A Balinese encounter

For two days and after many projectile explosions, my stomach wrung itself out in the throes of Indian diarrhea and then settled. My hair freshly washed of the henna that hardened like cow-dung in the convection oven heat of Rishikesh, now dripped with the beauty of a silky chocolate waterfall. I was starting to adjust to Indian air and the velvet darkness of this spiritual village. Rose and sandalwood incense infuses the dusk air as Brahmin boys clad in vermilion and emerald robes wave brass lamps singing the hymns of their forefathers in reverence of the most sacred Indian River, the Ganges. The 18 foot figure of Lord Shiva in meditation comes to life as the sun sets on buttery marble touched by placid waters on the riverbank. My heart is beating in this moment. Tears roll down my cheeks and the mantras silently leave my lips. My feet are tickled by the cool water. My hands place a floating lamp as a prayer offering to Mother Ganga, like so many Hindus, to cleanse my soul of past sins and to bring me back to Her waters in the future. The earthen lamp sits on a banana leaf, a burning incense stick and marigold blushing orange next to it, joins the other lights down the river. Feeling one with the Universe, it’s time to make my way back to my hotel by navigating winding paths and dodging sleeping cows and their mounds of dung on this scarlet night. The village is still. Only the sound of the holy flowing water and a few bashful stars in the sky guide me on this path. Out of the darkness a deep voice reverberates.
“Hari Om.”
My soul jumps out of its earthly existence. I watch myself release a scream but my voice is too afraid to escape my mouth. Then I remember the Shiv Sadhu. The holy worshiper of Lord Shiva who lives under the banyan tree.
His matted muddy brown hair, wiry wisps of silvery-black beard and sun-roasted pachyderm skin housing bare bones. He wears nothing but a dirty cloth around his waist and a garland of sacred Rudhraksh beads – he has abandoned his earthly needs for an ethereal connection to Shiva. He offers “Hari Om” to all who pass – the sacred mantra for removal of suffering. He remains under his banyan tree, smoking marijuana, seated in the lotus pose. A single faucet is stationed next to the tree should he desire to drink water or wash himself.
I am laughing from deep within my tummy by the time I reach my bed. The next morning, I return the holy man’s “Hari Om” with wholehearted affection and gusto. Our cosmic vibrations connect.