by Ruskin Bond
'True. This was not so in Buddha's time, but now it is so, and may become worse in years to come. And since the Vihara is so central to the upholding of Buddha's teachings, in time there may grow a hostile attitude towards the Vihara as well. Whether the Vihara could peacefully ward off such destructive pressures is very difficult to predict.'
'At the moment there is overwhelming support from the empire, but this may not last,' Padmasambhava said.
'I have a strong view about support of scholarly endeavours from kings and the like who have power and wealth. They may do it out of whim, or out of a variety of reasons for their own interest, and only a secondary reason could be respect and affection for the pursuit of knowledge. So the munificence we see here today may not be there tomorrow if a king so desires. A scholar or a university should not tie its work to any dependence from the state as far as possible. We are now entirely depending on it in this Vihara, and it is of concern to me. Begging for sustenance, though apparently ignominious and a stealer of time, is better than servitude, which must be avoided.'
'I have never before heard you so definite and emphatic on this subject,' Padmasambhava said.
'I suppose I am finally able to collect my stray thoughts,' Mokshadeva said.
'Will you say this to the congregation when it bids you farewell?'
'I wish to.'
'I want to thank you again for all that you have taught me, and above all for your company and friendship,' Padmasambhava said.
'That is the sentiment I wish to express, more than you or anybody else. I do not know whether I would be able to return here again. Will you come to my country?'
'Yes. If you teach me how to cross those towering mountains.'
'Not difficult with faith and courage, both of which you have in plenty.'
Padmasambhava did not answer. He looked at Mokshadeva's face intently and felt a physical warmth in his entire body. It was an effect of what Mokshadeva had just said. Mokshadeva also was looking at Padmasambhava, straight into his eyes.
'But when you reach my country, how will you find me? If you look for Mokshadeva nobody will be able to guide you to me.' There was a twinkle in Mokshadeva's eyes.
'No, I will not look for Mokshadeva there. I will look for Hiuen Tsang.'
At this Mokshadeva got up. Padmasambhava also rose. Mokshadeva took the hands of Padmasambhava between his own two hands and clasped them. Both remained speechless for some time and then they embraced each other and remained that way for a while.
'Let me write my name on your book that you can show to people when you reach my country,' Mokshadeva said. Then he took Padmasambhava's book and a pen and wrote his own name in ideographs. when Padmasambhava took the book back, he looked at it and felt pleased. The ideographs looked like warm welcome images. Then they walked slowly to Mokshadeva's monastery.
After leaving Mokshadeva in his monastery, Padmasambhava returned to the golmohur tree, and sat down on the stone slab again. The afternoon light was almost gone. when he turned his head to the right and looked to the west he saw that the sun was about to set. He kept looking in that direction for a long time. Then he got up and walked across the mall to the right. It was not immediately clear what was on his mind. He had actually spotted another seat somewhat ahead at the western edge of the mall between two chaityas. He went there and sat down. At his back lay the row of monasteries, and in front the entire western horizon.
There were pebbles and stones of all sizes around the seat. Virendra bent down and picked up a couple of them. He saw that he had chosen a small brown one, and a gray one. He kept the gray one on the slab next to him and examined the brown one. He noticed that the surface was not smooth but was uneven and had scratches. He brought it close to his eyes to see the nature of the unevenness. It was Arjuna's penance! – the bas relief of the Pallava artists. Everyone was rushing to the centre, and Arjuna was standing on one leg. How beautifully sculpted every subject was!
He carefully placed the brown stone on the slab and picked up the gray one. Wonder of wonders! Halebid! The exquisitely carved sculptures of the Hoysala artists! Virendra felt very pleased.
Virendra looked at the western horizon. It was now a striated mixture of dark red and gray. A huge painting filled his view in which the dominant colour was the colour of the sky. At first he could not make it out, but then he recognised it was an El Greco from Alte Pinakothek! In a flash the sky became reddish brown in colour with yellow patches in between. Captain Cook and his band!
