Wash Away Your Sins

On our day off, five of us from the ashram went rafting down the Ganges River. After paying the feisty Indian and eating a big pancake breakfast, we piled into a truck full of moldy life jackets and helmets built for small heads. The three back seats being taken, Juliana, our German friend, and I daintily climbed and sat atop the deflated raft in the back of the truck. Before take off, three Indians sat on top of our friends in the truck and four more hopped in the back with us. And so we were off, moving parallel to the Ganga, zooming up the dusty mountain.

After some time on the road, we climbed down to the river bank carrying our gear. The Indians ran for the water and threw themselves in it. I waded in up to my knees while the trip leaders pumped up the rafts.

The love people around here have for this river is remarkable. "Bathe in the Ganga and you will wash away your sins," they tell us. This water, which we have heard is filthy, they believe is the purest in the world. It is often called "The Holy River". Every night at sunset in a temple in town a huge ceremony is held to worship and thank the Ganga. For Rs. 5 at a public ghat (bathing place) you can buy a small bowl made of banana leaves, filled with flowers, incense sometimes, and a small candle to offer as a sacrifice to her, the river. I have done this a couple times. She is quite a sight when black with night and adorned with glowing gifts following her downstream.

So on the Ganga we went! We passed under busy bridges, paddled hard through tumbling rapids, and then when the river moved more smoothly, our leader told us to get out of the raft. We floated with the Ganga - in the Ganga! All the while Indians were waving from shore, tall grass was swaying with the beat of an unheard rhythm, roots went running down to lick the wet rocks, mountains were moving behind one another, trees marching atop them. Experiencing the scenery in this way was magnificent. At some points I did not know that I was not the river herself.

Indian Beauty

I had an ayurvedic massage today at a beauty parlour in the oldest temple in Rishikesh. I booked it yesterday when my body was a heap of aching muscles, and my timing was a bit unlucky because today was the first day since I've been here (doing yoga twice a day) that my body felt just fine. I went anyway.

There is no blanket to hide under and the masseuse does not leave the room for you to undress. She closes the curtains, crosses her arms acorss her big bust and tells you take your clothes off. The only nonesense involved in the undressing, perhaps, is taht the underpants are not removed. As Bublee, that's her name, massaged up my thighs, she went ahead and tucked my undies tightly between my bum cheeks so she could get to work on my buttocks.

The oil used is supposedly a healthy, herbal, medicinal oil. It has the distinct scent of very sweet black licorice allsorts. Nearly your entire body gets covered with the stuff; she even rubs it into your face, behind your ears, between your toes, into your scalp. Aside from the occasional fingernail scratch, and maybe the thong, the only uncomfortable thing about the massage was while lying on my stomach, Bublee spontaneously - magically! - in one motion thrust my heel to my bum and cracked all my toes.

I visited the beauty parlour earlier in the week to get henna on my hands and feet. I sat on a bed while Madu, the owner, drew and her sister smiled at me and asked me questions. Pretty girls came and went from the room, always curious, always giggling. Many told me I have a beautiful face, but they can't understand why I wear my hair short like a child or a boy. Madu's 2 year old nephew was ripping around the room, shouting and grabbing at things, until he took notice of me. He insisted that I have a bindi, a dot between the eyes that married women wear. My hands were locked in a rigid position so as not to disturb Madu's work, and so the sister, delighted, stuck a big, circular velvet sticker on my forhead. Everyone laughed, and the boy seemed satisfied.


henna'ed feet, waiting to dry

shine from a sugar and lemon juice mixture