Durga Darshan

Anyway… I stayed on my side of the river for the next couple days… The day after Shivaratri, I was feeling better, so I decided to rent a motorbike to go on a temple tour. I set out confident with the wind in my hair, and the exhilarating feeling of luxurious freedom. I headed west and passed several small villages before I got the sense that I was not quite headed in the right direction. A great number of villagers stared at me with confused expressions, curious to see a western woman riding solo through their simple lifestyles. Most Indian women from such villages don’t get much farther from their homes than the village well.

I stopped to ask some men alongside the road if there was a temple up ahead. And as with all Indian answers I took their directions with a grain of salt, intending to ask a kilometer or so further to see if the next set of directions match the first. The directions instructed me to continue west… and shortly up the road I could see a modest temple sitting atop a ridge. I turned right and ended up at some gates where two Indian men stood in uniforms. They didn’t speak a lick of English… not a really a sign of a tourist attraction. They motioned for me to continue up the driveway, and with my guard up, I did. I ended up at another gate, this one marked with signage indicating I was at some kind of power plant. The security guard there had a very small English vocabulary, and he informed me that the temple I was headed to was not a safe one to go to. It was mid-day, very hot, and nobody else would be up there (sometimes this is actually safer here in India)… but I listened to his advice I decided to head back towards Hampi.

I headed back towards the main road, passing the first set of security guards. On the left-hand side of the road were two small houses, with two children. The little girl was precious, holding a baby goat. Her brother came running up, and I asked if I could take a picture. They nodded, and then asked me for “one school pen?” I waved to the women hanging laundry near the houses, and received huge, wide-eyed smiles. I said goodbye to the children, then continued towards the main road. Three boys with long sticks were up ahead. As I approached, they began to ask for money, “One rupee! One rupee!” With long sticks in their hands, I was incredibly nervous, and a sharp, firm and also quivering, “NO!” barked out of my mouth. I sped past them, and turned onto the main road, back towards Hampi.

I passed the closest village, again receiving the curious looks I’d received before. I came upon the second village, and it seemed that the school there had let out… as there were young Indians in uniforms everywhere on the street. I slowed to go over the speed bumps and two adolescent boys stood staring at me up ahead. Then stooped down to the ground picking something… and as I passed, they launched stones at me, one grazing my neck. A sharp sting clung where the rock hit me… but I continued on. I could feel the blood boiling inside me… I was pissed! But more than pissed, I was scared. I was determined to get back to Hampi, or at least where solo-traveling western women are more common.

Indian traffic is a whole other can of worms. Pedestrians DO NOT have the right of way. In fact, there is quite a pecking order to Indian traffic… and from what I’ve gathered, it goes something like this: pedestrians yield to all motor vehicles, motor bikes yield to any vehicle larger than other bikes, tractors and camel carts (in Rajasthan) are next in order, cars yield to trucks and buses, trucks yield to buses, buses tend to take precedence over the roads, except when it comes to cows. Everyone yields to cows. And cows are everywhere… including busy city streets! Lanes, signs, and traffic lights, are merely suggestions… but the general flow of traffic is such that everyone goes at the same time, weaving in and out of their lanes in such a fashion that if you attached yarn to each vehicle, one might have the most chaotic hand woven tapestry in the world! Indian depth perception is beyond me. They pass one another so quickly and with so little space between vehicles. I imagine if one measured how much room passing cars have between them, it may be likened to a strand of hair.

That being said, I was happy to be on a traffic-less highway. Not quite two lanes wide, and not many vehicles in these rural parts. At one point, a large bus came roaring down the middle of the road. Not having quite the same skilled depth perception, I opted on the side of caution and pulled completely off the pavement and stopped while the bus passed. A withered pair of old Indian farmers (one granny, who shouldn’t be working at all, let alone performing manual labor, and one old man) watched me as I started back towards the road. The lip of pavement above the shoulder however, was a bit too much at my slow, sandy speed, and I tipped over. Unconsciously clinging to the bike, my right hand twisted on the accelerator, and the bike continued to lunge forward, until my awareness caught on and I let go of the bike altogether. The two farmers ran over to help me up. Fortunately, not even a scratch. Actually, the worst part of it was the embarrassment I experienced. The farmers didn’t speak any English, so they gestured and pantomimed their request that I take ‘granny’ to the next village. I couldn’t believe that they would trust my driving after that silly crash… but Indians seem to survive on such faith… indeed, faith is the heart of Indian sustenance.

