My Trip to Sanchi

Reaching Sanchi
Aaaahhh! the beautiful place of Sanchi! Sanchi...where emperor Ashoka built his stupas and which were later embellished by Gupta artisans! Sanchi...the magical land where the wind still seems to blow from the past, carrying with it the fragrances of a mysterious antiquity! So what made me go there? The fact that these are among the oldest monuments to be found in India (except for the Harrapan period ruins); that these date back, if not the dawn, at least to the early morning part of human civilization, were these the reasons? Very probably. Then there was all the reading I was doing: John Keay's book on Indian history, and his other book on the recovery of a lost civilization. Well, somehow I was convinced that whatever I would see, it would be a gigantic experience! I do not know why, but such was the case. And what's more interesting, the decision to go there was an impromptu one: the sort of decision one makes entirely on intution. I just felt that given the time and circumstances there was no other destination more suitable. Ah anyway, after buying tickets on Wednesday morning (18 July '07) I left for Bhopal on 19th night, reaching there on 20th morning. A bus from there took me to Sanchi. And it was on this journey that I felt the winds from the past caressing my ears. I felt the solitude and hush that lay over the place. The hush that comes with the knowledge that you are in the presence of something great and noble. I stared out the window mesmerised at the small boulders strewn here and there and knolls rising this way and that, covered with trees. The flat lands were also green with grass. The bus would occasionally stop at a settlement: typically a collection of huts and shops where a group of people would be gathered, and after dropping or taking on passengers would start on its way again. Immediately, after the briefest of moments, the highway surrounded by the solitude of centuries would take over again. So when it stopped at one such settlement, and I was told that this was Sanchi, I was surprised. Actually, I was to discover in a very short while that a walk of about half an hour at the most would cover the majority of the areas of the town. It's essentially situated at the crossroads between the Bhopal Vidisha highway and the monuments road (which, not surprisingly, leads to the monuments). Mr. Sanjay of the Jaiswal lodge welcomed me. I would call him Sanjay bhaiyya.

A few notes on Sanjay bhaiyya and his family. Sanjay bhaiyya was a balding man with a moustache in his middle ages. He was taciturn but always very obliging. He had a brother, also balding and clean shaven. There were three women intheir household. One was their mother. The other one was probably their sister (this observation based on the similarity of their features). The third one was Sanjay bhaiyya's sister-in-law. Sanjay bhaiyya himself was apaprently unmarried and the two kids in all probability were his brother's. The family owned a medical store below their lodge. In the latter they received itinerants and tourists. All the members in their family were extremely helpful and down to earth. I felt very much at home there.

Day 1
The stupa's were beckoning me! But I was also tired. The train journey to Bhopal was spent sleeping fitfully on a berth which I'd had to share with somebody, 'cos mine was a wait-listed ticket. (these ordeals constitute part of the charm of travelling!). So it was noon by the time I set out for the monuments. That morning, in between phases of sleep, I'd been reading John Keay's India Discovered to educate myself before I actually saw the stupas. After I woke up I was contemplating, preparing myself for the great moment when I would set my eyes on the Stupas. Finally at twelve noon I set out on foot. It is at the summit of a small hill through which a rock stairway winds its way upwards, offering generous peeks of the town and countryside nestling down below. Below it is a field of green stretching out right till the horizon dotted with fields, houses, and patches of forests. The clouds in the sky create an interesting optical effect due to their shadows being cast on different places on the ground. Even the stairway is probably old, though I'm not sure of that. It lead me to the gate beyond which the monumets stand and as I approached the famous stupa number 1 gently raised itself within view. At that moment a thrill ran through my frame. It was true: I was actually seeing it! Nothing I write can do justice to what I saw. I will just quote what I wrote in my diary that day after I returned to the lodge:

The dawn of civilization. Figures carved in stone connecting ages separated by two millennia. "as long as the sun and moon shall shine..." the voice of an emperor reaching out across 2000 years and speaking to me. The relic of an age that has subsequently been submerged by other ages, but which still lives and breathes through these stupendous monuments. Those finely carved sculptures by patient and loving hands. The thrill that passed through my body as I ran my fingers over them, realizing that other people also have run their fingers over them, 23 centuries ago, other eyes have feasted upon them, 23 centuries ago . . . other eyes, other people, long since gone, but these monuments standing unchanged, watching over the millennia. In other words . . . TODAY I SAW THE SANCHI STUPAS!!!

