Guide M. Negi pushed me hard – get up sir, quick, the Doli Jatra’s (a procession with installation of the deity) about to start. It’s already 5.30 am. I got up anxiously, anxiously because last night, how miraculously we reached this mountain shrine of Rudranath Shiva, with high fever, pains all over…I became alert – am I in a position to move out from the sleeping bag? But, walking a few steps, splashing very cold water on face, I felt, my fevers gone with the body pains.
We came out from the under- construction pilgrim’s shelter and looked around. The morning Rudranath valley (11800’), surrounding high ridges, there after the range of snow peaks, glittering with first rays of this auspicious day. From the hovering morning sky- blue sky, dropping serenity as dew drops. I inhaled as much as those purity filled with oxygen. The temple on the north end and the adjacent small threshold, some forty pilgrims including all others like priests, band party, or saints and mystics, a combination of splash of colours. Band players were readying their instruments, some had already started rehearsing, drummers tanning their drums and dholoks (a kind of Indian drums) on the fire made out burning a piece of dry cow dung, for obtaining good sounds of beats. And suddenly, there was a huge blowing of conch shells, priests started chanting mantras on Rudranath Shiva and offering flowers and bilbow patra (leaves of Bell tree) to the decorated deity, now placed on the back of a strong young man. The carrier man also chanting prayers. The band started playing a symphony in full force. Everyone chanting – Har har Mahadev. Rudranath Bhagwan ki Jay. The procession commenced its journey. Now Rudranath Shiva on to his winter temple camp at Gopeswar, on the bank of Alokananda-river, on the Badrinarayan highway.
We were walking side by side of the procession. The guide told us to slow down to pass the Jatra. On his back Rudranath Shiva, the carrier man was on his normal but cautious speed though, some devotees enabling to maintain the pace, running to catch the procession. The famous Doli Jatra passed by, leaving the entire valley totally empty. We took a right turn and within a few minutes the procession gone out of sight, but the melodious symphony was still audible. I was so surprised when I recognised the symphony, it was the raga Voirab, the most stunning and melodious morning raga. The morning sun was pouring bright rays together with the most wanted warmth to all the animates and un-animates.
I looked back at the valley for a last glimpse of the empty temple, knowing no one should be there after departure of procession but, to my surprise, saw a lone sannyasi – a mystic, some twenty feet behind us, ascending on our way. I slowed down intentionally till he reached to us. I thought, what a pleasant gift from the god - we got a company of a saint for the day long trek, a very good sign for the return journey, on a pilgrimage.
Oh, learned readers, please don’t think I am going to describe a travelogue or a holy mountain trek rather, it’s the introduction of a strange incident and feelings of ‘Conflict and Courage,’ I experienced in this pilgrimage.
Slowly we were advancing towards the last ridge of Rudranath Valley, that sannyasi, his face almost covered, reached behind me, I was at tail end. I cheerfully greeted him and offered him a sugar-plum, saying – how was the darshan Babaji? Wasn’t it spectacular? The mystic jumped in fits of rage and raise his hand held chimta( a long iron tongs) started shouting frantically, using unutterable slangs. Suddenness of the situation made me dumb and frail.
Quickly I stepped back to a safe distance and couldn’t resist saying – what kind of a mystic you are? I greeted you with your wellbeing, instead you return your courtesy with slangs? How could one acknowledge you a sage?’ but, again he started with more abusive slangs. Guide Negi quickly reached to us and pulled me away and whispered – these are Aghori (a sect among Shiva worshippers) Sannyasis, very dangerous and unpredictable’, Negi pushed me to move. I started walking, but deep in mind, was thinking – did I make anything wrong? In my attitude, my gesture or, in my approach? Why he reacted in such furious way? What was the conflict, the true reason behind?
In the meantime, we reached the top of the last mountain ridge that separated the valley. From now on we would go down and down crossing a dangerous pass and there after high altitude terrines, meadows, bush covered valleys and finally a huge jungle, to reach Anusua village. A good 15 km trek from this place. I looked back for viewing the mountain scape of the Rudranath shrine but, couldn’t find a sign of the temple instead, saw the mistic, a few steps behind me. He asked in normal voice – you or your guide know the way for sure? There are every chance getting lost in the ridges, moreover, in the jungle at the end’. I didn’t reply, but my temptation to heart him was growing, then I said – you destroyed the morning peace and bliss of this sacred valley with your ugly force, uttering those abusive slangs. Your brute force is your courage to guide you to rest of the path, why looking for a guide elsewhere?’ I didn’t wait for a reply and started walking but, was thinking – would I be successful in planting a conflict in place of courage, by making him doubtful? The mystic shouted from behind – the god you named (started a series of raw slangs again). I walked down ten-twelve feet hurriedly to avoid him. Guide Negi, who was at the front, came up quickly and said – shun him off, don’t talk to him. Let’s walk fast.
