Death is the road not taken by some of us fortunately or unfortunately. I too find life and death as two divergent roads. And taking cue from Robert Frost: sorry, I too cannot travel both...
And so keeping with promises, took a 5000 year-old weary road of my ancestral Hindu way of life and headed from Shillong to Allahabad-Varanasi and Gaya earlier this year for someone eternally Dear.
My first port of call - Allahabad. A town with small dusty alleys further roughened by extravagant rickshaws, many old-dented tempos, pony carts, unimpressed Bulls and easy going people - having all the time in the world to chew Bhola Pan and delightfully conversing in the Allahabadi dialect. For further illustration, Amitabh Bachan’s pan chewing dialogue in a movie would suffice.
The Sangam in Allahabad is where we headed for one chilly winter morning. It is here where the three holy Rivers, Ganga-Yamuna- Sarawati confluences.
There were zillions of people near the Ghat (River bank) from every corner of the World. The sight was a humbling experience and at the same time profoundly spiritual.
Somehow, the grief eased a bit, by recalling Buddha when he asked a person to bring a grain of Rice from a home where death has never entered. He returned empty.
Not everyone had gathered at the Sangam with similar emptiness and perform the last rites of their loved ones. There were others longing for Moksha to help in transcending this circle of life and death through difficult regiments.
There were Sadhus who had their body almost covered with the longest dreadlock mankind had known. On the other hand, there were some clothed with just ash. Some with faces painted in a mosaic of colours, which would put a painter’s overused palette to shame.
One hand raised, one foot standing Sadhus. Some skinny, others not, some smoking Marijuana, some with covered mouth breathing the slightest minimum, while there were those who had not spoken for years. 
There was also a sea of beggars,
some old and infirm. Kids, dressed as Lord Krishna and Shiva, were happy to be photographed – of course by handing a few rupees to save from the choicest Allahabadi expletives.
There were other men and women selling plastic Jerry cans of different sizes to fill up with water from the Sangam and sanctifying their homes - all these add up to this festival of life and something memorable to take home in the return journey.
The short boat ride, took us to the point of the confluence. Pure emotions washed down there and people jumped into the spot in ecstasy. The Rivers were waist deep at that point. The ashes immersed in the Rivers and the last physical remains vanished lapped up quickly in the vortex.
Hundreds of Gulls circled around the Rivers. People feed these birds with grains sold on the River boats. At this juncture there was an empty happiness for many of the returning pilgrims.
The next stop was Varanasi or Beneras/Kashi, one of the oldest inhabited cities on Earth. This city has been the religious and cultural centre for thousand of years and has many many Temples. It is a nice feeling to wake up to the Temple bells as early as 4 in the morning.
Various saints and scholars like Tulsidas, Ramdas, Sant Kabir, Munshi Premchand and others lived in this ancient city. Still now, mystics, yogis, astrologers, priests, small shops selling the famous Benerasi silk saris, cows, bulls all crowd in this Temple town’s small lanes and bye lanes.
The Kashi-Vishwanath temple is one of the main attractions together with the numerous Ghats in Beneras. An evening boat ride to see the Aarati on DasaswamedhGhat, where Lord Brahma is said to have sacrificed ten horses to celebrate the return of Lord Shiva on Earth, is one of the biggest attractions of Beneras.
Sarnath is another place of attraction where Buddha delivered his first sermon to five of his disciples after attaining enlightenment at Bodh Gaya.
Both Allahabad and Beneras have a low crime rate I was told and moving around alone is therefore relatively safe, provided we don’t keep our common sense locked in the hotel’s closet. Allahabad and Beneras in Uttar Pradesh are therefore précis of the old India.
And finally, the ancient city of Gaya in Bihar right from the days of the Ramayana and before. The name Gaya is derived from Gayasur, the holy demon killed by Lord Vishnu using the pressure of his foot. Lord Rama during his 14 years of exile came to Gaya for Pitripaksha orPinda Daan (oblation to the departed soul of forefathers) after the death of his Father Dasharath.
