27th March 2009

Dear Reader,

             We were prepared to be greeted by the furies of cold as we left for the hills. it was the third week of January and this time the winter usually is at its peak. But there was surprise in store when we reached the home in the hills. The inside of the house was warmer than usual in this time of the year. In this season and month it takes all one’s resolve to venture out for an evening walk in the jungle. But the cold and dampness in the jungle seemed to have given way to a cozy warmth that we  welcomed but with trepidation. It seemed a trifle early to start bidding cold a final goodbye.

    If it was good luck it continued the next day as under the golden haze the peaks of Chaukhamba and Kedarkanta shone benignly. It is a rare delight to get such a good view of the Himalayan peaks while sitting out in the sun. A full day like this was followed by the other. It was time to think now that the winter had departed early this year.

     On our way we had noticed the sprinkle of yellow flowers along the edges of the road, under shady corners in the jungle. The blossoming of the yellow flower, the Fyuenli, is taken by hill people as the sure sign of the arrival of the spring. It looked like a change of season that was early for this year. But it was there in nature and well anticipated by the traditional indian calender. Sure enough there was the celebration of Basant Panchami all over the country on the last day of the month. The arrival of Spring called for celebration but there were some who struck discordant notes. There were those who would rather talk of impending global warming and how it is catching up with us. They were agitated that the phenomenon is much closer at hand and the early departure of winter from the hills is  sign of it.

     I, for one believe in Gaia, call it a metaphor for the resilience of the earth and the interplay of the forces that we barely get to comprehend during this brief journey of life but which maintain the mysterious equilibrium that makes it possible for life to happen.

     But closer at hand there was a real problem. There was not much rainfall this winter and it had already ruined a crop and raised the specter of acute water scarcity in the coming months. it was a matter of concern as it afected the life around. But lo! It did’nt get to be wintry cold again but few days of rain  and a particularly overcast sky one morning in the middle of February and it started snowing. It snowed for good five-six hours and everything in sight turned stark white. Everyone agreed that one such  heavy snowfall at the end of the winter had made up for the earlier dry run. Now the next crop will be good and the water at the proper ground level will sustain life in coming seasons.

     It is always heartening to be in the presence of the signs of the mysterious  forces which support our life.

Yours Sincerely

arunpant

  28-01-2009

Dear Reader,

       With some friends I share a special bond. We are fellow travellers. We are kindred in a way that brings in us a sense of belonging to the whole globe. There are moments we shared which have proved lasting. And it is true that such moments were a brief interlude from our common routine. But the brevity of the moments also underline that we should prepare ourselves to receive the truth of such interlude.

     Something of extraordinary value is waiting for us in the moments. But if we have not been preparing for the moments they give us a skip. Such preparation helps like it helps runners in a relay race in the exchange of batons with their fellow teammates.

     The meaning of these moments is clear to us when we are ready for them. We bond with the people instrumental in the awakening of these truths in an instant. These bonds get stronger with the time . Some of my friends have been with me in my treks in the hills and we share the bond of common experience of such outings. Many of us long to be on the treks again. We want to find the moments when we fade out for the rest of the others - invisible to others and alive only in the world of nature around us. This is what a gruelling trekdoes. We may be together but as the awareness of our own perspiring body, its discomfort and sometimes its pain overtakes we are separated from others. Many times the soil underneath is moist and slippery in the jungle and drags us behind. We frequently pause for breath. Separated from each other we get rooted in our awareness. It will be a while before we can emerge from the dense jungle.

     When we are free from the jungle, again under the blue sky we hit the trail that takes us to the endless meadow. We are again part of the group, but now with a sense of the awareness of our own individual self. An invisible chain is formed with others, my partners of such moments, and looking back one can say how a common bond gets forged. Over the years we find the bond very much there and become stronger.

