This morning I light a candle in for Shiva and reflect back to this time last year. Shivarati is a festival in India honoring Lord Shiva. It means “night of Shiva.” Shiva is the intoxicated God and celebrate him they do in Uttar Pradesh! I had been to the Shiva temple in the Jungle for Shivarati the previous year, however, this year was a special celebration and we would be staying for a couple of weeks. This would turn out to be one the most intense, most magical, most unusual two weeks of my life.
Work had been underway for this celebration for many months. Shantji had made plans for the construction of a new platform around the circumference of the area where the Shiva Temple was. It had been quite the undertaking for Raju over the last few months, but now it was ready. A bhandara (a great feast) was planned to celebrate Shivaratri and inaugurate the new construction. I had been at Yogalaya in Allahabad for about 6 weeks and plans for this Bhandara were the focus of attention since we arrived in India.
The Shiva Temple in the jungle was about a mile and a half from the remote village where Shantji grew up. It holds special memories for him, as he spent a couple of years living there in a cave. It is a magical place, and like no other I have been before. From the village you walk through all the mud thatched huts of the villagers and into the fields of gram and mustard greens to arrive at a small jungle area. In Florida we would call it a hammock. In India it is a jungle. The small, modest temple is up a hill. Downstairs is where Ram Das, a young swami lives. Up the stairs is a flat roof top walk way that circles the Shiva shrine. Inside one of the sweetest looking white marble statues of Shiva I have seen. Shantji had it installed many years before. Down from the temple is a big flat open area and around the corner under another hill is the cave.
The other new addition this year was a brick structure with a roof and 2 sides built onto the opening of the cave. Much to my delight they had put futons there underneath the structure for us to sleep on. I had imagined sleeping in the cave…. with the bats. The view from the cave looks out onto a huge, majestic tree and then down to a sweet little river. Also, much to my delight they built a latrine for me down the hill. I would be the only woman staying out in this jungle, so this private bathroom made me very happy.
On the top of the hill above the cave is simply the most amazing tree underneath which a platform has been built. It is an easy to climb up to a natural perch where you can gaze out onto a beautiful vista covered with the bright yellow flowers of the mustard greens that sprawl over the rolling hills below. Because it is up on a hill you look down on to the tops of other trees and watch the birds dance and fly. I spent many hours nestled in the nurturing arms of this magnificent tree.
We arrived about 3 days before Shivaratri. The first day was your typical bright, warm, sunny India day. The next two brought the rains. On the day we traveled I noticed what seemed to be an insect bite on my leg. When we left the village for the jungle I noticed it looked infected. By the end of the first day in the jungle its size had quadrupled and was quite sore and quite hot with infection. I was not feeling so well either but tried not to give it much energy.
Late that evening a group of men from the village showed up unannounced, and I would guess, intoxicated. Everyone spoke Hindi, so I hardly ever knew what was really going on. We were asleep when they arrived. The men staying out with us tried to stop them from coming to the cave, but they came anyway. They sat right down and seemed to be a little hostile about something. That much I could tell. Shantji dealt with them in a kind but stern way and then they left without much trouble. However, I was quite awake and a little on guard. I never expected a group of intoxicated men in the night in the jungle. I think they had something to with bringing supplies for the bhandara but more so for harassment.
Shantji went to converse with the other men, and I guess I feel asleep only to be awoken by very tall, strange looking man at the end of my bed. Who, upon seeing me, was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He muttered, I think, an apology in Hindi and walked on. “How many people wander around this jungle in the middle of night,” thought to myself feeling quite concerned! Okay, now I was bordering being freaked out. I grabbed my flashlight ran down (actually hobbled now because my leg had become so swollen) to where everyone was and very excitedly told them what happened. Then a manhunt ensued. They found my intruder. Apparently, he was a wandering swami who often slept there. He was just as confused about me as I was about him. He was harmless, but adrenaline was still pumping through my veins.
Finally, I fall asleep due to sheer exhaustion only to be awoken again. This time by the strangest sound I’ve ever heard. It was a blood curdling, deep growling howl that sounded about 10 feet away! I sat straight up out of a deep sleep and grabbed my flashlight to shine out onto nothing but fog. An eerie, mystical fog had settled in during my slumber and I could see nothing. I realized I was there by myself in the cave, as I looked over to ask if anyone else had heard that sound. I did not hear it again, but I slept with one eye open most of the night. As I lie there half asleep and half awake I feel the breeze generated from the bats wings as they fly over my head going in and out of the cave through the night. “This was going to be a long couple of weeks,” I thought to myself.
