Rabindra-Sangeet

In an apparent departure from the theme of this blog I'd like you to listen to this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3IeLtOjlQE&feature=relmfu

That Rabindra-Sangeet is world-renowned needs no emphasis. Truth be told, I can't really understand what's he's trying to say, a problem apparently not shared by the farming women of Bengal according to W.B Yeats...

But this combination of Tagore, melody, and Hemant Kumar would convert a stone, and want it to know more. I think.

Meanwhile I'm working on the expected.

The shoulder of Shiva: Tungnath Temple, Garhwal

Continuing the Pañc-Kedār Yātrā,  Nardeep Dahiya walks us to Tungnath, which at 12,073 feet above mean sea-level, is the highest Hindu temple in the world. Far from the madding crowd of the Char-Dham*, you'll find a bracing trek (a picture of the writer gives a good idea of the gradient!); and an enduring if not very elaborate example of a 'Nagara' style of temple architecture, with its characteristic curvilinear shikhara (tower). 
Readers may recall the legend of Pañc-Kedār: Seeking absolution for fratricidal genocide, the Pānḍavās come looking for Shiva. He, keen to avoid them, disguises himself as a bull and melts into the mountain, whereupon Bhima grabs his tail to stop him. Shiva subsequently re-emerges in five different spots across Garhwal. Tungnath is where his shoulder is said to have appeared. 

My very first trip to Garhwal got me to Tungnath at noon, after a nonstop drive from Delhi. Chopta, the base of the walk, was no more than a bus stop on a very pretty mountain road, with a couple of rough eateries and their attached shacks. Starting early was important - to get to the summit before the weather packed up. Fortified by a breakfast of hot parathas and tangy pickle washed down with a tall steel tumbler of sweet, steaming tea, one began the ascent to the Shoulder of Lord Shiva. 

Then as now, a cobblestone path leads off the road, a decaying concrete arch announcing guardianship of the way to Tungnath. The cheh-footiya, (6-footer bridle path), rises gently at first, deceptively dealing optimism by the lung-full to those taking their first steps on it. This is quite all right, one thinks, secretly relieved by the easiness of the grade.

Some 100 m. into the path, at a point where it enters thick alpine forest sweetly redolent with the smell of living pine and fir, one literally staggers upon the truth. The gradient of the path becomes punishing, rising to eye level only a few steps away at times. You're in a world of green now, an impenetrable canopy above, the ground a springy pine needle mattress bursting with tiny flowers all around. 


The silence is eerie, the bustle of the big city not 18 hours behind you, and the last sound you heard was a solitary bus groaning its way in first gear up the mountain road. It stuns you at first, then distances itself as your city-calibrated ears sing an electronic whine in numbed protest. Finally it leaves you to your great peace at these great heights, as you adjust to the crunch of your footsteps on the pine needles, the buzz of crickets, the odd trill of a birdsong.  And the cleansing mountain air you are gulping in.

Before you know it, the trees have yielded to rhododendron shrubs carpeting the mountainside in shades of crimson and violet. It's like God splashed the mountain with a divine tsunami of flowers. On your left the mountain rolls away into a patchwork of meadows (bugyals) dotted with the semi-permanent camps of seasonal shepherds. Beyond the mountain, the mighty four-cornered massif of Chaukhamba looms large in magnificent permanence. The air is crystal clear; every ridge, every cornice visible. Don’t be too harsh on yourself if you go camera-mad from this point on, just short of halfway to the top.

Soon, even the shrubs and bushes are gone. You have climbed above the Himalayan tree-line, 3000-odd metres here. A teashop provides a welcome break. Reckoned the halfway point, a couple with leathery faces and cheery smiles sell biscuits and tea. It's a great place to just stand and drink Chaukhamba in with your mind, as well as the more distant Kedarnath range. But don't waste too much time, for the afternoon cloudiness will wreck the Great Himalayan views you duly earned with the climb thus far. You must get to the top well before noon.

Now the track stops weaving, there are no more switchbacks as it goes straight across the face of the mountain. There's one long final stretch, a stony gash leading relentlessly higher to what appears to be a little cluster of huts, undefinable yet from this distance. Closer still, and the grey stone cone of the temple is discernable. An old man dressed in ochre overtakes you, mumbling under his breath about being late. He is the priest of the Tungnath temple, a local Rawal Brahmin in contrast to the South Indian Namboodri Brahmins appointed by Adi Shankaracharya as caretakers in perpetuity of all the other Kedar temples in Garhwal. 