O Emperor! What shall I not do to be remembered thus! Not for conquests, but for spreading the message of peace and love!

The serenity I felt sitting in the courtyard of the ruined temple near the east gate of stupa one, the thrill at beholding the sites . . . I felt like falling prostrate in front of everything I saw.

I saw an emperor's remorse after a war, I saw an emperor's love for a woman manifesting itself in her birthplace, I saw a place preserved for 23 centuries. It was as if time had come to a standstill. I felt a hushed silence inside me, as if the very air dare not stir in the presence of such venerable testimonies to mankind's latent nobility and purity.

Also in the morning, when the bus was approaching Sanchi from Bhopal, I felt I was going into a region that had become an island in time. The gently undulating tree covered hills and boulders strewn on the ground.

I ask with tears in my eyes: who can not be moved by looking at these?

On the more practical side, a lesson I learnt was that I must always carry my asthma inhaler on such trips. The pollution can get pretty bad. It was certainly the case when the bus started from Bhopal. Add to this the dozens of people smoking bidis in the bus.

I'll give very brief description of the lay out of the land. The first thing that catches one's attention is of course the massive stupa number one built by emperor Ashoka in circa 268 B.C. It has four gates facing the four respective directions. These gates are marked by elaborate and mind blowing sculpture depicting the Jataka tales, stories of Buddha's previous births. These gates were built in the Gupta period, maybe in the 2nd or 3rd century A.D. The Gupta period is hailed as the golden time of Indian art and architecture. I was totally besotted by the figure of a Yakshi on the eastern gate, swaying gently in the breeze beside an elephant. Minute sculptures form a canvas on which on these other figures are formed.
To the north-east one will find stupa three, similar in size to stupa two.
To the east side the most arresting sight are the remains of a massive temple and a monastery. (Temple 45). Then there are the remains of several monasteries and cylindrical mounds formed by stones whose purpose or meaning I am ignorant of.
To the south lie the ruins of two temples, very much Greek in appearance. These are temples 17 and 18. (The numbering probably relates to the way the buildings have been catalogued in the event of succeeding excavations and findings).
To the west of the stupa lie the remains of a monastery excavated in 1993-94. Beyond these is a stone bowl in which offerings were left for the Buddhist monks. Even further lies stupa two, much smaller and less spectacular than stupa one, but located in very picturesque surroundings beside a pond and a location that affords a sweeping view of the country below.

I lunched in a little restaurant in the market and bought a roll of film for my camera. I'd got three rolls from Kanpur but I knew they weren't going to hold out for long!

Later in the afternoon I went and talked with the person in the Sri Lankan Mahabodhi Buddhist lodge. They had a statue of the Buddha imported from Thailand. Finished my second camera roll and put in my third there.

An evening spent in meditation and making notes in my diary back at the lodge. A delicious dinner of roti-sabzi served by Sanjay bhaiyya, probably cooked by his sister or sister-in-law.

The room alloted to me was comfortable enough. A ceiling fan that worked and clean sheets to sleep on . . . and the eternal quietness of the night. There were two windows on opposite sides of the bed: my head was pointing to one of them and my feet were pointing to the other one. My head was just below the first window, the bed being attached to the wall, and it was open. The night, being hot and stifling, I decided to open the other window as well. I switched off the light after opening it and went to sleep. It was then that I discovered that the window at which my feet were directed, and hence which lay directly in my view the moment I opened my eyes, opened into a region that was filled with an obscure, diffuse light. For a moment I did not think of anything, but then the vision of the silhouette of a little boy clutching the bars of the window and staring inside suggested itself to me and nearly made my heart skip a beat or two. I closed my eyes and determined not to look in that direction and fell asleep after a while.
Perhaps the visions of the sculptures and the monuments I'd seen and the feeling of extreme antiquity were playing around in my mind. Those beautiful pieces of art can have an unsettling effect if one is alone at night. Even the mosquitoes had intruded into my room and I woke up at 2.00 a.m. The rest of the time was spent in reading my history books and writing in my diary. Only after dawn was I able to catch some sleep.

