Prayers With the Brotherhood

I rise at dawn with the Sikh pilgrims, stepping lightly over an immense carpet of sleeping bodies to exit the rest house where tens of thousands of people sleep together on pads on the floor. In this open-aired three-storey structure, every surface of the courtyard and walkways is filled by visitors who sleep free of charge side by side, without concern for gender or religious separation. We cross the lane between this silent mass of people to the plaza marking the entrance to our destination. Bare feet pad over cool marble, while the din of hundreds of volunteer dishwashers cleaning metal plates, bowls, and spoons brings some noise to the quiet morning. The kitchens are open 24 hours, serving free meals to 60-80,000 pilgrims on any given day, and more during festivals. We pass the community dining hall, where people sit in endless rows on the floor side by side regardless of religion or nationality, a symbol of unity. Our goal is just barely visible, straight ahead across the wide walkway, through a tall marble arch and down a polished white staircase. At the top of the stairs, the view widens, and I can appreciate it truly—the gleaming Golden Temple, situated in the center of a huge square pool of holy water. Its first floor is marble, decorated in the same pietra dura style of the Taj Mahal, with semi-precious stones inlaid to form floral and animal patterns. Above that, it is plated with real gold, all the way to the lotus-shaped central dome, which is said to be gilded with 750 kg of the real thing. Its towers and smaller domes gleam in the early sunlight, and orange flags embossed with the Sikh holy symbol drift in the morning breeze. Everything is reflected in the placid water, forming a double image of the strikingly beautiful temple.

As I descend toward the pool, the devotees around me kneel and touch their colorfully turbaned foreheads to the marble floor. Around us, the air is filled with the beautiful prayers of the priests inside the temple, accompanied by tablas and harmoniums, broadcast at perfect volume and clarity throughout the complex over loudspeakers.  Men begin to break off from the ever-increasing flow of pilgrims to strip down to their loose undershorts, which symbolize modesty and have a drawstring to give them time while they untie it to consider any potential misconduct they may be about to commit. They dip themselves in the holy water, ritually washing away their sins. The rest of us begin to circle the large pool, passing thousands more bodies of those who sleep on the floor of the wide marble walkway surrounding it. Situated on each side of the tank are buildings with deep symbolic significance, including one commemorating the nine-year-old son of a Sikh guru who committed suicide in return for the life of a playmate he had miraculously brought back from death. Reaching the opposite side of Amrit Sarovar, the Pool of Nectar, in front of a building representing the Seat of God, we can pass through another archway to cross the long marble causeway to the central temple itself. Packed against each other, slowly jostling its way across the narrow bridge, the throng of people has become a never-ending stream, each person just a drop in the river that will continue flowing toward the golden gurdwara until it closes late at night.

The interior of the temple is even more amazing than its gleaming shell. Every surface is painted or gilded gold, with a huge chandelier hanging over the center of the room where the long-bearded priests are deep in their melodious, heartfelt prayer. Even their harmoniums and the ceiling fans are gold. Devotees sit around the edges of the room and on the balcony that circles the second floor, reading along in their copies of the scripture. The original copy of the Sikh holy book lies inside the temple, covered by orange and blue cloths. Everything is charged, sparkling, and deeply reverent. To many, this room is the center of the universe.

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It’s possible that I’ve found my favorite place in India.

Those are strong words, but they’re true. The Golden Temple of Amritsar is the most sacred place in the world for a small but very interesting group of people, a sect that I until now knew very little about. It is the holiest site of Sikhs, who number 30 million and leave a strong impression on those they meet. Wearing distinctive turbans and long beards, and often with silver daggers at their sides, Sikhs stand out of the crowd. Their religion is based on the equality of all beings, a belief in karma and rebirth, and a sense of duty to protect others. Their ritual weapons symbolize power, dignity, and the excising of ignorance, their steel bangles represent fearlessness, and many of them adopt the name “Singh,” which means “lion.” A fundamental part of their religion is the concept of Khalsa, a brotherhood of saint-soldiers who live pure lives and only harm living beings in the defense of the innocent and to crusade for righteousness. In essence, they are Jedis.

