Vrindaban, Akbar's tomb, and Agra Fort (Day 2)

First off, I must apologize. I am short-changing my readers. I have been in India for three days, but feel that a month has passed. I had no idea I had this much room to grow, but now I don't see an end in sight. So please enjoy what can only be an unfair snippet teaser. I'm not skilled at expressing emotion, and the spiritual journey that this trip has already become is something I will be horribly, horribly inadept at conveying.

We began the day with breakfast, then were on the tour bus by 7. Fittingly coincidental, the word "tourist" was printed across the sun visor on the bus. to be fair, the side of the bus did say "unique." We drove for a few hours to a small restaurant at which there were camels, horses, and an elephant. Though we could have paid for a ride, there was no time. Instead, we headed in for some tea and vegetable frittatas of some sort that were -so good.-

After a short drive, we made a surprise stop at Iscom, a Hari Krishna temple in the center of a small village. It was made of white marble, and had a group of devotees in orange kortas singing "hari krishna, hari krishna" toward the front. It was a pleasant temple, but looking back, it pales in comparison to what was forthcoming.

We headed further on, headed toward Vrindavan's bankibhiari temple, which is dedicated to Lord Krishna. This temple is renowned for the extreme shows of devotion by its Hindu visitors. Krishna is an avatar of Vishnu, often taking the form of a small naughty boy. Krishna is known as a happy God, and the first to introduce the concept of love as primary in Hindu religion. The people of Vrindavan greet each other with the term "raday raday," which is similar to namaste. The temple is actually far off the main road, and necessitated a walk. Soon after exiting the bus, the monsoon rains began to pour down upon us. As we walked through the narrow streets, the water rushed from all angles, and at times we were almost knee-deep. As we walked through the sewage water along the poor-quality concrete streets, we passed the small storefronts of craftworkers. We saw tribes of monkeys sleeping on buildings, stray dogs, goats, and other animals. We were greeted by smiling facing and chants of raday raday everywhere we turned. After a long, wet, exciting journey, we finally hit the marble. We removed our shoes, and entered the temple. The crowd of Hindu worshippers was thick, and let out occasional exuberant cheers as the brahmans transferred offerings of food, flowers, cloth and coins to Krishna. Christy B, Maria and I worked our way to the front quickly, and were led aside to a small door, on the other side of which were a few people cooking prasad (dough balls). Christy offered some flowers to be delivered to Krishna, and we were given a leaf-full of prasad. We each ate one (they were tasty), then bullied our way through a moshpit-like crowd to approach the altar. With a little strategic body posturing, I was able to get Christy close enough to offer our prasad and flowers. The brahman gave us coins in return (many of the offerings are redistributed to the worshippers as gifts from Krishna, and are given even to the poor and homeless in the community (those of the Shudra caste). We then headed back down to the main floor, where waves of devotees were kissing the wet marble at their feet, letting out loud cries of faith, and encouraging us to join in. Upon exiting, our foreheads were smeared with a yellow powdery substance. The emotion and intense spirituality of this experience can't really be put into words, so I wrote a little poem of free association when I got back, knowing I could do nothing better:

walk
rain
scents smells
smiling boy
offering
prasad
women's circle
shoes off
raday raday!
Krishna
Cathy, Mane-ji
rickshaws
monkeys
Akbar
Rama Man Singh
Red Sandstone temple
flowers/coins
snake basket
mosh pit
street concrete
cows/boars
shops
handbells
forehead exit
flooding