Day 2
I'd made up my mind the previous evening to visit the Udaigiri caves on bicycle, a place about 14 km from Sanchi. I'd read about them in my Lonely Planet travel guide, which also mentioned that cycling was a viable means of transport to reach there. I'd gone on a similar trip some time back with Debjit to Bitthur, hence the idea appealed to me. In addition there was the Betwa river on the way which promised some interesting sights. The route to be taken was indicated in Lonely Planet. One has to go along the Bhopal-Vidisha highway and take a detour later on. So after breakfasting at the lodge I hired a bicycle from the market place and I was soon on my way.

After about five minutes I realised that I was cutting a rather conspicuos figure on the highway. People turned and stared unabashedly in my direction. Many kids along the way would say a 'hi' or 'bye' when they saw me. In fact even on the previous day when I was going to the Stupas kids would walk behind me and would smile and say 'hello' or 'hi', and would whisper amongst themselves in confusion when I'd respond in Hindi. The same thing had happened in the bicycle shop in the morning where I'd gone to hire the bicycle. The shop keeper had opened the conversation in his broken English, and was taken aback when I'd replied in my fluent Hindi.

The first time I got any indication that I look like a foreigner or firangi was in Benares about a year back when beggars in the Kashi-Vishwanath temple flocked around me saying, "Sir, only ten rupees please!" My friends had found it hilarious but I had found it very embarrassing. To be excommunicated in one's own country! So it was on the way to Udaigiri. I had kept my eyes fixed on the road and was determined not to raise my eyes to anyone, but it obviously wasn't enough to keep away the unwanted attention. Middle aged and elder people would merely stare at me curiously while children shouted 'hi' or 'bye' or 'Sir pen!' while adolescents tearing down on the road on their motorcycles would shriek out, "oye angrez! kaha ja raha hai!" Initially I had tried to resist, trying to prove my Indian origins, but found out later that it was best to play the game. So now whenever a child would say 'hi' to me I also would respond with a 'hi', but with an American drawl thrown into it. When adolescents would shriek 'oye angrez!' I would respond with an uncomprehending and amused smile. As reagrds the 'Sir pen!' uttered by some children, I was totally at a loss to its meaning, but the mystery was cleared very shortly in Udaigiri.

Along the way I stopped at the Betwa river and took some photographs. After a while I arrived at a police check post situated at a fork in the road. There I asked for directions to go to Udaigiri. I was told to take the left prong of the fork, which matched with what was given in Lonely Planet. But the subsequent directions did not really match up and I was confused. And it was not obvius if I was to take this detour or another one further down. Well anyway, I decided to take whatever lay in my way and follow the policeman's directions. Going along the road, I spied a compound wall to my right on the other side of which a large group of school children was seated on the ground for lunch. 4 or 5 children were crowded around a hand pump. This was my chance and it wasn't the time for inhibitions. Alighting from my cycle, I approached the wall and snapped a few photographs. The excitement of the kids was conveyed to the teachers who were supervising the handing out of lunch, and one of them gestured to me to come over. I acqueisced, not before, however, locking the cycle: it wouldn't do to lose it. What followed was one of the most interesting times of my life. In my whole life I've seen such children walk about on the roads carrying on with their lives and their little childish games and their little childish troubles and concerns, but it's all been very distant. I'm not part of them, they're no concern of me, and they do not fall into my social circle. In fact, it would be socially aberrant behaviour if I were to interact with them on anything but the most neutral issues; like asking the location of a certain place etc. One is bound, or rather one binds oneself with these imaginary chains.

However, that day I found myself with part of my humanity. Little boys and little girls, talking and shrieking, laughing and shouting and quarelling amongst themselves as they waited for lunch, ocassionally being admonished by the teachers who were strolling about like sentinels. After a while a girl started serving them puris and sabji. One of the teachers had insisted that I take the children's picture only after they were served. Very sensible, I thought, and here is the picture.
The nature of the talk of the two teachers was very interesting. Most of the time they were trying to convince me of the quality of the food; that they are given only two rupees per head by parents for the food, and yet the quality is so good. "See this puri! See how thick and of what quality it is! And that sabji: it is so filling! no adulteration of the gravy with water! I'll also show you the kind of kheer we serve! hey you! bring along some kheer here. Just wait and see its quality! And in spite of all this we are accused of corruption! Where else will you find food of such quality for just two rupees?"

