tibet.

The first stop was at Nepal to sign up with a tour operator. This had several advantages as they are well-versed in handling visas and permits. Their packages include lodging, food and medical assistance. The key players of such expeditions are the Sherpas who are extremely adaptable to the outdoor lifestyle and familiar with the topographical layout. Nepal has its own charm with its lively ethnicity and heritage. But I didn’t get to spend much time sight-seeing as our group headed directly to Tibet.

The roads became treacherous after we crossed the China border. The rugged terrain made me feel as if I had lost control over my sense of balance. The rock-strewn ground slashed the tires of our vehicle causing problems for the driver. Other times, it was fun to pass through small streams, splashing water, leaving a trail for others to follow. At sunset, we huddled in shanty settlements sharing accommodations with four people from the tour group. It was a difficult journey, but a small price to pay, as most Hindus believe that getting to Mount Kailash is a once in a lifetime opportunity. If you can make it there and back then you are one step closer to getting liberation from the cycle of birth and death.

On the fifth day, we were at the threshold of heaven, Darchen. From here, we had to start the clockwise trek around Mount Kailash. In Hinduism, walking in a clockwise direction around a temple, a sacred mountain or a river is known as Parikrama or Pradakshina. This kora (circumambulation) should be done in humility as a sign of respect towards the presiding deity. The fifty-two kilometer (thirty miles) trek was divided into three days. There were horses available on hire to make this journey easier. But I declined. Instead, I preferred a guide who would accompany me on this scenic pilgrimage. Lord Shiva was definitely glad with my decision because I was given three guides for the price of one – a beautiful girl, Prema, her son Thantri, and their dog Ouna. Despite the language barriers, with our hand gestures, we managed to communicate. This was Prema’s ninth trek. She stayed faithfully by my side, carrying my backpack. Whenever I stopped to rest, she handed me my water bottle and food packet.

It was easy to get mesmerized by the clear, blue sky and the glowing beauty of the snow-capped mountains sparkling in the bright sunlight. The clouds seemed to pass at slow pace, exchanging pleasantries with the snow. The icy wind pinched my skin, yet there was gentleness in its touch when it ruffled my hair. Prema made sure that I did not rest long and usually pointed at her watch, signaling, “Time up. Keep moving.” Her son, Thantri, was a like a mountain goat, skipping and hopping over loose stones. Their dog walked ahead, barking when we lagged. He seemed to be the captain who didn’t like his troops slacking.

At sunset, the Sherpas assembled the tents and cooked dinner. The tour members huddled in their sleeping bags to rest while I sat gazing at the twinkling stars, the bright moon and Mount Kailash. The Divinity had spread its arms, embracing those who acknowledged it. The aura of the mountain was of unparallel beauty. It was beyond something that I had ever experienced perhaps because I was in peace with myself.

The following day, we had to climb to the Dromala Pass, 5650 meters (3.511 miles). Within ten minutes of the walk, I was breathless. The icy wind parched my throat and the hot water in my flask was already half gone. The boulders were high and stones jagged. I rested every five minutes. I thought I wouldn’t be able to keep going, but Prema’s actions renewed my spirit. As she climbed, she cleared the path, placing the large stones to one side thus performing a great service for future pilgrims.

Finally, we reached Dromala Pass where prayers were offered. The place was adorned with multi-colored prayer flags and the fragrance of incense filled the air.

The next hurdle was going back down the steep decent of the mountain. I tightly held Prema’s hand. The small stones crunched under my feet and the larger ones loosened, rolling down rapidly. I slipped several times and wished that I could tumble down in a greater speed to cover more area. In one of my falls, I grabbed a bush for support not knowing that those wild shrubs were adorned with thorns. The sting was excruciating. A few thorns had embedded in my skin and my palm swelled and began to itch. Prema pointed to a stream where I washed my hand, but that did not help.