We walked on, through the ups and downs of the ridges for an hour and reached at the mouth, the entrance to the fearsome pass, named Naola Pass. We decided a short rest before traversing the pass. Found big boulders with flat tops for sitting restfully. And, to my console, saw the mystic far behind and walking very slowly. Negi took out two packs of biscuits and started distributing. While munching, said – now the trail’s tough and very narrow in places, but don’t get nervous, just don’t try to walk quickly. Watch your steps and always keep a support by touching or holding the side rock wall, there are plenty of holds. The solid rock path is so slippery and shining, chances are there for slips and fall and, never look to your left for the panoramic view because, the open vertical void for thousand feet, may cause sudden vertigo’.
I wanted to sit a few minutes more thus, was munching biscuits slowly. We have had plenty of time, already reached to the pass, and after crossing the pass, it’s all along down and down for miles, and at the bottom, where the tree line starts, there’s the jungle for two km and another two km, the Anusua village (village named on wife of Atri Muni). I had a prior wish, and that was to visit the Atri Muni (a Vedic sage, one of the seven sages in the Hindu tradition) cave, situated somewhere in that jungle. Negi and the cook were already on their foot, arranging sacks. I was delaying by gulping slowly and in small quantity, the mystic appeared from nowhere. Very tired, exhausted and lost, and was looking beggingly at my filled water bottle. On first impulse I thought – as per rules, don’t share your water when on a mountain trek. But my conflicting mind said – you are on a pilgrimage, not on a mountain expedition, a sick and thirsty man desiring some water…are you really that hateful, revengeful?... I offered him the bottle with some biscuits. But, again to my surprise, he denied and said – the Naola Pass is ahead, no?’ I was stunned by his attitude and determination for not to accept anything, I said – why don’t you take some rest and have some water? Where’s your water bottle? Is it empty?’ he said casually – no, my water bottle got cracked yesterday so, left it.’ I looked at him closely, for the first time. A blackish brown tall man, age – anything between 40 to 60 years (it’s very difficult to guess a mystic’s age, usually), a piece of thin red blanket as cover to his face and chest, and other piece of the same blanket rapped up to the knee from waste. Long locks of hair and beard but, the beard knotted at the end. His face was unusually puffy and many cut marks with dried blood, on the chicks, forehead, lips and on nose. Noticing my gaze, he then removed the upper blanket cover and showed the horrible wounds on the shoulder to biceps, almost a six inch of flesh as if scooped. Then he showed his legs by lifting the lower blanket piece – a similar gushing wound from thigh to knee. His foot also got badly damaged, dried blood stains covering inflamed fingers. He was bare footed, holding in left hand a torn plastic chappal along with the chimta and broken comondalu (water container made of dried gourd). The other hand kept free for necessary support perhaps. I exclaimed – oh, my God. How the hell all these happened?’ and again he started shouting those abusive, unutterable slangs, pointing his finger towards the sky and the valley we just left behind.
Noticing the shouting, Negi hurriedly came forward to my rescue and pulled my hand to walk with him, barring any chance to say.
We were walking through the Naola Pass very cautiously. The path was made out by cutting the vertical hard rock face, may be so many centuries ago, since the re-discovery of the Rudranath deity was made by Adi Sankaracharya (800 AD). Initially the path was hardly four feet in breadth but, some places, as narrow as two feet, even some times one foot, due to corrosion or slide. A game of nerve. But, my conflicting mind, every now then, was returning to thoughts of the mystic’s wellbeing. The curved path was all along serpentine therefore, though I looked back often, couldn’t locate him.
More than hours we walked on and finally able to cross the pass successfully. Finding a suitable place with wide rooms beside the path, Negi’s signal to sack down was a great relief to us. The cook immediately started distributing the pack lunch. We two were very much surprised – how he got cooked food here? When he cooked and how?’ though, we had all the cooking arrangements with stuffs but without fuel. Last night we had entered the valley much late. Temple door was then half closed, there were only a few devotees and rest of the valley was under pitch dark. My friend and I was so drained out with fever and over strain, we took two biscuits each and that was only for taking medicines, then, spread our carry mats and sleeping bags and pushed ourselves in, and was shivering till the bag got warmed. Finally, passed out in deep sleep under the influence of paracetamol and pain killers. The guide and the cook were almost in same state of health…. So why, we were quite surprised when the cooked food -khichri (a quick meal preparation with rice and pulse), was served to us, in paper plates, in good quantity. Then the guide told us the story – how he got it. Though, it was collected for last night’s dinner but, viewing our state of condition, they two ate as much as can and kept the rest for today’s lunch. Negi said, last night, when he was vainly trying for collecting some fuel from the temple committee, then got the news that a rich man – a kin of king of Nepal, had offered free meal to everyone to commemorate the puja offering to Lord Rudranath. There were no more takers but, their cooked khichdi vessel was then left half filled, so they insisted them to take as much as possible. Intelligent Negi, then and there asked the cook to fetch the empty 4 litre pressure cooker and filled it up to the brim…. We enjoyed the khichdi very much, not only that we were very much hungry, the taste was so beautiful for top quality stuffs and moreover, surely cooked with special care and devotion. We all emptied our plates eagerly, as boon.