Sikhism was founded in the 15^th century in the Punjab, and it was here that they built their holiest shrine. The Golden Temple is a truly amazing place architecturally, logistically, and emotionally. It attracts Sikhs from communities around the world as well as foreign and domestic tourists. All are welcome, and curious people are treated to explanations by friendly locals that spend their time around the temple. All can stay together in the free pilgrim’s rest house (which even has a small, separated foreigner section), eat and drink in the free community dining hall that is a part of every Sikh temple, and help with cleaning or cooking if they choose.  I spent some time in the kitchens making rotis with other volunteers before discovering the mighty chapati machines, conveyor belt contraptions each cutting out and baking about 100 pieces of healthy flatbread per minute. Massive cauldrons of lentils and curry bubbled nearby, fed by armies of men and women peeling garlic and chopping potatoes. I washed dishes for hours with the Khalsa brothers, passing each piece of silverware or flatware through no less than five washings at successive troughs. The entire system of food and lodging is run on a volunteer and donation basis, and is astoundingly comprehensive and efficient. The Sikhs take care of everyone.

Other sites in Amritsar are interesting, but none of them really compare to the Golden Temple. One quiet Hindu temple copies its pool-centric design and adds engraved silver doors, but lacks the grandeur or spiritual energy of the original creation. A more bizarre place of worship stands nearby, where Hindu women pray to a female saint to give them children. The temple is a maze of corridors, staircases, and tunnels reminiscent of a funhouse, with mirrors and gaudy colors covering every wall and bizarre statues that are impossible to take seriously. On a more historical and serious note, a somber memorial stands at Jallianwala Bagh, where about 1500 Indians were killed in 1919 when their peaceful protest against a British anti-sedition law was fired upon. 150 British troops entered the large courtyard where 20,000 protestors had assembled and began shooting indiscriminately at the trapped group without warning. More than 120 bodies were recovered from a well at one side, into which people had leapt to escape the bullets. The Golden Temple itself also became a scene of violence in 1984, with grave consequences. A Sikh extremist group seeking an independent homeland occupied the temple complex and was flushed out by Indian troops under the orders of Prime Minister Indira Ghandi in Operation Blue Star. The Seat of God building was heavily damaged and almost 500 civilians were killed, sparking Sikh protests and Hindu counter-protests that killed thousands more (mostly Sikhs) across the country. Ms. Ghandi was assassinated by her Sikh bodyguards later that year.

From Amritsar, our paths diverged temporarily. Mika and Rogan decided to take some time together and travel east, while I struck out solo to the north. Our next posts will reflect our brief endeavors on our own, before reuniting and finishing the Indian leg of our adventure.

Refuge of the Snow Lion

As you may or may not have picked up on from reading previous posts, India can be a completely overwhelming and discouraging place to navigate at times (rewarding, but by far the most difficult country I’ve ever traveled extensively). After three straight months of traversing the subcontinent, coming into upper Dharamsala and McLeod Ganj was literally and figuratively a breath of fresh air. Left behind were the steaming riverbanks of Varanasi and scorching streets of Delhi, in favor of the cool crisp mountain air of the Himalayas. This little sanctuary in the northern state of Himachal Pradesh is where the Tibetan Government in Exile has taken refuge for over fifty years since His Holiness the 14^th Dalai Lama claimed asylum there after fleeing Tibet during the Chinese invasion. The small town of McLeod Ganj sits perched on the hillsides of a soaring valley above the larger city of Dharamsala, and is a bastion of Tibetan life and culture. Making the switch from Hindu temples and spicy curries to Buddhist stupas and momos was a welcome change of pace for us, and I was grateful to experience yet another completely distinct way of life within the borders of the country. It was really as if we had left India entirely.

Another reason why I was so excited to come to “Little Tibet” was to visit my incredibly awesome and fearless friend Rogan who had been living and working there for several months, and whom I hadn’t seen in over a year! Rogan had not only been volunteering her time to work as an intern for the Tibetan Women’s Association, but was also working tirelessly on her own project researching the role of Tibetan Women in the resistance movement (you can read more on her blog: Strength of a Snow Lioness).  Even during the short amount of time that we were there I was able to meet various other NGO workers, artists, musicians, and activists thanks to Rogan’s connections within the tight community. One person in particular that we got to know was a young woman who recently put together the first ever Tibetan Women’s Football team (which just won its premier game against an Indian team in May)! I had already heard this from Rogan before coming, but upon seeing the place for myself it was very evident that life in McLeod Ganj revolved around one thing only: the Free/Save Tibet movement. Thanks to the high concentration of NGOs, activists, filmmakers and sympathetic foreigners, the vibe of the small town is overwhelmingly revolutionary. There is clearly a wide spectrum of belief on how to resolve the issues, ranging from the “Middle Way” laid out by His Holiness to the rebellious views of the Tibetan Youth Coalition, but the line often gets blurred in the face of the recent tragedies confronting the community. Since March 2011, 36 Tibetans are known to have self-immolated as a form of protest against the occupation of their homeland. This paradox of a nonviolent people overwhelmingly choosing to end their lives in the most painful and public way possible is an extremely complex issue which leaves neither the spiritual nor political leaders knowing how to react. On our very first night staying at Rogan’s apartment we could overhear the chanting of a late night vigil for yet another suicide coming out of Tibet, which has become almost a regular occurrence these days.

