Fast Travels

I had started up an afternoon routine which consisted of sitting watching the Ganges whilst sipping a sweet, ginger-reeking milk tea, and savoring a fantastic fusion-food item in the form of an apple-cinnamon samosa. It was early January. Rishikesh in northern India enjoys crisp sunny days that become stone cold evenings as soon as the sun drops. Here, the waters of the Ganges are freezing and green – the Himalayan source in Gaumokh is about 120 kilometers away as the crow flies.

The chants from the religious fire ceremony of Ganga Aarti echoed over the water from a bit further upstream, and I took to day-dreaming. Gazing across to the other shore, I noticed an emaciated man with a white beard, descending into the river. Like any holy man in India, he seemed to be at least 500 years old, dressed only in a loincloth. He stumbled on spindly legs knee-deep down into the rushing water, shaking furiously. I wrapped my blanket closer around me and took another sip of the tea. In my comfortable position I was awed to see his determination, how he remained in the water stoically, while raising his hands northward and seemingly mumbling a mantra. For twenty minutes, as the red sun disappeared behind the mountain ridges, he fought the cold and the current, in brave conviction. Later he wandered off as crooked as his cane, and I pondered why anyone voluntarily would spend such a long time in such cold water.

The image of the man in the river stayed with me for some time. Encountering religion is unavoidable in India, and I was moved to participate on my own terms. I bought statuettes of various deities, sat them on a table in my room and surrounded them with oil lamps and incense. Occasionally, I would light the lamps and incense and enjoy the atmosphere they created together. One day the owner of the guest house peeped in through the open door, and he exclaimed his approval of my shown respect to the deities. I invited him inside to have a closer look, and in my excitement I grabbed Hanuman to show him: “Look how nice this Hanuman statue is!” His eyes popped fully open and he took a quick step back: “No, no, you can't just pick Hanuman like that, first you need to ask.” He solemnly took the statuette from my hand and placed it back on the table.

After he had left the room I glanced at Shiva whose right hand palm was turned towards me. In the flickering light from the lamps, it looked like he was smiling. It is fast to travel to India, but it takes time to arrive.