Suddenly a drop of rain fell on Virendra's arm. Virendra looked up. The sky was full of dark clouds. Where did they come from? They were not there a moment ago! Another drop of rain. Yet another drop. Virendra liked it. He did not get up.
He wanted to get wet. Thoroughly wet. It started to drizzle, soon it was pouring. He could not see a trace of anything anywhere any more. He was sitting on a hilltop amidst the rain.
The rainwater had accumulated everywhere. Virendra found himself standing at the edge of a deep quarry. Large rocks had formed the walls of the quarry. Virendra bent down and touched the water. It was ice cold. This was the quarry, Virendra recognised, that Joseph Knecht had gone into and did not come out of. Virendra stood still there for quite a long time.
Suddenly a large splash of water hit Virendra's face. Mandakini was gushing through, fiercely hitting large boulders, splashing ice-cold water, and was white with foam. The black boulders, white foam, and the wild greenery filled the scene through which the river was making its way down the mountain slope. And its incessant roar was filling the entire hillside. Sometimes Virendra viewed the river from a distance through the trees that lined the hill track, sometimes he felt that he was riding the foam of the roaring river, hitting and rebounding from the rocks, thrown into the air as mist and then condensing into the stream again, dancing on the foamy waves. Sometimes the river would pass by a hamlet, and scenes of human life would become visible again. Children playing on the hills, their lives already sealed at birth, or maybe long before. And often streams of pilgrims going up in search of something; what, only they knew. Virendra looked at the river again, now just upstream of a hot-spring hamlet which he could recognise as Gaurikund. A shiny brown horse lay in midstream and the water was going in torrents past and around him. Virendra wondered: Was it alive? It could not be. If dead, how could it have got there? In that ice-cold water it would remain there for ages. What was that object near his shoulder blade? A wing? The foamy water was keeping it half-covered all the time, Virendra could not be sure.
Virendra was walking along the track. He was feeling a strain in his leg muscles. He looked down but could not see his walking legs. He could not see his body either. But his leg muscles were straining as he continued to walk down, step after step after step. The track went along the side of one of the two hills which cradled the river. It followed every turn the hill took, every turn the river took. Virendra felt like sitting down, letting himself go, and resting. But there was no place to stop and rest. It became dark and he was still walking. He could no longer see anything but felt his steps continuing to walk softly thumping the track. But why was he not going off the path? Why was he not falling off the gorge? He could not understand. Sometimes he would feel a sensation of light, sometimes of darkness, but he was unable to resolve the scene into details. He felt that he was walking endlessly through days and nights whose count was not possible.
How he reached Rudraprayag, the crashing confluence of Mandakini and Alaknanda, which came from the east, he did not know. He found himself sitting on the long series of steps of the Chandi temple which went down to the point of the confluence. Alaknanda reaching the congress from the left was relatively calm; it was Mandakini that was violent, entering the confluence with a deafening roar and blinding effervescence. In front of Virendra beyond the point of union Alaknanda flowed straight ahead and downwards, flanked by a series of hills. The sky was still lit, the hills ahead and around stood in near silhouettes; around Virendra it was n
early dark. On the banks across the two rivers dim lights were visible from huts.
Temple bells sounded up the steps behind him. Someone was offering worship in the small solitary temple of Goddess Chandi. It struck Virendra that behind all images there was one everything, or one nothingness. Someone, who a little while earlier had walked down the steps past Virendra into the river for a dip, returned and crossed him again. Virendra perceived a spray of dripping water as the person went past. A long time must have passed after that. Now there were no traces of light coming from anywhere. The view was the same whether he had his eyes open or closed. Only Mandakini remained unquiet throughout the night.
