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We took an overbnight train from Jaipur to Hardiwar, the most important Hindu city in its province. Arriving at 5:45 in the morning, we stumbled our way out of the train station and into a rickshaw for a quick jaunt out to the fotstep of Krishna. So called because legend has it that Krishna came down from heaven, stepped on the land and cried a tear that turned into the Ganges river. The Ganges originates high in the Himalayas, with Hardiwar being the first city at the foot of the great mountain range.
Much like Benares at Varanassi, millions of Hindus pilgrimage to Hardiwar every year to bathe in the Ganges. We came at the height of the pilgrimage season, and the spectacle was simply breathtaking. The Ganges is about 200 meters across at the point we stopped at, and the locals have built a man-made island reachable by footpath about 20 or so meters out, increasing the places that pilgrims can get into the water at. And they do so, by the thousands. Even at the early hour we were there, the coast was simply packed. Every one from young children to grandparents, all in various forms of undress,
splashing water on themselves and sending tiny rafts full of flower petals and candles down the river. The current is too stiff to really allow anybody to styray from shore, so it ends up being an orderly but heavy crowd of bodies surging into the waters and streaming back to the clothes changing stations. Lucy mentioned that this seemed to her to be what religion is about: something mystical, and cleansing. Full of ritual and with a minimum of preaching.
Our next couple stops were hilltop temples. The first, Mansu Devi, was served by a cable car company running a service that would not only take us up and down the hill to Mansu Devi, but would (for a small fee) drive us over to Chandi Devi and take us up and down another cable car. Unable to refuse a bargain, I bought the full package.
The ride up to Mansu Devi was the best part. Once on top, we were shunted (along with a large, packed in crowd) through a series of Hindu religious carnival games. In one, people paid to throw flower buds at a bell. In another, people paid to ring a bell. In another,
Hardiwar
Haridwar with the Shiva statue hovering ominously in the backgroud priests dotted your forehead with colored ash, then you paid. Then the next priest dotted you, and you paid again. After the carnival, there was a row of religious hawkery, selling all the same crap as every other bazaar in the country, but with an often Hindu theme. It was as if there was a large courtyard in St. Peter's Basilica in Rome with cheap, plastic statues of Jesus on the cross and Mary was trying to sell you a slice of pizza. Of course, St. Peter's isn't far off from that ridiculous image, but the crassness of a hill top temple as a money-making institution was a bit much for Lucy and I. All we wanted were some great panoramic views, and some peaceful meditation with a cup on the way out to drop a few rupees in. Instead, the whole thing is walled in (no views), and people assault you at all times to give, give, give.
After Mansu Devi, we had quite low expectations for Chandi Devi. By the time the bus took us there and the cable car took us up, the early morning, lack of food and strain of lugging our heavy packs was
beginning to wear on us. We walked up to the temple, but didn't enter, spending our time looking over the valley instead. In hindsight, I believe we should have gone in, as there was a much lighter crush of people and many views from the temple itself, but by this point we had had enough religion for one morning. Eventually, we found our way to the bus and then to Rishikesh, and finally to Mama.
Mama is the owner and proprietor of Mount Valley Mama Cottage, and greeted us by saying that if we needed water or Thali, "tell Mama". Our room was small but clean, with both an ovrhead fan and a four foot high (two foot deep, three feet wide) monster of a swamp cooler. The two most dominating features of our room are a bed large enough for us to sleep together without touching (a necessity in the hot Indian nights) and a fan large enough to make waves in our skin. Oh, and the thalis she makes for dinner are delicious, and all we can eat. After the up and down impersonality of previous hotels, Mama Cottage feels like coming home. Even the dinners are
done family style, and you end up sitting at a table of half a dozen people or more. It's very comfortable, and we're thinking of extending our stay.
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