At 3,800 m Tungnath is the highest temple in the world. It's above and beyond a straggly line of shops; there's even a 'hotel'. Among the handful of establishments is the residence of a famous sadhu (holy man), who's also the cover model for a popular tourist guidebook. With his matted dreadlocks, piercing eyes, and strong limbs, the Baba is an intimidating personality. But he's pretty cool too; sit with him, be courteous, and soon you'll be sharing his chillum (clay pipe). He lives here, wintering and practicing his austerities in a cave somewhere below in the valley below that he points to vaguely. 

The temple looks very old. Legend says the Pandavas built it, and that makes perfect sense because no-one but Bhima could have moved the stones used in its construction! A more considered view is that it was built by the great Shankara, which would still make it nearly 1,300 years old. The temple is built over a rock that is believed to be the petrified form of the shoulder and upper forelimb of the Lord Shiva's bull form that Bhima had caught by the tail in the days of the Mahabharat.

Behind the temple is a huge rock the size of an apartment block, with long icicles in the shade. A path goes by the rock to the top of the mountain, starting bravely as a cheh-footiya and devolving into a single-file trail and finally vanishing all together. Then there's just the incline, carpeted thickly with grass and the deep blue above. Lammergiers float in the sky, frost crunches underfoot, and within an hour of starting from Tungnath one is at the top of Chandrashila Peak, an even 4,000m ASL.

A small temple honouring the Goddess Ganga sits right in the centre of the small summit area. Everything on the other side of the summit is at a lower elevation except the horizon which is an unbroken Himalayan line, from one end of your field of vision to the other, Nanda Devi and Trisul standing out for their great heights. It's a sight fit for the gods. And that's probably why the two Indian epics intersect here, for this is where Rama, Prince of Ayodhya, is believed to have done his penance for killing Raavan, a Brahmin, in the great war described in the Ramayana.  

A small section of the summit area is reserved for ashes of the departed from nearby villages, which are kept in miniature earthen pots on a stone platform. This highland is the Alaknanda-Mandakini watershed, and is smack in the middle of the Kedarnath Musk Deer Sanctuary. It's a great campsite too, except that there's no fresh water at the top. Watching sunrise from Chandrashila Top is a soul-satisfying experience. 

From Tungnath, a decently paced downhill trot gets you back to Chopta within an hour. In other words, one can climb to 4000m after breakfast and be back for lunch at Chopta after one of greatest Himalayan experiences that can be had in the world. The only thing that compares is the drive to Kibber in Himachal's Spiti district, at 5000m ASL the highest permanently inhabited village in the world. 

To the southwest is an eminently motorable road that leads up from the Kund bifurcation, winding its way through forested hills and sunny villages as it leaves the Mandakini a little behind and far below. On this smooth and winding road, set on the lip of a well-watered bowl some 5 km before Chopta, is the state government guesthouse of Dugalbitta where the adventurous Indira Gandhi once enjoyed a vacation.

To the general northeast of Chopta, the road dips—locals call a descending road "down" road, pronounced 'dawn';— into the Kedarnath Wildlife Sanctuary, immersing itself immediately into that vast protected forestland. I am told Garhwal Mandal Vikas Nigam has made tourist huts at Chopta now; that would be a welcome development, because this area is crying to be explored.

* Badrinath-Kedarnath-Gangotri-Yamunotri


Some of the pictures are Nardeep's, the others are taken from google images.

Supply Side Jesus...

While we are waiting for our next trek into the hills, here is a brilliantly irreverent comic strip sent by a friend. No offence meant - and I hope none taken!!!

Enjoy.

http://www.bobonline.net/progxiansd/ssj/index.html  

George Carlin on God and Religion

It's not just Richard Dawkins who has a problem with God... But this guy is much funnier!
Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=gPOfurmrjxo&feature=fvwp

Man eating Leopard of Rudraprayag

In case anyone is interested, I found a soft copy of the book on the net here:

http://www.archive.org/details/ManEatingLeopardOfRudraprayag

The Pañc-Kedār Yātrā: An introduction

Please welcome guest writer Nardeep Singh Dahiya, whose passion for the mountains of Garhwal demonstrates that 'secular' and 'sacred' are not necessarily contesting categories. Over the coming weeks, Nardeep will share his personal experiences with us on the Pañc-Kedār trail. Difficult to access, and nestled amongst majestic and incredibly beautiful Himalayan ranges, these temples are holy to the Hindus, and a challenge to the amateur hill enthusiast. This first post orients readers geographically and acquaints them with legends surrounding the trail. Subsequent posts in the series relate to individual temples on the trail. 