I obliged and ‘granny’ hopped onto the bike side-saddle in her sari. I’ve never driven with a passenger riding side-saddle before, and I noticed the imbalanced distribution of weight. I figured out my compensation, and headed up the road. As we approached the next village, a group of Indians stood perplexed in the road. It was clear there had just been an accident. I slowed the bike to a crawl… and we came up to accident. A family of monkey’s hung in a tree gaping at one of their loved ones sprawled, googely-eyed on the road, a steady pool of blood streaming from its head. She was female. I looked up at two baby monkeys perched on one of the branches holding one another. ‘Granny’ decided to hop off the bike. I paused, taking in the situation before continuing up the road… and found tears streaming down my cheeks. I have a tendency to get upset when any animal is hit by a car… but seeing this primate all human-like, dead on the road with her family surrounding the scene really triggered me. I cried.

Tears don’t make for good driving on a motorbike in India. I wiped them away, and continued on my way. At the turnoff to Hampi, I decided to continue East on the highway towards Hanuman (Monkey God) Temple. The very least I could do was say a prayer at the monkey temple for today’s tragedy. I could see it from the road, and was glad to be back in the hustle and bustle of tourist attractions.

Hanuman Temple is perched atop a mountain of granite, with well over 550 stairs winding their way to the top. I stopped at the fruit and beverage stall at the base of the mountain to park my bike under the “free” shade provided. It was around 1:30 in the afternoon, approaching the hottest part of the day. I decided to sit for a while under the shade with a cold lemon soda.
A bit after my rest, a guy from my guesthouse arrived with a small group of people. I decided to join the group on the hike up to the temple. At the start of the stairs, it became obvious why the Hanuman temple was placed on this mountain of granite boulders. Families of monkeys were everywhere! Mamas with babies clinging to their chests climbed around the trees and stairs. Tourists with bananas dared to see how close they could get to the monkeys. We climbed and climbed, and our group thinned out as each of us took our own pace. I lost momentum about a quarter of the way up because of the heat. I was somewhat dizzy, and took it very slow… which meant that I was left with the three young boys begging for rupees. They followed me the entire way to the top of the mountain, asking for anything the entire way.

I went into the temple, and the Baba (Holy man) residing there could see that I wasn’t doing too well. He grabbed an electric fan and told me to sit down next to it, as I pulled out my water. I sat there for some time, composing myself, taking in the 360 view. It was beautiful, but it would be much better at sunset. I decided to continue on my temple-tour, and return for sunset.
Next stop, Lakshmi (Goddess of Abundance) Temple. I continued East on my bike, and arrived to many busses, cars, and people. Mostly Indian. In fact, I can’t even recall any non-Indian tourists… and I again received the perplexed stares I’d been receiving all day, as I arrived once again a solo western woman on a motor bike.

I made my way to the temple, and was greeted warmly by some of the women working there at the ashram. They laughed as they noticed my anklets, nose ring, and earrings. “Looking too much Indian!” they exclaimed and broke again into friendly laughter. Whew! Allies… first ones of the day! I sat there with them exchanging comparisons of lifestyles looking out over the pond of lotus blossoms and lily pads. “You eating?” they asked. “No, thank you,” I declined. After a while, I decided to move on to Durga Temple.

Durga is a fierce goddess of protection that rides atop a tiger. The Temple has a long, steep, winding driveway up to the stairs. I began my ascent… nowhere near as many stairs as Hanuman Temple. I arrived to the temple and paid my respects to the goddess of protection. A group of women were washing huge cooking pots in the courtyard. A boy, about 16 yrs. old, who worked at the ashram asked me if I would like to see the Naga (snake) temple. Of course! But I declined his service as a guide, convinced I didn’t need one. He pointed the way to a trail, and I began my hike.

I passed through a small stable with cows and their napping shepherd, continuing up the trail. Only moments later, the ashram boy reappeared, opting to guide me along anyway. It’s a good thing that he did, too… because I never would have found the cave where the temple resides. It was much farther than I had anticipated, and due to the granite boulders everywhere, the trail wasn’t always so obvious.