This tradition has gone on from the days of the Ramayana and thousands of people touch down on this holy land every day mainly for Pinda Daan at the Vishnupadh Temple, where Lord Vishnu’s foot imprint on Gayasur, said to have turned into the present day hills of Gaya, is embossed. The Temple is situated on the banks of River Falgu. Moreover, people from all over the world also touch down at Gaya to visit Bodh Gaya.
However these days, Gaya is the place of the dead soul, literally. Death is a commodity where the soul is profitably chewed as the Gutka and hurled out addictively at the unsuspecting pilgrim seeking Moksha. The bleeding surroundings of this ancient town are testimonials to this irony.
Dropping anchor on this ancient town is like stirring a priest-porter-pimps’ nest. They would promise of taking a pilgrim to anywhere from Heaven to Hell and hurl them back to Earth to find the nearest police station to lodge a complaint of a lighter pocket with a heavy heart.
It is a sad commentary how this holy land has been defiled by a handful, whose scriptures have no meaning about India’s ancient philosophy and the Ministry of Tourism’s theme: Athithi Devo Bhava (the Guest is God.) Some of these priest and pimp mafia are crouched to inflict incredible pain on the Athithi with their behaviour, rudeness and corrupt ways.
During Pinda Daan, the first part of the ritual is to fetch water from the banks of the Falgu River. The River is extremely polluted - a mild word considering the dogs, cattle and human filth all around the dark waters of the River.
The next generation (kids) are positioned to greet the pilgrims on the banks. They trample over each other with tin cans to forcefully sprinkle a white liquid claiming to be milk on the water pots. Then constantly harass for money and even threaten pilgrims who refuse to pay, covertly supported by gangs in the vicinity.
Inside the Temple complex, the shopkeepers, priests and the pimps are all there in the wait thereafter. They audaciously intimidate, if they don’t get to fleece.
In one such outrageous episode, an old pilgrim was heckled and abused by a gang of so-called priests during the rituals. The pilgrim’s fault was that he mentioned his ancestral place incorrectly. SO…!?
So, they were upset because once a pilgrim give details of an ancestral home, it is a particular band of priest who performs the Puja rituals for that area. Since the previous mentioned address differed, it hurt a group’s income for the day and therefore was abused and was on the verge of being beaten up. There are numerous other instances of such harassment in Gaya everyday and some are frightful.
Union Tourism minister, Subodh Kant Sahai announced during a recent press conference at Shillong that India would focus on spiritual tourism. Therefore, the Union ministry has proposed a package of Rs. 2200 crore from the 12th five year plan for development of the tourism sector. He said the target for India is to get 73 million tourists by 2016 from 2010’s figure of 53 million.
Well then someone has to do something more than merely pumping money and getting a filmstar on TV to speak about an Incredible India and how not to treat an Athithi both from within the country or from outside. In fact, Gaya is not the only place where tourists are abused and harassed, some with fatal consequences.
Some of these gangs need to be taken on an exposure tour to perhaps a Bodh Gaya - an extremely blissful place for a spiritual tourist. How on Earth, two places situated just 12 kms away be so different is as puzzling as the crop circles.
At Bodh Gaya, there is no forcefully Daan-Dakshina, the Temple management staffs are friendly and know their homework precisely. It isn’t hard to reach the extra depth of the pocket in such places of worship.
Sitting down for a five hour train journey to reach Kolkata, the train bleated a sound of relief almost screaming: “Holy Cow! We are out of here.”
As the train fled from the Station, the mind was spammed with eulogies written about Nitish Kumar why he should be the next Prime Minister of India. Kumar and other Netas of this country have failed to instil amongst the people a feeling of oneness and empathy…to respect the basic tenants of humanity in Incredible India.
The simple teachings of our ancestors seemed to have become just another chapter that helped clear our standard III exam in school perhaps.
Is that the case or should we try to imbibe the meaning of those lessons like one of the Dohas of Sant Kabir, which says: Pothi Padh Padh Kar Jag Mu/ Pandit Bhayo Na Koye/Dhai Aakhar Prem Ke Jo Padhe/ so Pandit Hoye.None become wise reading just books and scriptures/ only those are wise who speaks the language of love.
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