For me, the Heart of the Yatra (Pilgrimage) was the trip to Kedarnath. This was our first look at the high Himalayas. We traveled to the Guptakashi area during the day, and the high mountains are hidden behind the lower peaks. We arrived during the night and were not able to see what was outside the bus windows. When we woke up the next morning, this was the amazing and breath-taking sight that presented itself to our eyes.
Kedar is one of the names of Lord Shiva, Lord of Yoga. Kedarnath represents Lord Shiva in His most resplendent and most serene form. Kedarnath is located at 30 degrees 44'05.78" N, 79 degrees 04'00.76" E, elevation 11634', in case you want to locate it on Google Earth.
The mountain itself has a garland of two glaciers around it like a necklace. They form the Mandakini River, which is also one of the ancient names of the Milky Way, the Celestial River of Heaven. The Kedarnath temple sits in the lap of the mountain. The two rivers run on both sides of the town, which is just a few pilgrim hostels. In Pilgrimage to the Heart - Part 1, I shared how Kedarnath was nearly destroyed by a catastrophic flood in 2013. The temple was built by people who really knew what they were doing. Much debris remains from the flood devastation, and there were bulldozers there continually moving rubbles. The town itself is very small, only about 250 residents. Pilgrimage huts and tents are set up to accommodate pilgrims.
The town is empty during the winter months from Karittik Purnima, the full moon of November. Then the temple is closed, and the movable deity images are taken down the mountain to their winter home. The temple doors are locked and not re-opened until April when intrepid devotees shovel their way through several feet of snow to the temple. Sharmila told me that during the time when the temple is closed, the devas (the celestial deities), come to the temple for worship and keep the temple lamps lit. When the doors are first opened in the Spring, thousands of people are there waiting to see the lamps still lit.
Kedarnath is very ancient, so old that no one knows how old it is. It was renovated by Shankaracharya, the great teacher of Vedanta in the 8th Century. From this spot, he departed into the mountains and was never seen again.
Gail Minotti and I were very eager to visit here. There is no road to Kedarnath, only a 14 km path from Gaurikund, the nearest town. Ponies and helicopters are available, but Gail and I wanted to walk it. It so happened that the day before the Kedarnath trip, we went to the Tungnath Temple. I didn't realize this was a 6 km (one-way) uphill hike to a higher altitude than Kedarnath. It was certainly worth it, but it did me in. I was afraid I would not be able to handle the Kedarnath hike the day after Tungnath. Gail decided to go by pony. I haven't been on a horse since I was a teenager and I had serious doubts about this, but I decided to go with her.
I had been watching the weather at Kedarnath on the internet before we left Louisville, so I thought we were pretty well-prepared. The day before I had gone slightly higher than Kedarnath to the Tungnath Temple wearing a light jacket and shawl and was very comfortable. Still, I put on long underwear, wool socks, a jacket, and packed two shawls, an extra pair of shoes and socks. Gail and I both had rain ponchos and altitude sickness pills.
It started out badly. We arrived at Gaurikund and no one spoke enough English for us to be understood. After 30-40 minutes of fumbling around, we realized we need to get a permit to go up the mountain. Pilgrims to Kedarnath must have a retinal scan (so they can identify your body later), a medical exam to determine if you are fit for the climb, and register for a permit. A cluster of enthusiastic pony drivers helped us so that we would hire them. Which we did. So, we got all that done, got our permits and followed our drivers to the ponies, which were actually mules (not a bad thing!). Gail's pony tried to buck her off and kick her, but Gail seemed unfazed by that, which was very impressive.
We got started. It was horribly painful for me. After 30 minutes I was sure I would die, do permanent damage to myself and never be able to hold mula bandha again. I tried getting off and walking for awhile, but the air was so thin, and the pace of the ponies was so fast, I got tired really fast and had to get back on.
We passed a place where there was twisted steel wreckage. We later learned this was the location of Ramwara, a village that was completely washed away in the 2013 flood not leaving even one brick of the town. There were no survivors. Even though we didn't know that as we passed it, the feel of the place was unusual.
We climbed continually upward. It was a very difficult trip, even on pony. The path was washed out and rough in many places. You had to really hold on to keep from being jostled off. I couldn't take any photos for fear of dropping my cell phone off a cliff. The drop-offs at the path's edge were heart-stopping. In the beginning, there were many people working on the path to repair it and sweep it. Because of the ponies, there was a lot of manure and sweepers were continually sweeping to clean the path. It was amazing how many people were there to keep the path clear. Even the outhouses were clean and very well-kept. Along the way we passed officials who asked us to show our permits and checked off our names on clipboards. It seemed very organized.
At some point, it began to rain lightly. We stopped at a tea stall and had tea and put on our rain ponchos. The ponies began to roll around on the ground and mine still had my purse on it with my cell phone in it! I managed to retrieve it, and my phone was okay. Then we continued on. It began to rain harder. Then it began to hail. It hailed and hailed. Soon the path was covered.