The next morning we awoke to torrential rains, and I to a very swollen and painful leg. The concern started about the bhandara. The road to the jungle was turning into mud and it would be difficult for the vehicles to get down it to deliver the food to be prepared for the feast. Preparations were still being made but there was a concern it would have to be cancelled if the rains did not stop. It rained the entire day; however, celebration for Shiva was well underway. The chilom was passed. The stories were told and the waiting for the rain to stop began. Once again the eerie, mystical fog moved in. The rains were no longer torrential but still steady.
I was feeling worse and worse. My entire lower leg was swollen and was excruciating to the touch. I laid most of the day on my bed with my leg up the brick wall wondering what I was doing out in this jungle with all these crazy Babas, unusual villagers, and not to mention that strange animal that growls and howls in the night. I asked everyone about this animal and no one seemed to have heard it but me. Also no one seemed concerned about it but me, and here it was nightfall again. Again came the bats and the growling, howling beast from the trees, and then something new that scared the heebie jeebies out of me. I awoke in the middle of the night again, to the sense of someone or something’s presence at the end of my bed, and it was the sweet, mangy dog I had befriend earlier by giving him my chapattis. He stood at the end of my bed, ears straight up, eyes wide as if he were asking to spend the night here. I felt comforted by his presence and thanked God for my new watch dog. Surely he would protect me from the howling, growling beast. This night was more peaceful.
The chanting for Shiva started at 5:00am and was to continue for the next 24 hours but in actuality, I think it was more like 36 We would fast and chant, and for those who were inclined, smoke chilom or drink bhang (a drink made of an intoxicating herb). The rain had slowed to a constant drizzle but still present. The drumming and the chanting, “Hara Hara Maha Deva Shiva Shambo Kashi Vishwanatha Gange.” The rain did not dampen the hearts of these shivaites.
The concern grew over the fate of the bhandara. The chanting to Shiva brought his blessings. A group of villagers came to offer their support. As the strength of the devotion brought a power to the group, a declaration was made and the bhandara would happen rain or shine! The food was delivered by ox carts, by motorcycles, by bicycles and even carried on the heads of the villagers themselves. It was decided a huge tent would be put up and under that the food could be cooked in the rain. The hole for the fires was dug. The gigantic pots arrived. Everyone participated. We all took turns chanting. When the chanters got tired, in a natural flow, fresh new chanters would replace the weary ones. Shantji was responsible for the morale of the troupes and kept the energy going strong by singing, dancing and charming everyone. I don’t think he slept more than a couple of hours for a couple of days.
I’ve never seen so many tomatoes, so many potatoes and heads of cauliflower, so many people coming together, working so hard, enjoying it so much and serving God so sweetly. About 50 or so women and children came to make the thousands of chapattis. There were choppers and stirrers and the best cooks of the village. The people of this village are uncomplicated, innocent people and delightful to be with. The sight of this production is one that will be one the loveliest of my memories. I was deeply touched by their sweetness and ignited with their compassion.
Shantji had appointed me official videographer for the event, so I hobbled about the day recording as much of this event as I could. I needed to get off my leg. I had been asking Raju for a couple of days for some antiseptic and a hypodermic needle. I felt that if I could drain the nasty boil on my leg that it would release the pressure and would not be so painful. He finally, reluctantly brought it for me. He and several others advised against my popping of the thing. I, however, thought I knew better. It’s still debatable whether that was the right decision or not. I am still alive and still have a leg.
It was late in the day, and I found a quiet spot alone and did the deed. It pulsed and throbbed from pain after I did so. I felt weak and sick. I laid down and dosed in an out. The eerie, mystical fog came, the bats flew in and out, the howling, growling jackals came (I learned that this sound was from a jackal and that they are dog-like creatures afraid of everything) and once again my dog scared the heebie jeebies out of me and then took his position at the foot of my bed. The drums pounded. The chanters roared. The rain poured.