"Who accuses you?" I asked.

"The parents of these children of course! And all the time the mega scams of the politicians are carried on with all impunity!"

Why was he harping so much upon it? And that too to a total stranger!

I was persuaded to eat a little kheer but absolutely refused the puri because I had to have an empty stomach if I was to cycle comfortably. Here's me eating that kheer!

I see no point in trying to think rationally about my decision to visit that school. It was just an impulse and I acted accordingly. Perhaps logic is not always one's best friend. What is, however, is that tiny voice inside telling you what to do. Don't think too much, follow it, and you will never go wrong.

Initially I'd had the fear of being waylaid, but something inside me was brimming with confidence that day. I knew that if I make this trip it would be one of the most interesting experiences of my life. And in the school, seeing the children, photographing them, conversing with them and the teachers, was one of those occasions when I've been able to break through the barriers of reserve and make a connection. If nothing else, that feeling itself would sustain me for the rest of the way. And in spite of the fact that I was appearing and pretending to be a foriegner to all the people around me, there was a constant feeling inside me saying, "This is my India. This is my India."

Along the way I passed some statues that looked to be very old pieces of art, but which were casually strewn along the side of the road. I wonder what they were.

I passed through a little village and the road turned left there. Further along the way the river again made its appearance under a bridge. On one side of the bridge there was a temple which my recent attention to whose photograph reveals that it may be built on an island emerging from the river, and on the side of the bridge people were bathing in the river and washing clothes alongside wallowing buffaloes.

I turned left after the bridge ended and here there was a sudden change in the vegetation and the general scenery. The road was more like an avenue lined by trees and presenting a very pretty sight. Even the terrain had become very unpredictable. One moment I would have to get off the cycle and haul it up along a steep slope and the next moment I would be hurtling down at break neck speed like a bullet. Over all the road sloped upwards. I was wondering where all this would take me, and how long the terrain would last, when all of a sudden, without warning, like a magic palace in the Arabian Nights, a hill loomed in front of me which simply took my breath away. The road turned left and sloped upwards at a rapid rate in front of the hill. I asked a seated person where the road lay for the caves. He pointed to the hills and said, "Here they are." It turned out he was the local guide for the Udaigiri caves and held the keys to the various shrines that were housed inside the caves, now locked up by the Archaeological Department.

The temples and shrines in Udaigiri belong to the Gupta period. They are located in a hilly region formed by a very characteristic kind of rock. My ignorance of geology prevents me from knowing what kind of rocks they are, but my friend Vijay Bisht informs me that they are sedimentary rocks. There are sculptures of Gods and Godesses on the walls of the hill, among which the Varaha avatar of Vishnu is the first one sees upon entering the region after the guide has unlocked the gate. Further inside nestling in the niches and crevices are further statues and shrines built inside caves. The natural beauty of the place leaves one delirious with joy and one wonders why there aren't more people around. It's fortunate that there aren't too many people around otherwise that will take away from its solitude. I'd decided to go there on a whim, since I had an extra day in my hand. And it turned out to be as major a highlight as the Sanchi Stupas! The guide showed me around a few temples and I finished my third roll there. Put in the 4th which I'd bought the previous day. After a while, the guide went back to sitting on the place where I'd met him and I went off to explore the hills. Every new angle would reveal something and I would be tempted to take a photograph. The lay out of the caves and the region was fascinating and I knew that the entire roll would be devoted to this. After I had explored one direction till it had become monotonous, I turned towards the other side where in the distance I could see a temple in whose direction a flight of steps was leading. Try as I might I could not locate where it began. Still I continued in its direction sure that sooner or later I would be walking on those stairs leading to the temple. Sure enough, after a while I spied it and was walking towards it. The guide later told methat it was a Jain temple, a Parshvanath temple. Here again, since I may not succeed in describing my feelings entirely, I again take recourse to my diary wherein I had recorded my impressions that evening while the feelings were still fresh in my mind:

And while walking to the Jain temple (Parshvanath) . . . the utter stillness, except for birds cooing and the wind blowing . . . the utter solitude . . . the feeling that no one has come here for centuries and I'm one of those lonesome wanderers in whose fate it was to stray to this uninhabited and forgotten land in one of his journeys spent on walking the earth, beneath the sky, but with no other bearings, who has broken the solitude of this place after a long, long time. Birds, unaccustomed to human beings, take flight at seeing this strange apparition walking slowly.