After walking for nine hours, we finally reached the camp at sunset. Every joint in my body ached. My mind was a blank. The biting wind overpowered my weary body while my itching palm was a reminder that I was still conscious. Then all the pain and exhaustion melted away as I looked back and saw Mount Kailash, gleaming in the divine light, making me realize how fortunate I was to be there.

Today, when I look back on that remarkable journey, I wonder how I managed to do it. I strongly believe it the grace of Lord Shiva. If you seek, you shall find.

If You Go:

World Pilgrimage Guide: Mount Kailash
Tours to Tibet: Holy Mt. Kailash

Mount Kailash Tours Now Available:

Holy Tour To Kailash for 17 Days
Private 15-Day Tibet Tour from Lhasa Including 3-Day Mt Kailash Trek
Shared Kailash Everest Tour Coach and Tibetan Local Guide
15 Days Mt Everest and Mt Kailash kora pilgrimage group tour

About the author:
Nayna Chakrabarty enjoys writing fiction and non-fiction. She also enjoys adventure sports and any activity that creates an adrenaline rush whether it is riding the tallest (456 ft), and the fastest (128 mph) roller coaster on earth at Jackson, New Jersey, taking a chartered plane to get a closer glimpse of Mount Everest or white water rafting against the wild currents in Rishikesh, India. Her varied interests in wellness, spirituality, creativity and the paranormal are available on www.nayna.in/blog

Photo credits:
First Mount Kailash photo by Jan Reurink from Netherlands / CC BY
All other photos are by Nayna Chakrabarty.

Surviving Cyclone Nargis

Myanmar

by Mark Tippet

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is a first-hand account of the devastating cyclone that has taken thousands of lives in Myanmar. Mark and Yeon Tippet are a dedicated couple who operate several orphanage/schools at Weiyone Seik. Yeon also has a program for building wells. One well provides enough water for an entire village so even small donations can go a long way.

May 8, 2008

We are both in the land of the living, and despite all the drama of being hit by a cyclone, spirits are high, and we have got the house back into shape, and to a large extent damage from hundreds of fallen trees around the Estate has been largely cleared away, and the golf course will reopen for play on Saturday, one week after the storm.

Yeon was fortunately in Hong Kong decorating. I was here with several of our staff, and we battled the storm throughout the night, clearing crashing plants and smashing pots, and fighting to clear the drains as water gushed through the house as they blocked on the upper verandas.

When dawn broke, the gardens were a spectacle of utter devastation: royal palms chopped in half; bougainvillea trellises collapsed into the swimming pool; hundreds of ridge tiles shooting off the roofs and crashing into the pool and as far as the lake. The lake itself appeared through the dawn like an ocean, with waves streaking across it as the cyclone circled overhead, and swept down again and again to ground level.

The noise in the house as the cyclone whirled around was deafening, and the upper landing glassed in roof seemed on the point of flying off at every gust of wind hit the house. Around nine am there was a lull and then we entered the eye of the storm. The rain was streaming down, but I decided to venture outside and see how far I could get standing upright – Taking a small Sony CyberShot wrapped in towels and a Ziploc bag to protect it from the rain, wearing a bicycle helmet for protection against flying debris, I opened the front door of the house.

Despite what we had been through during the night, the spectacle of devastation outside was still beyond anything I could have imagined – Pots and plants smashed up against the house entrance; 60 foot giant Burmese wabo bamboos ripped out of the ground, and my much-loved Royal Palms lopped in half or bent at crazy angles, the driveway invisible under a coating of shredded palm-fronds, bamboo leaves, smashed roofing and other storm detritus.

I got near the main gate and saw it was nothing to the drama outside our property in the rest of Tamarind Gardens: a “lake” two and half feet deep as far as I could see – No road visible, lamp stands flattened, and all the large Tamarind and Padauk trees crashed down into the “river” flowing between all the properties .

Nothing was moving outside – No people, no dogs, no anybody. On the basis that the water depth was no more than two and half feet, I I fired up my trusted Land-Rover, selected low-gear ratio, and eased out into the water.