We climbed down slowly into the cave. Every now and then, ‘Ashram boy’ would offer his hand to help me down the rocky, uneven steps. When we entered the cave, there were several other men in their early twenties waiting to climb the stairs back out of the cave. I took a seat in front of the Naga altar, appreciating its beauty. I noticed that a couple of the men had stopped on the stairs to stare at me (a very common behavior that can get quite rude). Irritated and annoyed, I had had my day’s fill of ill-intended attention.

“What?!” I demanded. The men looked startled.
Another one, still in the temple interfered, “There’s no problem madam.”
“Yes there is. What are they looking at?” I retorted. “I am not the temple! This is the temple,” I shouted pointing at the altar. “Stop looking at me!” The men started up the stairs, but I could hear them laughing at the top of the cave.

The men in the cave seemed to get the point, and they continued their exploration of the cave without hassling me. I sat there for a while with the ‘Ashram boy’ and he explained to me that at night the snakes come into the cave, assuring me that they weren’t there in the day time. We were ready to go, and we climbed up the stairs to the view overlooking the Lakshmi Temple that I had visited earlier that afternoon. It was lovely.

Unfortunately, the group of googeling men were still there. There were about 6 of them. They were laughing that kind of laugh that you know is about you… antagonistic and at your expense. I ignored them… and ‘ashram boy’ hurried me along. They group of googelers followed behind us with a bit of distance, but I was well aware of my back. As we continued forward, back towards Durga Temple, one of the men leapt toward me making a hissing sound.

I turned around so fast, “GET AWAY FROM ME!” I yelled so loud. My voice was that similar combination of fury and fear that erupted earlier in the day with the boys with the sticks, and I could see that my barbed-wire energy sent a clear message. Channeling Durga fury, by chance? The guy looked startled by the power I had asserted… and I knew that my tone of voice was coming from that survival skill of fight or flight. The other men laughed at their friend, and they all fell behind. Ashram boy and I continued back to the main temple, and I thanked him profusely for accompanying me to Naga Temple. I hadn’t intended to pay him initially, but after considering what that situation could have been had I been alone, I graciously handed him 100 Rs.

Hindsight is 20/20… and looking back now, I should have informed others at the Ashram about the men in Naga Temple… but I didn’t think about it. I think, also, on some level I was embarrassed that they had antagonized me so much. Isn’t this how it goes… the victims feel somehow responsible, or even shamed for their attack. Relieved to see many people again (safety in numbers) I decided to hang out at Durga Temple for a while. I received a blessing, then descended the stairs back to my bike.

I started down the long, snaking driveway back to the main road. Up ahead, however, I saw the crew of men waiting for me on a slab of granite above the driveway, no one else around. I could tell they were surprised to see me on a motor bike, and they ran down the granite to try to meet the road. Terrified, I accelerated quickly and looked straight ahead. One of the men picked up a rock the size of a baseball and threw it at me… it missed me as I zoomed by, and I could hear nothing but the wind and my heartbeat racing!

Again… this is another 20/20 Hindsight moment… where it would have been a great idea to inform someone… instead, I rushed on to the final temple. It was a quick stop… I was nervous about having to pass the driveway to Durga Temple once more, for fear that the googely crew might still be waiting for me. I was happy when nobody seemed to be around, and I made my way back to Hanuman Temple for sunset. After I had climbed all the stairs and arrived at the top, I walked out across the granite boulders to find a viewing spot. A girl from my guest house was there, as well as the man that had climbed up with me in the afternoon. We all took turns taking pictures of one another with our cameras. Once the sun had gone down, we all clambered down the 550+ stairs to the parking lot. The Israeli man, Jack, hopped on the back of my bike, and we headed back to the guesthouse. I was happy to have somebody with me, as we ate bugs the whole way home. Safe… and sound.

Clearly, motor biking around on my own is out of the question in India. In fact, I’ve learned to be a bit more cautious on my own in any circumstance. Unfortunately, the men here cannot quite fathom the idea of independent women who can actually navigate the world on their own. Indeed, its as if some of them disrespect women who attempt to. Fortunately, Durga the Tiger Tamer/Demon Slayer was with me throughout my Temple Tour, casting a spell of protection around me from the Indian Demons lurking in the temples. India is constantly reminding me that I have angels with me all the time… keeping me safe... mostly from my own naivete.