The occasional misgivings . . . the sound in the grass that sounded suspiciously like that of a rattle snake's.

Today I felt for the briefest of moments that I am living my dream. Today for the briefest of moments, near the Jain temple, I felt totally unfettered, totally free. I felt like shrieking out to the four corners of the sky to proclaim my freedom.

The place is a photographer's delight. One can spend hours clicking away with the camera. As expected, I finished my fourth roll in Udaigiri itself. The pictures are just too many and the reader is advised to visit this site to check out some of the photographs I've put online. I went back to my guide after I had done with it, who had just finished his lunch sitting near the cycle. His name was Prakash Chandra Naagar, he had told me earlier. He looked to be around fifty, with whitish hair and an ageing skin. Lean and a little frail, he had a pleasant face and a friendly languid voice with which he told me stories about the various statues he had shown by unlocking the doors to their respective caves. Like everybody else he too had mistaken me for a foreigner earlier on. His views were corrected after we had started talking and we had gotten along pretty well. Now I was about to take my leave, and he had to go a little further distance to drink water after his lunch. I decided to accompany him till that distance. As we walked along the road I had come, as usual, children and people around me started saying 'hi' etc. A few of them in their excitement also uttered some more english words like, "hello! very good man. very good!" Some kids again uttered those strange words, 'pen sir'. It was then that Prakash Chandra Naagar told me that foreigners occasionally left some clothes (hence 'pants') for the kids and that is what the kids were asking for.

He showed me around one last temple, and after chatting for a while, I took his leave. The return trip to Sanchi was much easier, because the terrain was familiar, though the last five kilometers were quite uphill. In Sanchi I bought another film for my camera and then headed for Monument road to have lunch at a cafetaria and subsequently to the museum, which had been closed on the previous day (Friday). The museum has some pretty old photographs of the stupas when they were first discovered and their subsequent restoration. I put in the new roll in my camera and went back to the stupas. The sunlight was bright and was coming from the west at a a much more slanting angle than on the previous day. It brought out the contrast between light and shade on the sculptures in much more detail than the afternoon light. Here are some more notes from my diary:

One can spend the whole day looking at them (stupas). It's a photographer's paradise. I remember telling myself again: how can one look at these and not be moved? As I lay on my back, photographing one of the gateways, probably south, I thought that if that stone block were to detach itself and fall on my head, I would feel no remorse at having to die under that stone.

Each time they are beautiful: morning, afternoon, evening, and each time they are beautiful in a different way, like the expressions of a beautiful woman when she is fuming with anger or burdened with sorrow. And I was totally enamoured of the Yakshi on the east gate; she being one of the first images of the Stupa I'd seen (before coming here).

I went back to my lodge. I had to pack up. I was leaving the next morning. I had been told that the sunrise from the stupas is a phenomenal sight. So I told Sanjay bhaiyya to wake me up at 5.45 the next morning. I'd go again to the stupas (the ticket counter opened at six in the morning).