Virendra perceived that he had no recollection of the path in between and the time spent in the sojourn, but he found that he had reached Devaprayag, the confluence of Alaknanda and Bhagirathi. It seemed like an autumn midday; the hills were pleasantly cool. He came from the east along the right bank of Alaknanda, and Bhagirathi was reaching the confluence from the north. From a distance he could see the picturesque houses and a tall temple near the confluence. He found himself sitting at a high point overseeing the place where the rivers became one. This was a quiet meeting unlike the union of a seemingly reluctant Mandakini with Alaknanda. Here it was no upheaval, it was more a murmur and foam. Unlike Rudraprayag where the hills were close through which the river forced its course, here the bordering hills were far apart. Here the enriched Alaknanda took a slight southward turn. The flow had become much smoother.
Soon Devaprayag was no longer in sight. Virendra found that he was walking along the Alaknanda river bank barefoot. He was walking slowly and casually; the track which he left long ago continued high up on the mountain. There were logs of wood floating on the river and flowing along the current down towards the plains. The sky and the surroundings indicated that it was mid-afternoon. The atmosphere was pleasantly cool, and Virendra felt cheerful. There were no longer large boulders on the river bed, also the water was not gushing through, it was flowing along with a murmur. At times Virendra's feet would get wet with water; he felt good when that happened. His feet were pressing against the sandy bank as he walked; the water was clear and ice cold.
Downstream at a distance he could see a hanging bridge across the river; Virendra guessed that must be Lakshmanjhula. A little beyond would then be Rishikesh, where Alaknanda would enter the plains and become Ganga. Virendra did not feel like walking further. Although he was not tired, he decided to take a rest. He looked around and found a tree nearby that provided shade. He walked down to the spot and sat down on the cool sand.
Seemingly an instant later Virendra found Haridwar full of people; he felt that he was up in the air and viewing the entire area – both banks of the Ganga canal, in and around the Ganga temple and Har-ki-pauri, everywhere. He was looking from such a height that human heads had become almost point-sized. Only the colours of the dresses were visible. So many colours! And besides the two concrete bridges on the canal, there were also several pontoon bridges. From time to time streams of people were crossing the canal over the bridges. There were large colourful groups of people clustering together on the east bank and beyond; it seemed that they had come from distant villages. Suddenly it struck Virendra that it was the Kumbh festival!
The next instant they were all gone. Virendra found himself north of Har-ki-pauri near the Ganga temple. He was walking slowly towards the Ganga temple along the west bank. It was late afternoon; a few people were sitting there, some persons were bathing here and there, away from the Ganga temple. He was going past a small cottage on the bank. On the porch a little boy was sitting with a couple of thin books, a slate, and a pencil; just across sat a white-haired old man in vest and dhoti with a smoking waterpipe nearby. The little boy was preparing his lessons. The old man was dozing off once in a while, and the little boy was keeping a keen eye on him because at those times he did not have to look at his slate. Virendra noticed this and smiled at him. The little boy reciprocated shyly.
A few steps ahead a woman was sitting on the embankment and selling small floats made of chhola leaves. They were of two sizes but both contained some flowers and an oil lamp made of clay. Right from late afternoon until late evening pilgrims bought these, lit the lamps, and floated them on the river and made their wishes. This was a tradition of the place; the river would carry these tiny wish-fulfilment boats all evening. Virendra stood there for quite some time looking at the boats and watching people buy them. He had an urge to buy one; but he felt shy; also he was not sure what he would wish and pray for, so he finally decided not to.
At this point of the bank the canal forked with one branch guided to go closely past the Ganga temple and after a short distance return to the main canal. It thus made an island opposite the Ganga temple. The island had a tall clock tower which was a landmark. Although the sun had set, it was still late afternoon; many people were already sitting there waiting for the evening worship of the river. There was a small concrete bridge that connected the point Virendra was standing to the island.
Virendra slowly crossed the bridge and reached the island. The small island was paved all over, and around it were steps going down to the river for those who wished to bathe. Swift currents of ice-cold water flowed on both sides of the island; they combined downstream and flowed southwards. There was a more elaborate bridge on the south connecting the island with the main bank on the west.