Driving up Tamarind Gardens was an obstacle course of navigating fallen trees. Sometimes I just powered through them, and occasionally I drove up on the pathway and squeezed between the uprooted stumps and houses fencing. All the time the wind noise came and went, while I drove with one hand, and filmed and photographed Pun Hlaing’s unimaginable new landscape.

After two attempts, I finally navigated out of Tamarind Gardens into Bougainvillea Drive, where the waters were much deeper, but with fewer trees lining the roads, I was able to drive with two wheels up on the pathways, raising the engine above water level. I went past the Project Office – metal roofs ripped away – past the workshops: no roof left – past SPA Design with its banana-leaf thatched roofs: unrecognizable – past the Golf Apartments (where I saw a guard racing through the rain from his hut into the main building, the only human being I saw anywhere) – up to the main roundabout at the lake in front of Serge’s house, still inching forward in two to three feet of water – and round towards the Club. Finally, half-way down towards Jasmine Gardens, which was the first area we developed pre-opening in 2000, and so where the largest and oldest trees are, I could go no further, blocked by four massive rain trees from both sides of the wide road, making it totally impassable.

I reversed round, and headed up to the main gate, between the majestic toddy-palms on Pun Hlaing Entrance Avenue past the hospital – Right across the road at the main entrance turn-in to Pun Hlaing, a large uprooted tree totally blocked access to the Estate, so we were truly marooned from the outside world. Little did I think at the time that Pun Hlaing would be an oasis of “normality” from the rest of the city as the true scale of the devastation dawned.

Turning back to home, the L-R plugged its way through the eerie desolation of an Estate without people, without lights, and looking unlike it had ever looked before . Turning into Tamarind Gardens, I could not believe that I had actually driven out of the morass of uprooted trees and river of water which I saw right to the bend in the distance. The wind started to get stronger again, so I pushed on back through the debris, and finally reached the home, just as I blew a rear tire on the Land-Rover, which must have been punctured by a sheared off branch or other unseen debris below water-level. An hour and a half after leaving the house I made it to the portico, to be greeted by an anxious staff.

The storm raged on until the afternoon, and some six hours later people began to emerge from their homes for the first time, and the waters gradually receded, the full impact of the cyclone apparent as the massive roots of uprooted trees rose up out of the water.

Main Government power went down along with the thousands of snapped power line poles, so we lost our newly built million dollar 33 KVA transformer station during the night, but our other Estate generators had automatically cut-in to keep power going. These our engineers cut-off when the storm had ripped holes in the Aluzinc roofs of all our substations, one by one, and the electrics cut-out at Pun Hlaing for the first time since we opened on 8th. October 2000. So, we were without power, and cut off from the outside.

By Saturday night we got the inside of the house back to a semblance of normality, and had dinner by candlelight cooked on gas. On Sunday our Estate staff and residents’ house staff along with my gardeners who lived in the villages beside Pun Hlaing, began sawing up the trees along Tamarind Gardens, and by the end of the day, a road was breached though the debris, which cars could go down.

I had eight people on our verandah for lunch on Sunday. I had food and staff, and they were in Evergreen without power, staff or much food. The sun came out, and a few bottles of Chardonnay made the world seem a better place . In the afternoon we tried to cross the River to our orphanage, but the waves were too high.

We got across the next morning, to a totally wiped out community – 56 homes around our orphanage, and hundreds more in the rest of Waiyone Seik, and only three left standing. Our orphanage, being a well-built brick and iron-wood frame structures, were the only buildings left standing and fully intact. We moved all three hundred of the villagers, from young babies to a 92 year old woman into the orphanage. Our eight Heidi’s nest children we moved into our adjoining building where the classrooms are.

Our new kitchens which Yeon had just built are a blessing – even though part of the Aluzinc roof was holed by the storm – as we now feed all the village, and they live inside the orphanage main building. When Yeon got back by plane from Hong Kong after the airport opened, she agreed to continue to feed the villagers for as long as it takes us to rebuild their homes, provided we can procure enough rice and cooking oil supplies, and of course fresh drinking water.

