Rishikesh exploded onto the Western scene when George Harrison and the Beatles came here to gain enlightenment at the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi’s ashram in 1968.  We know at the outset that it will be more tourist oriented than Haridwar,but our first impression is one of extreme disappointment. On the narrow, unpaved lanes on the way to our guest house we pass rubble, varying sized mounds of cow dung and dog poop.

After dropping our bags in the room,we head out to explore the town. Sandwiched between posters advertising ” emotional block treatment” and ” Bliss of Breath”, are the “German Bakery” shops. (Dating from the hippie days in Katmandhu, they specialiize in western favorites such as chocolate cake and apple pie) Advertisements for yoga classes, yoga teacher training courses, meditation,Ayurveda and esoteric treatments are papered on entrances,walls and poles. Too many Westerners here for my taste.  I want Sadhus! Sadhus are a uniquely Indian phenomenon. Men, often highly successful,renounce their worldy possessions and wander.They depend on the generosity of others to survive , and are considered holy men.

We beat a hasty retreat to the rooftop terrace of our guesthouse overlooking the Ganges, with a spectacular view of the mountains.

 

 

Today is another day and a completely different picture emerges. On our way to eat breakfast down the hill from our guesthouse ,we pass one of the many ashrams. Big cars are parked inside and a beehive of activity is going on. Turbaned sadhus clothed in saffron colored robes are mingling with devotees dressed in white. I look for someone who might speak English and ask what is going on. “Guru happy birthday.  Rich people bring donations. After Satsang everyone come eat.”

After eating  breakfast my mood changes. We wander through town, passing Kashmiri souvenir shops selling pashminas and jewelry,and  more German Bakery signs.  Further along, the scene becomes more Indian- stalls frying spicy aloo tiki (mashed potato patties), chai wallahs (tea sellers), and women selling a kind of fruit like a guava.

As we walk back, I notice that all the sadhus coming in our direction are carrying big bundles and packages. First I joke that it must be sadhu shopping day, and then it hits me. They must be giving out food at the “birthday guru’s ashram”.  I almost trip over myself trying to get there before I miss the action.

Crossing the footbridge over the Ganges, my eyes pop out of my head. I can’t believe what I am seeing. Hundreds of sadhus are lined up against the wall leading to the entrance of the ashram. Mixed in among them are spaced out beggars- smoking hashish through a pipe.

 

 

 

I can hardly contain my excitement as I inch my way through the crowd.  The grizzled faces and tattered clothing tell the story of a hard life. These men(and the rare woman) are less fortunate than the ones I saw with the packages on the way here, and they are relegated to the back of the line.  I would love to photograph each medieval face- but it’s not possible. The suffering is too raw and personal. The ashram has a security guard with a stick to control the crowd should things get out of hand.  If I give just one person some money there would be a riot.

Every evening on the Ganges there is a ceremony called Ganga Aarti, to bless the sacred river.  We were warned that the one here in Rishikesh was small and geared to foreign tourists and western ashram people-but decide to go anyway. Organized by Pramath Niketan Ashram, the service is conducted by the novices, and like the one in Haridwar, is intimate and moving.  The faces of the young men and boys, some in deep meditation and prayer create a strong sense of community with the assembled group.

As we walk back to the guest house when it ends, we can see the flickering lights and hear the chanting of other Ganga Arti that are going on across the other side of the river.

Another day in Incredible India.