     On a trek like this to Rudranath, near Gopeshwar in Uttarakhand an ever-descending, narrow stretch of path led us to a torrent of a gushing hill stream. We crossed the stream by walking over a felled tree that was placed over it as a make-shift bridge. While some of our group members held the tree from both ends to keep it steady I walked over the slippery trunk with the weight of a heavy rucksack. The felled tree made an unsteady and dangerous bridge over the stream that looked menacing. I managed to cross it over but with a moment of self-doubt.

     This doubt I carried with me for the rest of the trek. We spent the next three days in sheer wilderness. We walked most of the time. There were no proper meals and we slept fitfully in shelters meant for stray shepherds and rare pilgrims. Many times, in sun and shower we followed each other for miles without exchanging a word.

     All this while the thought uppermost in my mind was how would I manage the crossing of that stream again? But we found a different trek route. We never needed to cross that felled tree again while returning.

     It is posible that now, all these years later if we take that trek route again the things will be different. Perhaps there is no felled tree suspended over the dangrous waters. It is more than possible that now there is a proper bridge. And what I have been carrying within me is the long shadow of the moment that allowed my self-doubt  to emerge over the running stream.

yours

arun pant

15-1-2009

 Dear Readers,

               The winter, for those of us living in the hills, is the time to turn inwards.The cold is not something that permits much outdoor life. When there is sun, under a blemish-free blue sky, its hot, even has a sting. But the cold is nestling in corners and gets up to meet one half-way. It rises up from all the corners of the room if the sun as much as gets covered by the floating clouds or when the sun finally dips behind the hills.

     It becomes a struggle to keep the body warm. Some efforts are there till the evening haze blankets the soft colors of the sky. When the sun,too, starts getting cold in the mist even the effort is given up to keep the body warm. Now is the time when we all slouch, not even try to keep upright. Sometimes we talk in inanities mainly to keep our minds off the cold.

     A friend has shared a dream. He is also a traveler. He also lives in the hills. In his dreams he is driving up a steep climb in the hills in his car. It is proving to be difficult to negotiate the climb. Just then he becomes aware of a young boy atop a white,gorgeous horse. The boy and the sturdy horse are effortlessly going up the climb ahead of the friend and his car.

     The winter is the time when the earth is covered up by the frost. The little shrubs and bushes along the road that we take for evening walks stand black and bruised by the frost. It appears that all form of vegetation is facing extinction from the face of the earth. But we all know how there is a life that is going on - invisible to us. This life will appear, all of a sudden in full bloom after winters, in myriad forms and colours. This life will take form and shape around us when we will be sleeping. We will not see the change taking place with our own eyes. We will notice it when the change has happened around us. But how we have become used to it! How we are losing our curiosity and do not even want to think about the mystery that is unfolding around us all the time.

     The wintry weather around us can still bring awareness of the forms of nature. Our bodies that face the onslought of cold also find their rhythm with the nature. When the body find its rhythm the invisible world of our dream is also available to us more sharply. This world is where we can see the change taking place in ourselves. My friend who has shared one of his dream is curious about the change taking place in him.

     I believe there is an important message for him. In the journey the vehicle he is driving is his physical body which may be bruised by the rigor of the journey. But he has a guide in his inner world. If the physical self is not keeping up to the challenges of the journey his youthful instincts are leading him and leading him well.

yours

arun pant

Dear Reader,

              I recently found an account of a pilgrim’s journey in Garhwal Uttarakhand undertaken more than a century ago. The pilgrim describes the splendour of nature that spreads its magic tapestry over the hills as the manifestation of the Mahamaya - the Divine! the Supreme! the Cosmic Will. Not all travelers on the pilgrims’ route, that lead to glaciers from where originates the Ganga in the Himalaya describe their sense of wonder and awe in such terms but their elation is unmistakable. Many receive such bounty of nature in utter silence. There are others who have been changed forever after such an experience of nature.