Day 3

Unfortunately, the sun had already risen by six. I missed out on the sunrise. The sun was shining from behind temple 45, and its rays were soft and golden. As I was to discover, every new angle of the sun's rays cast the beauty of the stupas in a different form. Indeed, one can spend the whole day looking at the stupas and their architecture and sculpture. This time again I took many photographs and before long my fifth and last roll of film was exhausted. I was moved, many thoughts and feelings were churning inside me, and I decided to sit down somewhere and take stock of them. A soft breeze was blowing and there was a slight nip in the air. I chose a spot in temple 45, near the statue of the buddha, in a doorway in a little shaded corridor. From here I could see the undulating plain and the stupas and the ruins of the Greek-like temples on the south and stupa two in the north east direction. Sometimes a little squirrel would come scampering on the ancient stone walls before bounding off into the branches of a tree. An occasional peacock would cry out in its harsh voice. The breeze would rustle some dry leaves up along the courtyard of the temple. Apart from these there was no sound. My eyes would fall desultorily on the figures carved on stone, or the Buddha's statue, or the stupas, or the walls of the temple; I could feel their antiquity, I could feel the silence, and these pieces of stone seemed to hold some ancient secret, something dormant and alive behind their stony exteriors, and suddenly the utter silence seemed alive with the groan of centuries. I came out of my stupor and looked at the statues again. The Buddha half smiling, the figures of a man and woman embracing each other, the designs and motifs running on the walls. I walked up to them and let my fingers run on the ancient stones, and I let the spirit of an age more than a 1000 years old seep into me. A thrill ran through me as my fingers felt the hard stones. I could barely breath. The figure of a man and a woman, entwined around each other in languid poses, carvings of various deities, what did it all mean? What were they trying to say? They looked alive and in a hush I strained my ears to catch the slightest sound that might emanate. I went back to the door way in which I had been sitting. This place was thronged by worshippers about a millennium ago. Where were they now? Are they still here? "Do your spirits still live here?" I asked under my breath. There was no answer, but a chill went down my spine all the same.

I sat there for some more time, letting my thoughts wander. My roll was finished. There were no more photographs to be taken. Sometimes it is best not to record your thoughts or feelings or images, but simply to experience and feel them as they come and go. Don't try too hard to hold on to something, or it might preclude the full enjoyment of another experience. Savour each moment but do not linger on it. Let your thoughts wander . . . like an itinerant who has no fixed place or abode. Be free to live and feel and experience life. These were some of the most important things I learnt from this trip.

"Life is like a sudden flash of light in the darkness. Being dead is the usual state of affairs."
-Debashish Bose

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Epilogue

I reached Kanpur that night after a tiring train journey from Bhopal. I really could not see much of Bhopal, but I have heard that it is a very beautiful city. However, the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Bhopal is not the beautiful sights or tourist spots but the gas tragedy of 3rd December 1984 when around 30,000 people were killed by the leakage of methyl-isocyanate gas from one of the tanks in the Union Carbide factory. . . and that is just an official record. I do not know how the people of Bhopal have dealt with it, or if they have managed to erase the emotional scar left by the tragedy. I had seen a documentary some time back on Bhopal in which Satinath Sarangi, a man leading an NGO to fight for the cause of the gas victims, Kamal Pareek, a former engineer in Union Carbide who resigned from the company due to the decline of safety standards, and Keswani, a journalist who had predicted the tragedy in newspapers but whom nobody had heeded, and many others associated with the incident were interviewed. At the Bhopal railway station I saw the book by Dominique Lappierre and Javier Moro, 'Five past midnight in Bhopal', and immediately bought it. This is one incident about which I must get to the root of, because it has been bothering my conscience for some time.

During my journey to Sanchi, the train to Bhopal had arrived there early in the morning at about 6.00 a.m. The shops were closed and the streets weren't crowded. I caught the image of this old man smoking from inside my bus window.

In Bhopal I saw something which is perhaps a normal sight in the city but which I found disturbing. In the mornings people, especially women of the lower economic strata flock around certain spots with pots and other containers to collect water which spouts out of the ground on the sidewalks during certain times of the day. It does not matter that nearby there may be a pile of garbage infested with flies or a gutter running nearby. This was one of the first images I had of the city...but of course this is a common sight all over the country. Huge billboards with pretty faces staring down people dragging a pile of bricks in the sun for their next meal...incomprehensible!

Also in Bhopal, perhaps because of the gas tragedy or because of the rickshaw driver who fleeced me, I got the impression that the people are generically of a saturnine disposition. Elsewhere in the country, especially in Kanpur, there is a cynical black sense of humour which is absent here. Of course, I may be wrong, as I was there for a very short period of time, and had hardly conversed with any people.

