The 10:50 am train from Varanasi to Gaya (Bodhgaya's bigger neighbor) departed from a secondary station outside of the city, so we left early to catch an auto. We were in the middle of negotiations with five drivers who had swarmed us on a street corner
(demanding the usual double or triple fare), when a smiling young man broke through their ranks and asked us how much we wanted to pay. I told him, and, much to the other drivers' chagrin, he immediately said 'okay!' and led us off. At first I thought he might not even be a real driver, just some guy who wanted to play at being our auto-wallah for an hour and managed to borrow one. He was exceedingly friendly the whole way out, and soon made it clear that this was his very own auto, his pride and joy. He was twenty-two years old, and had owned the auto for three years. He also enthusiastically recommended the special Varanasi paan, which by the way, we had been seeing everywhere, mostly as red spit-stains on the pavement.
There are countless varieties of paan but what most men (including our driver) chewed was made from a combination of tobacco and the ever-so-slightly narcotic betel nut, and came in packets available at every corner stall. I had tried to taunt August into trying the manly Indian vice since it wasn't an addiction he could bring home, but he somehow escaped unsullied.A cramped train-ride and an even more cramped tempo-ride later, we arrived in Bodhgaya, Buddhism's most important site of pilgimmage. This is where, 2500 years ago, Prince Gautama Siddartha found enlightenment and became the Buddha, while meditating under a bodhi (pipal) tree. A descendent of the original tree grows in the same spot today, shading many hopeful monks sitting silently around it.
After enlightenment, the Buddha spent seven weeks in deep meditation at various nearby locations. In the sixth week, a storm threatened to interrupt the Buddha's meditated at a nearby lake, so the Snake God of the lake came and sheltered him, as commemorated by this pond and statue. Somehow I think the swarming of ravenous fish might have been a little more distracting than rain these days.
Like Sarnath, Bodhgaya seems to have more international monasteries than it does houses, but that didn't mean there weren't plenty of less-than-holy people around to plague the lives of the pilgrims.
The children of Bodhgaya are by now world famous for demanding money for mythical books and school supplies. Three persistant but friendly boys accompanied us as we went to visit the various monasteries. One of them, having asked my tastes in music, tried to charm me with his sizable repertoire of Beatles songs. Just imagine this Tibetan monastery as having an ambient soundtrack of "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" in a Hindi accent, and "A Hard Day's Night mixed with the mantras emminating from the hai temple below. I had to explain to the boy what a 'log' was, though, and how one could sleep like it.The three days we stayed we ate in a tent restaurant run by Tibetan refugees, which served hearty vegetable soups (thukpa) and a variety of steamed dumplings (momos!). Bodhgaya's other culinary delight came from its Lassiwallah, who served the best sweet lassis in India for 15 rupees a glass.
I think I had at least eight in the time I was there.One other thing I have to thank Bodhgaya for is new clothes. Embarassing as it is, I had been wearing the same shirt and skirt almost every day up until this point, occasionally washing them at night. In Bodhgaya I finally bought a new outfit, and, moreover, had two Salwaar Kameez 'suits' sewn for me. I had bought the fabric (which comes in sets to make outfits) at a store in Varanasi, a city famous for its fabrics. Bodhgaya isn't exactly famous for tailors (though I did go to "Famous Tailor"), but it was certainly an experience to be measured and sewn for. I walked by the next day and see the old man working away in the window on my clothes. In the end, they weren't particularly stylish or even very well-made, but it still made a big improvement in my wardrobe. Besides being conservative and beautiful, suits have all the comfort of pajamas, especially nice in the heat.
And what heat there was! The next day August and I set off on an adventure to try and find the rather obscure Dungeshwari Cave Temples, where Prince Siddartha stayed as a penitant hermit before coming to Bodhgaya. The Lonely Planet guide said to take the tempo headed to Gaya, and ask to be let off in a tiny town along the way, "where you will have to cross the bridge. There you'll find a path on the right-hand side that leads you 5k to the caves." When the Tempo dropped us off, we were completely baffled. On one side of the road was an expanse of desert, and on the other was the tiny village, filled with curious eyes. The closest thing to a bridge was a road that interrupted the ditch on the village side. We 'crossed' to the village, where no one even seemed to recognize the word "Dungeshwari," let alone speak English.
They vaguely showed us their rice paddies, but mostly just watched curiously as we floundered about. Eventually we went back to the road and tried asking at a shop down the way. They didn't speak English, but pointed vaguely toward the trees on the far side of the desert.Walking across the sand, we finally realized that it was a dry riverbed and deduced that the LP writers must have visited the area after the monsoon when there must have been some sort of huge pontoon bridge. The bridge had evidently been taken down when the river dried up for the summer. I'm still meaning to write LP an email to save future travellers.... Nevertheless, a few hours walking in the sun did eventually bring us to the temples, which lay at the top of a small mountain overlooking our long hot journey. You can just see the dry river bed there in the distance. As we approached we met a nice Indian family who had just arrived by auto, and couldn't understand why we would want to walk anywhere in this heat, let alone that far. Apparently there is a phrase here - "Only mad dogs and Englishmen" - to describe who would be out in the noonday sun.
The way back was even worse, since there wasn't any water to be found and we had only brought a few liters, underestimating the heat. I decided we should boost morale by singing. It's been an interesting experience living in a world that doesn't have recorded music. A world without an iPod, or even CDs. There is Hindi pop and the occasional Shakira hit on the radio, certainly, but no way to listen to something on demand. It made both of us more prone to singing, and made song lyrics a precious commodoty. It made me think of how some Athenian sailors stranded in Italy after the failed invasion of Sicily were able to make their way home because Italians were so eager to hear choruses from the newest Euripides production. Unfortunately the best August and I could both reliably remember were Christmas carols. So we walked through the burning sun of the Indian farm land, singing our way through "The Twelve Days of Christmas" to keep the heat at bay. The one farmer who came out of his hut must have thought we were pretty strange, but at least he didn't know what 'a partridge in a pear tree' meant any more than "falalalalalalalala."
Here's one for the August fans. I'm afraid anyone who was hoping to see me will just have to be patient and silently curse August for not bringing a camera.
Varanasi might not have had much in the way of tourist attractions per se, but there certainly was plenty to see along the banks India's holiest river, the Ganges. We saw pilgrims bathing and sending off candles in paper boats, bodies being cremated on tall wooden pyres, and even attended an evening prayer addressed to the river itself. The river certainly was the star in this town, turning every riverbank scene into a Matisse with its speckled reflection of the riot of color on the ghats. We took boat ride at dawn, which showed me the wonder of how the river changed with differences in the light. It also provided ample opportunity to make the most of my camera.