The main crowd of bathers assembled in the mornings; in the evenings only a few were taking dips on the eastern side of the island. On the western side of the island facing the Ganga temple people had already started taking their seats in anticipation of the evening worship of the river which would take place at a precise time. The Ganga temple itself stood as a tiny island on the river; immediately behind it was the western bank of the canal, with concrete steps going into the river.
At the time of the regular evening worship of the river, which was visually spectacular, several priests would come out and reach the lowest steps of the western bank, each carrying huge brass oil lamps, most of them several tiers high, and some with huge flames. A good part of the town would congregate here at that time, so would most of the pilgrims. It would get very crowded with people filling every available space around the spot. The western edge of the clock-tower island was a vantage point for watching the ceremony, so people took up seats early.
Virendra wandered around on the island for a while and decided to sit down. People had already started taking seats lining the bank. He came to the western edge of the island and just opposite the Ganga temple found a vacant spot and sat down next to the flowing river. He bent forward and put one hand down the next step and felt the chill of the water.
The local people used this occasion also as a social assembly. There were volunteers who were busy now collecting donations for charitable causes, and there was an almost endless stream of them. In front, the leaf floats with flickering lamps were passing by, dancing on the waves. It was a beautiful sight at any time; however, the impact was enhanced as the surroundings darkened.
On the opposite bank also people were congregating, a few people were taking dips off that bank, and people gathering everywhere as the evening was descending; it all appeared as an immense preparation for a great moment.
It was now getting dark. The rows on this side had now increased in number, it was already four deep. This included men, women, and children, of all ages. To the left of Virendra sat an aged man, alone. There were local boys walking past in front wading through the water; the man was talking nicely to them, and seemed to be eagerly waiting for the evening worship. To Virendra's right sat an entire family of men, women, and children. The other side of the bank was now almost full. There were people also in and around the temple. But the door of the temple faced west, so from here that side was not visible. There was noise in the air, and plenty of activity; and amidst that and beneath everything, all over an ardent wait.
It was dark now. There were a few electri
c light-posts on the clock-tower island; elsewhere also lights had come on – on the western bank, in and around the temple, on the street behind, and also very high up on the hill in the Manasa temple. The periphery of the hill was no longer visible in darkness; the lights in the Manasa temple appeared to be hanging from the sky.
Suddenly there was a stir and excitement in the crowd. The priests had become visible on the upper steps of the western bank. They had huge lamps in their hands. Virendra counted; there were as many as seven of them. But something was happening next to Virendra. The elderly man, who all this time was eagerly waiting for this moment, was standing up. He was not saying anything. He turned around and made an effort to find a way out, and then went out. Virendra was surprised. But why was he leaving? He did not seem to be ill or indisposed. Did this bring on some memories that he could not bear? By then he had already left.
The lamps were coming down the steps together to the river level. On that side everyone was on their feet. On this side the first few rows of people were sitting, behind them a crowd of people standing. The empty space next to Virendra was already filled by a young boy moving up from the row behind. The priests with their lamps were now on the lowest step; the flames from the lamps now reflected off the river water. And the worship started. The priests swung their hand-held bells while vertically rotating the lamps in circles, and every now and then bending forward and lowering the lamps to the river water; the microphone brought out the song loudly: Om jaya jagadeeshwara . . . glory to the lord of the universe.' The gongs in all the temples also came on simultaneously, and the worship started all over the place. The congregation joined in the singing spontaneously.
In about ten minutes it was all over. Virendra could see people on the other side taking the feel of the flames with their palms, then touching their heads with the palms, and gradually dispersing. People started slowly getting up from the island and leaving, crossing the bridge. Virendra kept sitting there until most of the people were gone. The floats with the lighted lamps were still moving on endlessly.