On a brighter note, I was blessed with the magical experience of actually seeing His Holiness in his hometown! With the absolute perfect timing, we managed to walk out onto the street just as people were gathering to watch his motorcade make the long journey to Delhi to fly out of the country, and seeing his kind smile in person for the first time made my heart stop beating for an instant. I was also fortunate enough to pay a visit to His Holiness’ former physician, Dr. Yeshe, and was prescribed a slew of herbal Tibetan medicines (which all look like chocolate balls and are completely unidentifiable) for an ongoing condition. After these encounters and strolling around the outside of H.H.’s peaceful residence surrounded by prayer stones and flags, it only seemed appropriate that we watch the 1997 Martin Scorsese film Kundun, which I would highly recommend for those interested in the story of his life.

Besides stuffing ourselves with momos and thukpa (traditional dishes), browsing the beautiful Tibetan jewelry and handicrafts, watching impassioned documentaries, and nodding ‘tashi delek’ (hello) to friendly locals, we also explored the significant sights in the area. No trip to McLeod is complete without a visit to the Tsuglagkhang Complex and it took us several days to see it all. The complex comprises the Tibet Museum (detailing the Chinese occupation and subsequent exodus of Tibetans through the Himalayas to India), Namgyal Gompa where monks have their debates and His Holiness resides at the photang, and the Kalachakra Temple where relics from the Jokhang Temple in Lhasa are enshrined and sand mandalas are created. On the day that we went to Tsuglagkhang we were lucky enough to witness the monks perform a masked dance to the accompaniment of ceremonial horns, chimes, and chanting and on a separate occasion we even got to observe the Buddhist nuns debate one another with their theatrical clapping, shouting, and foot stomping. We also made our way down the hill to visit the Tibetan Government in Exile Headquarters (basically the Washington D.C. of Tibet, folks). Within the small complex of bureaucratic buildings we saw the Library of Tibetan Works & Archives which preserves the Tibetan texts spared from the cultural revolution, and Nechung Gompa which is home to the Tibetan State Oracle. As previously mentioned, I had my foray into Tibetan medicine with Dr. Yeshe and also visited the Men-Tsee-Khang Medical and Astrological Institute where centuries old methods of holistic healing are still practiced and astrology readings are given.

On the outskirts of McLeod Ganj is the tiny town of Dharamkot where people bathe in icy mountain spring baths right beside a Shiva temple. We didn’t swim, but instead hiked up to the head of a nearby waterfall as Indian tourists shamelessly littered into the beautiful ravine along the way. One the most memorable places in the Dharamsala area, however, was the Norbulingka Institute which was established to teach and preserve traditional Tibetan art forms encompassing craftworks such as woodcarving, statue-making, embroidery, appliqué, and thangka painting. The sales from these exquisite art pieces benefit refugee artists at the institute, and if I had more money to throw around (not to mention a place to live) I would have bought the whole store. Even the layout of Norbulingka is entirely aesthetic, as it is supposed to replicate His Holiness’ original summer palace with its cobblestone paths and goldfish ponds surrounded by Japanese style gardens. The institute’s central monastery holds a large, gilded statue of the Sakyamuni Buddha and not far away is the Losel Doll Museum (my personal favorite), where intricate puppet dioramas depict colorful scenes of traditional Tibetan life.

My entire time spent in McLeod Ganj and the Dharamsala area was fantastic, and I completely fell in love with the culture as a contrast from what we had been experiencing for the months prior. Seeing Rogan again definitely might have colored my perception, but I felt more comfortable there than I have in many other places in India and could have stayed for much longer if we didn’t already have a travel itinerary mapped out. The principles of the Buddhist philosophy also hit closer to home for me, and perhaps that had an effect on my appreciation of the place ( …not to mention that as a true Alaskan I’m a sucker for gorgeous mountain scenery). In any case, I was sad to say goodbye when we did finally hit the road again and I would love to return there someday if the opportunity ever arises.