We passed a field hospital and many pilgrims had stopped there. It was like pictures I had seen of refugee camps. We continued on for perhaps another kilometer, and then it was apparent that we couldn't go on. The precipitation was now coming down so heavily it was hard to see. It was a combination of hail, snow and sleet and it had covered the path. Footing was treacherous. The ponies were slipping and sliding. Our pony drivers led our ponies into an open-air shelter and indicated we should get off and go on by ourselves. They pointed off into the distance into which we could see absolutely nothing and motioned that we should keep going. "One kilometer!" they yelled above the sound of the sleet and wind. I looked around at the pony drivers in their light jackets and sweaters, some shivering uncontrollably. I wondered how they would get back. Gail gave her hat to one of them.
Lightning and thunder started, very loudly and continuously. We were in an open river gorge between huge peaks. There was no shelter at all. There was nothing we could do but set off as quickly as possible into the Himalayan blizzard. Already the ice and snow was about four inches deep and very slippery, and it was coming down so relentlessly that it was hard to see ahead. The thunder rolled and echoed with a weird metallic clang that resonated through the mountains. It also gave our situation an awesome, rather heroic quality, as if we had a Wagnerian soundtrack for our ordeal. My feet were soaked and going numb. I said to myself, "Put one foot in front of the other." I walked on. Our friends Michelle and Gary, who had started ahead of us, had disappeared into the white-out. I was getting very cold. I kept looking back to make sure Gail was there and just kept walking.
I don't know how long we walked. I repeated my mantra and tried to keep my hands warm under the poncho, but the wind was whipping everything around. I looked up, and ahead in the distance I could see some structures and right above them, I saw the roof of the Kedarnath Temple! At that moment I felt I had wings and remembered Rumi's poem:
Who gets up early
to discover the moment light begins?
Who finds us here circling, bewildered, like atoms?
Who comes to a spring thirsty
and sees the moon reflected in it?
Who, like Jacob blind with grief and age,
smells the shirt of his lost son
and can see again?
Who lets a bucket down and brings up
a flowing prophet?
Or like Moses goes for fire
and finds what burns inside the sunrise?
Jesus slips into a house to escape enemies,
and opens a door to the other world.
Soloman cuts open a fish, and there’s a gold ring.
Omar storms in to kill the prophet
and leaves with blessings.
Chase a deer and end up everywhere!
An oyster opens his mouth to swallow one drop.
Now there’s a pearl.
A vagrant wanders empty ruins.
Suddenly he’s wealthy.
But don’t be satisfied with stories, how things
have gone with others. Unfold
your own myth, without complicated explanation,
so everyone will understand the passage,
We have opened you.
Start walking toward Shams. Your legs will get heavy and tired.
Then comes a moment of feeling the wings you’ve grown,
lifting.
--Coleman Barks, The Essential Rumi
I went back and told Gail I could see the temple. Then a man in a uniform with a walkie-talkie appeared out of the storm and greeted me smiling warmly. He motioned me toward a building. Inside, I saw our yatra companions. There was no heat in the building, but there was hot food and it was certainly more dry than being outside.
As it turned out, no building in the town had heat and many buildings still did not have power. Gail and I were assigned to a room that was dark, damp, cold and had no power. Already I was starting to shiver uncontrollably and I had no way to dry my feet. I tried to find something else warm to wear at the few stalls selling items. Joseph, one of the helpful young men on our yatra, went out and found me some wool socks. I tried warming myself at the fire of some sadhus, but the fire was so small and so smoky it was not very helpful. I told Yoginder, one of our tour leaders, that I thought I was getting too cold, and he said he would send a heater to our room. However, Michelle and Oana didn't wait - they insisted I come to their room because they had power and hot water. So I did. They and Jamie stuffed me into a sleeping bag and Michelle gave me her hot water bottle. It still took three hours for me to stop shivering and I slept a little bit that night.
Next morning, as soon as it was light out, I got up and found that my shoes and socks had dried out. I put them on and went to see about Gail. I found her coming down the path carrying my backpack. I was relieved that she was okay. We went back up to the temple, which was not open yet. Gail had gone to the evening arati (worship), but I had not been to the temple yet.
At every Shiva temple, there is a statue of his bull Nandi out front, facing the image of Lord Shiva (the lingam). In the ancient stories of Lord Shiva from the Puranas, Lord Shiva gave Nandi the boon that whatever a devotee whispered in Nandi's ear would be heard directly by Lord Shiva. I had whispered into Nandi's ear at every Shiva temple we visited on our yatra, "Laura from Kentucky here, and tell Lord Shiva I want to see Him at Kedarnath." I fell onto Nandi's neck weeping with gratitude... until another pilgrim brusquely shoved me aside so his friend could take his picture. But that's okay.
Thanks to the storm that Gail and I encountered, there were very few people there at the temple and we could spend a lot of time in the temple itself experiencing the divine Presence. I tried to soak it in as much as possible, but it's still a fuzzy memory. I remember the priest repeatedly banging my head into the lingam saying, "Think of your parents! Think of your mother! Think of your father!" I stood by the ancient wall, trying to fix the details of the shrine in my memory and watched others as they worshiped.
To be continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment