Wedding at dawn on the beach
My senses are elevated to the foothills of the Himalayan mountains as I listen to my CD flooding my office. The upbeat Indian music fills my ears with an undulating feminine voice praising the Ganges river and the many Hindu Gods. The language of Hindi that sounds so familiar and the spiritual essence that pours through the tablas(Indian drums) shoots right to my soul and filters through the cells of my body and the core of my being. I am immediately transformed into the Indian Pushpa who can walk the hills of the Himalayan lake region village of Haridwar and gander at the Ganga River while feeling the pulse of the heart of this world.
The November day in 2002 began with an early morning rising in Delhi. Three days here began to feel oppressive while a cloud of particles heavy in pollutants hung after the festival of lights of Diwali. The night sky had been filled with fireworks and celebration for Ganesh and Lakshmi pujas(prayers) to bring prosperity for the new “fiscal” year. Ganesh removes the obstacles while Lakshmi brings forth the prosperity. My brother Kamal, my friend Kathleen, the servant Shama and I drank gigantic bottles of Kingfisher beer while we set off fireworks to celebrate this most celebrated holiday.
This next day was a relief. We were finally leaving the city of Delhi and it ‘s choking smog behind. We had our black Toyota Scorpio SUV, the Asian version of a Toyota Sequoia but much smaller. My mother, Kathleen and I climbed in the back while Kamal rode in the front seat with the hired driver. We happily waved goodbye as we went through military armed guard checkpoint after checkpoint while traveling North towards our destination of Reshikesh.
Six hours of buses filled to the brim, rickshaws made for four people filled with bodies like sardines , bicycles pulling trailers filled with crops, villages of black eyeless birka wearing individuals and a sea of never ending almond eyes looking in the windows brought us to the holy city of Haridwar. My stomach was tight from the long, slow and treacherous ride. Kathleen and I feared for our lives during the ride and were happy to unclench our jaws and get out of the car.
This place was nestled below the foothills of the Himalayas. The sun shone bright in the early afternoon with not an ounce of pollution to filter the rays. My mother, once again, was on a mission. She becomes this indestructible force to be dealt with when a temple comes within range of her. She lead the journey as we crossed a long bridge lined with emaciated bodies perched to the left and right. Each one with a small tin pan for money and looking desperately into our eyes in hopes of any change we may drop from our hands for them. We reached the other side with unbearable gut wrenching pain as I tried not to focus on the skeletal figures in my vision. There were too many to help any of them…where do you start and how can you leave anyone out?
Shanti charged up the hill to the gondola that would take us high above the village to the temple for a tree tying ritual and puja. The gondola swept up the mountain while I prayed for our safety. At the top the spectacular view of the wide crystal clear Ganga cutting it’s way through the valley beckoned me to come back down. We finished our pujas and rode back down to the village. Still following my mother we sheepishly walked back down to the river.
The village was filled with people coming for the rituals and also for pilgrimages that began here. There were not many other westerners, the majority of people were Indians. We made our way down by the ghats where people bathe and do more pujas. My mother purchased three boats made of banana leaves filled with gold marigolds and a candle to place in each vessel. Slipping our shoes off and to the side, Kathleen, my mother and I carried each of our boats down by the concrete stairs leading into the Ganga. Shanti lit the candle in the first one and said a puja in Hindi for herself and then gently waded down the stairs into the the water and released the banana leaf boat. She proceeded to do a puja for Kathleen and waved her to go into the river and release her boat also. Then she came to me , not knowing what she was saying in her pujas, I just did as I was told. I waded to my knees in the great Ganges and released my boat. She smiled and told me “very nice, you have a nice life and find a good husband.” She could tell by the way my boat smoothly flowed with the river that I would have good luck.
Not only did she know this, but a family of Indians noticed and wanted me to hold their baby and take photos. I asked my mother why they wanted photos of me and not Kathleen(she being the blue-eyed blond American) and my mother replied, “because you very lucky”. I later figured out that they hoped that me holding their baby would bring luck to the child.
Three months later in the month of February I met my husband. Unknowingly, almost to the day, one year after the rituals in Haridwar, I was married.
© Pushpa Duncklee and Pushpa’s Blog, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Pushpa Duncklee and Pushpa’s Blog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content
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