     I started telling you about my journeys but know very well by now that my experience  cannot become your experience. Do you really think that if we together set out on a journey, finish it at the same destination, share experiences along the way and meet the same set of people then we would have lived, in essence, one common journey? If there is a commonality in our journey it still begets different lessons for us. Yet there is something to be said about how we are always open to other people’s account of their experiences and even take inspiration from them.

     My travel lead me to a state of mind that belong to me alone. Yet I find a deep resonance within me from the account of the anonymous traveler who left a record of his journey undertaken more than a century ago. Today when I stand near the bank of the river on the road leading to Rishikesh from Dehradun I am in the grip of a strange feeling. The river changed its course decades ago and now flows on the other side. The pebbles below me form a bed-rock that is left as a reminder of the faith that once was full and flowing.

    The mood shifts while close to the river on the path that still guides devout but the strange feeling lasts. How strange it is to stand where many have stood from a time that can not be recounted. The number of travelers can only be guessed at. Many were driven to find out the mysteries of existence, the meaning of religion and faith. Many were earnest seekers who on their own gave up the comforts of the world. There have been others whose pilgrimage was more out of a sense of disillusionment with the world . Some were even misled by a gullible belief. They all have stood on the river shore and walked along its flow.

      The river guides all. In the same manner that it accepts the pious intents and holy rituals performed on its bank along with the filth and refuse that is strewn along its length. But it urges, if one listens, to shed bitterness and seek in earnest. When the heart and mind are surrendered to its cadence that the eyes can see how what has brought millions to the Ganga is the eternal flow of love.

     The river has brought millions to its bank. Countless have come here before us. Many assemble here with me. Many more will come even when I am not here. The eternal river of compassion flows on.

    What I write is just a scrible on the sand of time.

arun pant

Dear reader,

      I have been traveling for quite some time. Now it seems a good idea to find out what I have been doing, mostly and why at all !

     And I need you for this. For, sometimes it helps to keep a reader in mind  who would read with patience. Sometimes it is the idea of a listener in mind that helps shape thoughts and make them flow - just like the flow of the great river, the mother Goddess, the river Ganga.

     Many times I have found myself on the roads near the river and its subsidiary in the hills. Then there are days when I just walk along the sandy banks that line the river Alaknanda, Bhagirathi and the Ganga near Shivpuri, Tapovan, Laxmanjhula, Ramjhula and Hardwar. There are always others like me on the banks of the river. Many are pilgrims, many come here to perform rituals for their dear departed ones and others are sightseer. Many are from within the country and always some from abroad bringing an exotic touch to the scene.

    I can not really tell you how often I drive along the Ganga or walk on its shore - it is all too often. I need any excuse to be there at Laxmanjhula or Tapovan where the colors of the water keep changing with seasons - aquatic green to a tinge of sapphire blue and absolute muddy with silt flowing down the hills during mansoon.

     The Kanwarias flood the Ganga scene during the four weeks in July-August. This is the only time when I keep off the banks of Ganga. The mammoth crowd during the season makes the banks unruly places to be. It is the time to wait for the curious mixture of insouciance and almost bawdy sense of assertive religious identity to recede before the true serenity of the humble pilgrims is restored in the air.

     Like every traveler along the path finds out there are times when nothing really happens and one must find the best ways of passing the period of waiting. It is the time  when the river is turbulent, the banks deserted, the sky overcast and nothing can account for my presence near the river. There are people who have to make a living, run a life and in times like this they look even burdened by the need to lead a life near the river. On such days I have to look within myself to find my reasons for being there.

     I need to tell you all this because my journeys along the Ganges have taught me a great deal that can not but be shared. It will be selfishness that will prevent and not tell you the secrets of travels that have come to me.

     But before you begin to follow me - you need to know that besides a traveler I am also a dreamer. But this dreaming like the traveling I do,  is not what people mostly talk about. It is not the dreams that others see or think they see that I am talking about.

     Let me engage your attention and take you along the journey both, in the real and in the world of dreams.

Yours sincerely

arun pant

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