Spirits are very high, and the villagers are completely in our care, and I think they are the luckiest along the whole Pun Hlaing River, after what I witnessed when I explored the river in our motor boat with Mongton and Jewel after the storm. Our boat is one of the few undamaged boats on that part of the river, as our boatman had ridden out the cyclone on board to keep it from pitching up onto the river bank.

All the way up the river were sights of tragic devastation, with bamboo thatched-roofed homes crushed flat or simply swept away. Our villagers are now almost the only ones with a secure roof over their heads, and two meals a day!

Pun Hlaing and Mayon are miraculously back to normality, unlike the city, and unlike the Irrawaddy Delta. Whatever CNN and BBC report, they can have no concept of the losses in the Delta – Yeon and I went down there after the Tsunami, and we cannot believe that ANYONE we helped three years ago can possible have survived, as the whole point of the Delta is below water level. The mouth of the Delta is a Continental Shelf, and when storms come in, the force of the sea builds up in the shallows as it rides up the Shelf, and this is why the satellite pictures now show the whole area below water – I was with a naval captain this morning, who believed the water levels in the area at the mouth of the Delta must exceed 20 feet.

NOTE: Recent reports estimate the number of deaths from the cyclone as over 100,000, with thousands more expected to die from disease, and lack of food, water and medical help.

To Donate To The Disaster Fund Check These Websites:

Khom Loy Development Foundation (UK)
www.justgiving.com

Metta Foundation (USA, Myanmar)
www.metta-myanmar.org

Save the Children Canada
www.thehumanitariancoalition.ca

Tear Australia (Australia)
www.tear.org.au

Justgiving (U.K.)
www.justgiving.com

Cassils Wettstein Asia Fund
www.cwasiafund.org

Kodungallur, Dilapidated Glory of an Ancient Port

Kerala, India

by Arun Bhatia

I am in Kerala, the southern coast of India, at a port called Kodungallur. The Brits in their 150 years of colonial dominance here till 1947, couldn’t pronounce Kodangallur and came as close to the name as their thick tongues would allow by calling it Cranganore. Apostle Thomas had landed at Kodungallur in 52 A.D., soon after the death of Christ.

My visit is more recent and I have come by a rickety government bus. I learn that Saint Thomas’ wrist bone [TOP PHOTO] is enshrined here in the Mar Thoma Pontifical Shrine, with its crescent of colonnades in front. A large statue depicts the moment when Thomas acknowledged Christ rising and was then no longer called “Doubting Thomas.”

Kodungallar is almost an island attached to the mainland, with the Arabian Sea to the west. To the north and south, there are the mouths of rivers Chetval and Azhikode, and to the east are the charming backwaters. Kodungallur is not on any tourist map but boasts of India’s oldest mosque and an ancient church – both of which look like Hindu temples and both, alas, in near ruins. The Portuguese had ruled here, and their fort, known as Kothapuram, is quite derelict. This town’s is indeed, the dilapidated glory of a truly ancient port.

The 3rd century B.C. Hindu Emperor Asoka’s edicts mention the local dynasty of the Cheras. The first century Roman traveler, Pliny, talked of it as the primium emporium Indae (the first emporium in India) and how it was a sprawling urban complex with trade links to the great empires of the epoch – Abbasid Baghdad, Byzantine Constantinople, the Holy Roman Empire, Moorish Cordova, Tang China, Cambodia and Sumatra.

It is called Kodungallur now, but was the ancient city of Vanji. The Greeks called it Muziris. It was mentioned in the Periplus of the Erythraean Sea, the first century B.C. work on navigation. Hindu sage Valmiki’s annal, the Ramayana, refers to this place as Murachi. Tamil poets of the Sangam period (first five centuries of Christian era) talked of Muchiris, where “beautiful ships… bringing gold come, splashing the white foam in the waters of the Periyar… and return laden with pepper.” Apostle Thomas landed here in 52 A.D. The Jews came in 69 A.D. after the fall of Jerusalem. The first Muslims reached India by sea here, and Malik-ibn-Dinar, the missionary who introduced Islam to Kerala, built India’s first mosque here. This Chera empire capital fell in 1012 after a massive three decade attack by the great Chola emperor Raja Raja.