We were about to start our trek again, the mystic appeared. Trembling and was about to collapse. Quickly I reached to him and set him on a flat boulder top. His body temperature was as high as burning coal, bleeding from all the wounds but, again denied any aid and started abusing with slangs. I suddenly realised that all his abusive words were meant for not particular one but any or everyone - from the God to all creatures and to himself. With tremendous force I could able to put a paracetamol 1000 mg tab together with a pain killer tab to his mouth with some water, and painted all the wounds with antibiotic cream. His blood red eyes were half closed now, possibly had some relief - receding pains. Negi, from distant, said – enough is enough sir, now let’s go.’ I said, you go, am just coming. Now the path’s much better and no such problems as such, no?’ He measured me with his enquiring looks, satisfied, then said – don’t get late’.
I offered the ailing mystic some biscuits and the water bottle but, he refused again, said instead – feeling much better now but, won’t take anything more. If my dammed fate allow then I shall take my lunch at Hans Bugial (bugial is a meadow), it’s not far from here.’ I said again – but you immediately need to take some antibiotic pills for quick healing and, you need to take some food before the pills.’ But he firmly denied and, suddenly stood up and said – let’s go.’ I told him – you lead, I am right behind you. But, from now on, don’t say a single abusive word. All your sufferings are due to your rage and for that anger, you are habituated to using slangs. You are a devotee, a practitioner of spiritual upliftment, where goes your fruits of spiritualism? Why you are so enraged?’. What he told then as his ordeal, I don’t know whether it was a conflict or courage or, both.
He said – look, to be angry is an instinct, mainly due to when things don’t go as per your wishes. The God and all his creatures are subject to anger, according to their own in-built parameter. Educated, learned persons, Gods, they supress their angry expressions but, the fire of anger remains in consolidated form deep in mind. The mind cannot neutralise that assault or insult, it remains impregnated in ego. The only remedy to erase it, is to purge it out. All my nuisance, acts of anger, use of abusive words, actually act of purging of that anger but, it’s not to indicate or mean to any particular one’. I was so stunned by his analysis. Supressing my admiration, I asked – but, what made so angry?’ he said – there’s a limit in absorbing shocks, when the barrier is crossed, the mind is bound to react as protest by angry attitude. Get it released, don’t store them.’ I asked again – but, what was the shock?’ he told –
Reaching Rudranath valley last night I knocked the closed temple door. I shouted, complaining to Shibji for his unwillingness to save me rather, punishing me for, no apparent cause? the priest answered from the closed temple – come tomorrow morning’. I asked to know – what was the complain?’
The mystic continued – yesterday morning about 4.30 am I left Anusua village using my torch. When I was approaching the jungle, remembered, others spoke about the Atri Muni Cave in this jungle. I had no fare idea about the actual location. Local people said, take a guide. I laughed – who ever heard a sannyasi travelling with a guide? I set out alone. I started searching the jungle for reaching the cave, but lost direction. No indication, no marking anywhere. Dark jungle with thick wild bushes, surrounded by age old tall trees, in stages. I searched about the cave for three hours, couldn’t find it. Then I started going up diagonally, with a notion to reach the upper trail that leads to Kande Bugial-Hans Bugial (bugial is a meadow) and finally to this Naola Pass. Moss covered rock slabs and boulders everywhere, I had my first fall. I was injured but ignoring the pain I kept moving. I heard there was a shepherd hut at Kande Bugial. I wanted to reach there. There I could get handmade roti and dal. I didn’t know how I managed to climb up and found the trail and reached Kande Bugial. But the shepherd hut there, was empty.
I had the second fall, when the small pebble under my chappal slipped, I fell directly facing the bare rock and had many cuts. The chappal torn. With severe pain and without food from the morning, I walked on and on toward the ridges, leaving behind Kande meadow. I lost again. Ridges were many, I took the wrong ridge and moved around for hours. Then I found the trail that goes to Naola Pass. It was already afternoon. Somehow crossed the pass but it was evening then. Started moving again in the dark. My torch, water bottle, chappal, all destroyed by then. Had the third fall, most violent one. My shoulder, chest, knee badly damaged. Even then I walked and finally reached the temple site at deep night. I knocked and pushed the closed temple door, someone from inside, told to wait for the morning break. I collapsed on ice cold stone threshold, away from the door. When I came back to my consciousness, it was already morning. Deity of Shiva already placed on the back of the carrier man, and the procession was about to start. A local village man pushed me to get up, so that he could sweep the threshold. I didn’t know how but I stood up and started walking with the people. The procession passed by. I then tried follow you people just not to get lost on the return journey.
The courage’ perhaps well defined in the story but, the conflict? Why a sannyasi has to suffer such a length, when he just wanted to offer his prayers, in person?
Bio
Satyajith Mukherjee
I wish I do roam, travelling, cycling, trekking. Same way, I do try Writing, drawing, I try to focus on big but my frame is so small…Fifty years of practicing spiritual drawing process – SVD (Sree Vidya Drawings – a form of Tantra Art), enabled taste of immense joy through creation of drawings of hymns such as – Ishopanishada, Shiva-Mahimna Stotram, Sree Gita – Purushottoma Yoga (published). At present, working on drawings of all 700 hymns of Sreemad Gita. Was a librarian.
Satyajit Mukherjee