Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
tries to hit you, they will fail. How if they shoot at you, they will miss. So many things. SO
many things, Gore Krishna! The stories of Lord Krishna are real history. This is not only
scripture, no. It is scientific!
I began to wither in the grip of the sadhus' hospitality, guiltily dreading the second and
third and fourth helpings of food, served with smiling insistence. My belly became bloated
with lentils and bread. But I had no choice. When I chose to skip lunch one afternoon, it
threw the yatra into a near uproar of concern.
And Mahesh's solicitude knew no bounds. Had I eaten? Had I eaten enough? Had I
washed my hands? Had I used soap? Did I need a bath? Did I know I could take a bath
under the spigot of the water tank? Would I like him to show me where this bath could hap-
pen? Was I
going
to take a bath? When was the
last
time I took a bath? I didn't like being
reminded that out here I was less competent than a five-year-old.
“You have been to the forest?” he asked me after lunch.
“The forest?” I said.
“The forest! Did you not go, for letting? Toilet? Two or three days…”
“Oh. Yes.” I gave my report. “I went yesterday and the day before. Don't worry. Three
days without, that's not possible.”
“Everything is possible!” he said.
And still we hadn't seen the river. Tomorrow, Sunil said. We'll get there tomorrow.
At the same time, part of me became convinced of the sadhu life. The evening found a
dozen of us crammed into a single tent, singing, drumming, clashing symbols. The young
man leading the songs was the best singer and drummer on the yatra. He probably spent a
good five hours a day in rapturous musical performance, whether on the pickup truck or in
the evening, in camp. Tonight, he drew verses from an open book of scripture, knitting his
brow as he strung out a melody, before throwing it out to the group, to repeat in a throaty,
musical roar.
On my last night, sitting on the ground eating dinner, I was befriended by Ravi and
Ramjeet, two fifteen-year-old sadhus who had worked up the nerve to try out their English
on me. I wondered if they were runaways, but they said their families had both endorsed
the move to Maan Mandir. They were inseparable. Like Gabe and Henry on the
Kaisei,
they had known each other since early childhood.
“Ramjeet is ideal friend,” Ravi said, clapping him on the back.