I find that almost all “sights” require imagination because they have withered due to time, conquests, neglect or all three. For instance, Cheraman Perumal, legendary Kerala king who converted to Islam, had a palace but the site has a few broken columns on open ground. The Cheraman Juma mosque, two km north of Kodungallur and located on National Highway 17 is a 7th century edifice, the first one in India. It was rebuilt in the 16th century and looks like a Kerala Hindu temple as the outer walls rise from a tiered base. Only its wooden interior is intact. A large Kerala oil lamp is in the centre, to which Muslims, Christians and Hindus all bring oil on major family events. Women are not allowed inside but the imam (priest) shows male visitors like me around.

On the highway heavy with traffic, I walk half a kilometer south of the ancient mosque, past multi-staged lamps, to the Shiva temple at Thirvanchikulam. It has a majestic gateway, carvings of elephants, deities, gods and goddesses and a majestic Nandi bull, upon which Shiva rides.

It is the Kali temple about which I had heard so much that had attracted me here. It is in the middle of town, on open ground of seven acres. A typical ancient Kerala temple, it has the majestic awe-inspiring idol of Kurumba Bhagwati (Kali), six feet in height, made from a single trunk of jack fruit tree. With gold ornaments, a Kathakali like crown, a mask, eight arms with weapons and symbols, it is in sitting posture with a crimson cloth below the waist. The aspect is when Kali had killed the demon Daruka. There is a secret chamber all shrouded in mystery with an underground passage. I learn that a curious roof-repairing carpenter once peeped inside and became blind. Since then, no one dares probe it. It is plain scary. Anthropologists speculate that it is a megalith containing material remains of the dead.

Talpoli and Bharani are the two main festivals here. The former starts on Makara Sankranti (around January 14) with colour and joy. Bharani (March-April), however, is a grotesque festival with devotees getting drunk, singing sexually explicit songs about the goddess, which she is supposed to like. Offbeat legends are told as origins of the Bharani festival. But the goings on offend many other Keralites. Chickens in hundreds were sacrificed with the temple site looking gory, but that practice has been mercifully stopped.

Near a deepasthambha (lamp) mounted on a kurma (tortoise incarnation of god Vishnu), there is a scale that is used for those wanting to weigh themselves against bananas and offer their body-weight quantity as prasadam offering, which is later auctioned to yield to the temple kitty. It is also where the secret passage is supposed to be. I see a toddler cry as her head is being tonsured in a ritual there.

Some day when I work up enough courage, I will visit Kodungallur again to peep inside that secret chamber with an underground passage, to find out if it is really a megalith with remains of the dead.

Cochin Shore Excursion Private Tour- Kerala Houseboat Trip with Private Vehicle

More Information:

Kodungallur is 35 km from well-know port of Cochin. Cochin is well connected by rail, road, sea and air. Regular Cochin-Kodungallur buses are available.
Hotel Indraprastham has a modest restaurant, an air-conditioned restaurant and bar.
Kodungallur Wikipedia page

Cochin Tours Now Available:
Cochin City Tour
Sunrise Backwater boat Cruise at Cochin and Breakfast with Local Family
Private Tour of Jewish Synagogues in Cochin

About the author:
Arun Bhatia has been freelance writing since 1952 as 17-year old freshman at University of California at Los Angeles (U.C.L.A), where he contributed to the campus paper and since then has contributed to English and Hindi dailies and monthlies in India on travel, ecology, restaurants, humor, book reviews, interviews, drama reviews.

Photo credits:
Thomasreliquiar Kondungallur – Wrist bone relic of St. Thomas by Joachim Specht / CC0
All other photos are by Arun Bhatia.