Chaukhambā, the mighty four cornered peak 

History and legend: Having killed thousands of human beings and wiped out their cousins and teachers in the Indian godmother of all ancient wars, the Pānḍavās were understandably contrite¹. Who better than the great god Śiva to give them absolution? So, after Lord Śiva they went, tracking him down in what is now Garhwal, the better half of the new state of Uttarākhanḍ*, and the real Devabhūmi, no matter what they say about Himachal or Kumaon! Garhwal was known as Kedār-Khanḍa in historical times: the abode of Śiva. And it certainly is - only this is best understood with cold Himalayan air  pumping into your lungs and look-up views of the Kedārnāth dome, Chaukhambā, and Nandā Devi peaks stunning your visual cortex into instant piety. 

Kedārnāth range from the Manḍākini valley

Lord Śiva wasn't interested in meeting these killers of brothers and brāhmiṇs, and kept himself away, till he was finally spotted by one of the brothers (Bhīma) at the place we now call Guptkāśi. According to tradition, the Lord sought to make a dramatic exit, changing into a bull and melting into the ground. Bhīma caught his tail, and as the Lord re-emerged across a wide swathe of Himalayan territory, the Pañc-Kedār came into being. There were six appearances of svayambhū, or self-manifested lingas (symbols of Śiva): the hump at Kedārnāth, the shoulder and upper arm at Tungnāth, the face at Rudranāth, the belly at Madhyamaheśvar, the locks at Kalpeśvar, and the head at Paśūpatināth in Kāṭhmandu, Nepal. The first five are called Pañc-Kedār.2 

The Pañc-Kedār are supposed to be visited from West to East, starting with Kedārnāth followed by Tungnāth, Madhyamaheśvar Rudranāth, and, finally, Kalpeśvar. Incidentally, apart from being the greatest of the 12 Jyotirlingās³  Kedārnāth is one of the Chhota Chār Dhām destinations after Yamunotri and Gangotri and before Badrināth. The traditional time taken for the Pañc-Kedār Yātrā is 21 days but I think a seasoned walker could do it in 10 – and is a personal ambition. Close to Kedārnāth is the remarkable Triyugi Nārāyaṇa temple. While the Pañc-Kedār are believed to have been rediscovered, renovated and re-consecrated by the 8^th century Hindu revivalist Ādi Śankara, the Triyugi Nārāyaṇa is believed to be three yugas⁴ old. Legend has it that Śiva and Pārvati were wed here and the holy fire of that ceremony has been kept alive ever since. It is an Akhanḍ Dhuni (perpetual flame). 

Devaprayāg

The Geography: The best way to understand the lay of the land in Garhwal through its rivers. They also offer the best access into the Great Himalayas, that innermost sanctum of the world's greatest mountain range, to adventurers and pilgrims, and those who are both. On the Pañc-Kedār Yātrā, one enters Garhwal by way of Haridvār, where the holy Ganges⁵ pours into the great northern plains of India. From Haridvār, one moves upstream to Ṛṣikeśa, the world's yoga capital, and then on along the right bank of the Ganges to Devaprayāg⁶, where the frothy green Bhāgirathi coming down from a little above Gangotri and runs into the placid and relatively muddied Alaknandā, coming down from above Badrināth. 

The roads beyond Ṛṣikeśa were built in the later half of the 20th century. The old pilgrim trail is along the left bank and can be seen clearly from the other side of the river. It is at Devaprayāg that the Ganges as we know it is fully formed, from here all the way into the Bay of Bengal. Cross the Bhāgirathi at this temple town and go upstream along the Alaknandā. All religious settlements and towns in Garhwal are no-meat and no-alcohol zones by force of tradition, though cannabis is indulgently tolerated and mostly celebrated.

Rudraprayāg⁷, the sole standout against the no-alcohol, no-meat rule, is where the Pañc-Kedār Yātrā begins. This is where the sparkling Manḍākini, coming down from a little above Kedārnāth, meets our companion thus far, the Alaknandā. The road splits, one goes up the Alaknandā to Badrināth, and the other to Kedarnāth. It is the latter we take, driving along the left bank of the Manḍākini to its origin. The Pañc-Kedār are situated in the high mountains of the territory between the Manḍākini in the West and the Alaknandā in the East⁸. On the watershed between two rivers lies Tungnāth.