A note on the photogtraphs: all photographs were taken on a Pentax on Fuji and Kodak 400 film. I would like to thank Muduli for lending me his camera and letting me take such wonderful pictures. All photographs are available for viewing at http://www.flickr.com/photos/changingsun/tags/sanchitripday1/, http://www.flickr.com/photos/changingsun/tags/sanchitripday2/, and http://www.flickr.com/photos/changingsun/tags/sanchitripday3/

Some more pictures at www.flickr.com/photos/changingsun

Pictures of Kanpur taken on a Sunday morning/noon and of the canal behind IIT Kanpur around sunset. Pictures taken with Muduli's Pentax on Kodak 400 film.

Cycling trip to Bitthur

Last Sunday (1st July '07) Debjit and I went on a cycling trip to Bitthur. While the places we visited weren't many and neither were they spectacular, it was the trip itself that was the highlight. Dotting the road towards the later part of the excursion was an interminable row of huts, cattle, cow dung heaps, and simple people who looked untouched by timeor technological developements; if one leaves aside the ubiquitous Coca-Cola boards that seem bent upon reaching the remotest corners of the earth. Untouched by time, they really were, because one will come across many buildings dating back to the British times, and still surviving. Walls made of small, almost flat bricks. Arched doorways and grilled windows, with open sewers on either side of the road (I did not really like the latter), Banyan trees sprouting out of cracks in walls, ragged children playing in the streets, old men with cataract clouded eyes peering into nothingness through their thick glasses, doors with those simple chain type latches I used to see in my grand-parents villages when I'd visit them in my childhood. At some places I could almost imagine some revolutionaries during the British Raj being chased by the police and taking refuge in one of these derelict houses. A far cry from the India of today, and untouched by almost sixty years of social changes. We first went to a ghat where people were bathing in the river and others were selling flowers on the ghats, while religious souvenirs of many kinds were on sale in the temple complexes outside. Well, then when we went to Dhruv-ka-tila, an old temple priest showed us a stone which floats in water. It was more of a brick, seemed to be fashioned inside a kiln, but when I took it in my hands I found that it was as light as alabaster. The preist said that it dated back to the time of Ram, when he built the bridge of stones across the ocean to find his wife Sita. He also showed us the 'm' of 'Ram' on the brick, which he would have us believe was proof of its antiquity. We didn't argue, because we had no interest in wrecking his beliefs or his self-evident faith with our modern outlooks coming from young IIT students. He's been probably thinking along these lines ever since he was born and 'modern', 'scientific' thought has no right to wreck the pillars of faith on which his old life rests. We offered our obeisances to the idols in his temple and took prasad from him. There is a steep slope of steps leading to the river and the river, I get the feeling, becomes abruptly deep a few feet away from the bank. Maybe this is the reason people don't bathe here. But the view from the bottom of the steps, with our naked feet being caressed by the cold river water, was fascinating. In that wide open expanse and solitude, it was as close as I've come to feeling free. The hues of the sky, the shades of the daylight, the million glittering little mirrors shimmering on the water's reflecting the sunlight, the alternating phases of brightness or mellowness as the clouds periodically swept across the sun, the giant electric poles conveying the wires from one bank to the other, the sound of eternity being whispered by the river and the wind; it was as if the sun, earth, clouds, skies, all of them were invloved in a complex interplay of light and shade in a game of colossal proportions. Of course we knew the game wouldn't last long, and soon the the sun would dominate and it would become unbearably hot as it ascended the massive dome. So as a last spot we went over to a temple which supposedly is the birth-place of Luv and Kush, the children of Ram and Sita. This was the Valmiki Ashram. Debjit told me that this is not the only place in India that makes such a claim. It was interesting in that there was a tower which served as a vantage point from where we tried to trace our routes leading to our present positions, and also that of Dhruv-ka-tila with the giant electric poles serving as land marks. It was decidedly becoming sunnier, and after making floral offerings to the idols in the temple (which we'd bought from a woman selling these from a wicker basket, sitting on the steps outside the temple) we went back to our cycles to head back to the campus. I tried to photograph a sleepy looking chameleon basking on a wall outside, but it scrambled away hurriedly before I could get close enough. Obviously it wasn't all that sleepy!

However I slept like a log for the rest of the day when we got back.