I was delirious from fever. My entire body was on fire. I broke out in red-hot hives. My throat started to close up. I know enough to know that I was having an allergic reaction and that when your throat starts to close off you’re in trouble. I seriously thought I might die. I woke up Shantji to tell him that I thought I was going to die. He stated the obvious, that there was nothing really we could do. It was 3:00am. We were in the jungle, and because of the rains no vehicles could get in or out. He told me, “All we can do is pray. It’s all God’s up to God’s will.” However, truthful this was, to someone thinking they might die, it’s not that comforting. I think I commented something like, “Well, start praying hard, will you? I had never been more miserable. My fever was high, and I started to hallucinate. Interesting thing though, I could feel the pain, the fever and even the fear. I knew I was hallucinating but still having a very vivid hallucination anyway. I had a very strong and clear awareness of the Witness even through my delirium. Even though I knew this experience was being had, I knew I was not this experience. I was only witnessing it occur.
In my hallucination, or perhaps mystical experience, Shiva appeared to me through the mist, resting in the tree about 20 feet away. I felt as if I was receiving some sort of initiation from Shiva himself. I asked him, “Do you want a piece of me?” Go ahead take it, I surrender.” He never spoke to me in this vision, but seemed to transmit some energy to me. Like I said, “I know I was hallucinating.” Whatever was happening, it was powerful. I dosed off finally and when I awoke, my fever had broke. The hives had cooled off. Shantji’s praying? Shiva’s blessing? God’s will? I was still alive.
The rain stopped, and I watched a beautiful sunrise over the river from my bed. The bhandara would happen! Everyone was blissfully preparing for the feast. I was weak, but much better. I may have been in the jungle, but I was treated like a queen. I had my own personal bathroom. There was a latrine, a brick floor with bamboo poles covered by plastic tarps. Not fancy, but was quite luxurious for the jungle. Whenever I asked, one of the men who so sweetly took care of me, would heat up two buckets of water over the fire and carry them down the hill to my bathroom. It was the first time in days that the sun warmed up my bathroom. I was grateful to be alive, feeling the warmth of the sun as I poured the hot water over my very weak body.
There is so much that went on this feast day. It’s hard to know where to start… so many stories within stories. No one knew who would come, because it was so iffy due to the rains. They hoped for 3,000 but planned for more and feared there might be less. More there was. They came in droves. I’m not sure how they counted, or who actually did the counting, but they say 6,000 came. I would believe it, give or take a 1,000.
It was a gloriously festive day. Shantji was the happiest I think I ever saw him. This was his party, and he was the host of hosts. Everyone ate, sang and danced. I think what made him so happy was not just that people were fed and had a good time celebrating God, but that the event brought everyone together for the common good of the whole… and it happened in the grandest of ways without struggle or fight… just pulling together. He saw thousands of old friends and made thousands of new ones.
Late that afternoon a group of Swamis that were fabulous musicians just showed up. They rocked the jungle with the most fabulous kirtan for a couple of hours. As the sun set, the music stopped, the chanting stopped and the musicians sat down and were served by Shantji and Raju. It was such a beautiful sight to see the gratitude, the reverence and the love on the faces of Shantji and Raju as they stood watching these holy men eat this holy food on this holy day. After the musicians ate, the last to be fed, I watched Shantji and Raju eat the first food they had eaten, breaking the fast. In India the hosts don’t eat until everyone has been fed. Never have I enjoyed watching someone eat as I did that day. I too felt the reverence, symbolism, the love. It was blessed food for blessed souls.
The warm colors of the sun were disappearing behind the hills. I stood slightly above the crowd on the wall at a distance taking in the entire scene as people said their goodbyes and the crowd thinned down to a small group. I see a group of motorcycles driving up the path. One Swami with 5 men wearing navy blue blazers, white pants and white turbans with riffles slung across their shoulders seemed to ride in with the sunset. The Swami wore an orange robe, a leather jacket, dark glasses and was quite good looking. I thought to myself this day was certainly not over, and I would be right.
Swami Swatantranand had arrived and that’s a whole other story…as well as many others from this day and this jungle. I’m surprised I got out of there in one piece. I fell in a 6 foot kiva. There were flat tires and scooter accidents, and that whole almost being kidnapped story. Oh yeah, and the bite was a brown recluse spider whose venom ate the flesh on my leg and took 6 weeks to heal. You know what? I’d go back in heartbeat, though. India is another planet entirely, and one I hope to return to many times.
Om Namah Shivaya!
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