We were followed out by a small boy who spoke only Hindi, but who was so happy to spend time with what was surely a spectacle to him. He followed us out, pointing the way, smiling, saying things that only Christy could somewhat understand, but altogether being happy just to share our company (he was way cute). About half-way out of the city, another boy approached Tony with a basket, and opened it to show him his pet snake. Tony was freaked out, and mentioned it to me. The kid slowly made his way around our group, and even when Christy told him to leave, he kept approaching other members of our group. After turning a corner, Nikki Singh turned around and asked what all this was about a boy with a snake at the EXACT SAME TIME that he opened it and offered it to her. She went off in a way I never thought she could in Hindi, and that little boy left us ALONE. (Go Nikki!) We continued to travel back until we made it to Rama Man Singh's Red Sandstone temple in the center of the city. We stepped in to get out of what was now only a drizzle, and viewed a really impressive structure that Man Singh had commissioned while serving under Akbar to increase dynastic visibility. (Without going into detail, Akbar is one of the most famous rulers of the Mughal empire, a liberal, music-loving guy who created the notion of "shuli-kur," or universal religious tolerance. In other words, my kind of guy)

Eventually, we made it back to the bus, and headed toward Agra. On the way over, Christy taught me a few Hindi expressions that have since proved very useful (more on that later). We then headed to Akbar's tomb. This large complex is rather plain, to reflect Akbar's piety and likeness to the common man (though he was believed to be semi-divine.) The intricate carvings on the building face were just incredible. The tomb itself had three walls, one for each wife: one Hindu, one Muslim, one Christian. When Lee, Johanna and I circumambulated the structure, we were approached by some Indian guys a little younger than us who just wanted to talk. They were happy to talk to Americans, and think it is a good country. They were anxious to take pictures with us, especially Johanna. We chatted for a while, then continued to walk, taking note of the green gardens, the gazelles who live on-site, and the large monkeys that were out under the trees.

We then continued toward Agra. We decided it was too late to head to the Taj, plus we were feeling a little overwhelmed with emotion still, so we went to Agra Fort instead. Situated alongside a river, this large complex was made of red sandstone and trimmed with white marble. It was massive, and much of it is actually still used as a military complex. There were a number of mosques, including the one that Shah Jahan (Akbar's son, whose name translates to King of the world) had built. Lee and I actually pulled ourselves up onto one of them to get an amazing vantage point on the entire area. Shah Jahan had added considerably to the site throughout his life, which turned out to be a good thing, since his son Jahangiri, when assuming the throne, imprisoned his father there for the last 6 years of his life. We viewed the Taj from across a highway, likely from the same balconies that Shah Jahan is said to have sat at and cried as he viewed the superior mosque of his creation that he could see but not attend.

Finally, we headed out toward our hotel. We stayed at the Man Singh hotel, which would be considered a five-star hotel in America. Marble floors, ceiling, everything. I took a quick shower, then ended up passing out in Maria and Christy's room for a while. Nikki and Cathy (our amazing program director, who is an endless wealth of knowledge) called to wake us and invite us to dinner. I could only eat soup, but it was really good soup. Eventually, Lee, Tony, Christy and Maria made their way down, but also weren't hungry. When Nikki and Cathy headed up for bed, we headed out. We went just across the street to a shop, where we looked at all sorts of clothing. I bought a nice marble box and a few kortas. Then I hung out and talked with one of the owners, who lived above the shop, about its history, and his life, and Agra, and everything. He was very open, and it was a great conversation. As we headed out to leave, he came out to smoke a cigarette. I had heard about a drink called bong lasse (sp?), which is basically a marijuana derivative used widely at Indian weddings to encourage dancing and good times. I had the nerve and felt comfortable asking, so our group ended up learning about it, and finding out that they are relatively difficult to find outside of weddings. He could have found some, but it wouldn't have been until the next day, and we already would have departed.

Some of the more reserved readers may think negatively of me for having even had an inkling to try something like that. I urge you to recognize the culture-specific prejudice involved in your line of thought. I was surprised to find that even Cathy had once tried bong lasse at a wedding. Unlike in our country, where many pejorative, untruthful statements are made about the marijuana plant, Indians are much more open-minded with regard to the use of bong lasse. Still, its a good idea to have some sober supervision. But with proper safety precautions having been arranged, it would have been an experience I definitely would have tried, likely enjoyed, and never regretted.

We headed back with our purchases to the hotel, and decided we would go swimming. Unfortunately the pool was closed, so we decided to head to bed, looking forward to a quick dip in the morning.