Rainbow over the Kedarnath Musk Deer Sanctuary

Compared to the short scenic valley of the  Manḍākini,   the relatively longer one carved out by the Alaknandā has ferocious gorges. On a high ridge between the two is the Tungnāth ridge. This ridge is also part of the Kedarnāth Musk Deer Sanctuary, a vast protected mountain forest that seeks to save the Himalayan Musk Deer, a small, timid animal hunted to near-extinction for its musk glands that produce an aphrodisiac of fanciful repute. It is also home to the Himalayan Black Bear, easily one of the most dangerous animals in the world because of its unpredictable disposition and tendency to maul humans, and leopards, as well as snow leopards in the higher reaches.

Our road leads to another fork, a place called Kunḍ, where one must cross the narrow Manḍākini to resume the upstream journey to Kedarnāth along its right bank. But we push on straight, up a steep road that winds higher and higher into the pine and fir slopes till the Manḍākini looks like a thin silver ribbon before the valley passes out of view completely. We are in high country now, and the road still climbs, passing a three-building settlement called Dugalbiṭṭa, and reaching the high point of Chopṭa, really a pass into the Alaknandā valley further ahead and below.

View from Chopṭa

Chopṭa has breathtaking views of Chaukhambā; the horizon is the Himalaya. From Chopṭa, the road snakes down through the sanctuary forest—so thick that it impedes sunlight at places—to emerge at the picture-postcard village of Manḍal. But we're not going to Manḍal. We must take the steep steps that lead off the road at Chopṭa, passing through a gate and on to a cheh-footiya (six-footer) bridle path that rises and rises into a thick pine forest. Tungnāth is about two endless hours of uphill walking from Chopṭa. 

View from the Tungnāth trail

End of Part 1. Part 2 will focus on the climb to Tungnāth, and the temple itself.

Notes:

All pictures in this series are from Nardeep Dahiya's personal collection. The view from Chopta is from  Google images.


*Note on diacritics: I have added diacritic marks where I felt they were necessary to explain the pronunciation to my readers not familiar with Garhwal, yet left out the word final ‘a’ so that names remain familiar to those who are. I have left untouched those words which would be rendered unrecognisable to readers who have grown up with Hindi names e.g. Chamoli. 

¹Mahābhārata, the very short version:

Cast of 100s; Verses in unabridged epic 24,000. Warring paternal cousins – 100 Kauravās (baddies) 5 Pānḍavās (goodies - including Bhima). Rival claims to kingship. Famous fratricidal battle at Kurukṣetra. General annihilation, including their teacher, great-uncle, sons, relatives, friends. Goodies win. Famous baddie supporters: maternal uncle Śakuni and Karṇa, (unsuspecting brother of goodies)  Über-famous goodie supporter: Kṛṣṇa

² The Pañc-Kedār Yātrā is probably the modern remnant of the Gorakhnāthi six-temple circuit of yore, a part of the Kānphaṭā (split-eared) tradition. The Kānphaṭā yogis wear large wooden rings in a slit made in their ears by their gurus at the time of  initiation; they are followers of Gorakhnāth, the ninth master in the Śaiva Nāth tradition

³ The lingas that those in union with the One see as a pillar of light

⁴ A yuga is one of four 'ages' within a Hindu 'era'; it is the largest unit of time in the common vocabulary of any language or culture

⁵ Such is the reverence for this river that the inhabitants of the towns and cities on its banks call her Gangāji, and not just Gangā

⁶ Prayāg means confluence. There are five such confluences in Garhwal, where tributaries of the Ganga meet and finally become the great river at Devaprayāg.

⁷It was at Rudraprayāg, in 1926, where Jim Corbett shot the infamous man-eating leopard that had imposed a curfew on this oldest of Indian pilgrim trails for almost a decade. This beast, mentioned in the House of Commons once, was freakishly strong, immune to cyanide and very clever even by leopard standards, and it took all that Corbett had to kill him. I recommend “The Man-eating Leopard of Rudraprayag”,OUP It's one of the greatest adventure books ever written, the best of the hair-raising kind. It can be found on amazon:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss/279-6166055-9220355?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=he+Man-eating+Leopard+of+Rudraprayag%2C&x=0&y=0#/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=s

 ⁸This region straddles the districts of Rudraprayāg and Chamoli, both home to significant wild populations of the leopard and black bear.

Beef Eating in the Hindu Tradition

On the good counsel of @icountu, who I believe is a well wisher and a supporter of the "Revive Sanskrit" programme, this article has been removed for revision. It will be edited, updated and re-posted at a later date.