If my memory serves me right this is the first time I am riding on local busses in India. I realized on this trip just how cushioned my travel has been up until now. Sure I have been to rural places, very rural, but I have gone for work and I have been met there by locals working in the area and they have ensured I get from A to B comfortably and without any effort on my part. And when I have travelled with friends or family (I’ve only travelled in India alone twice) we have either gone to one place and either flew or took the train in and out, or we have hired a car for several days and explored different towns or the countryside that way. And the car is not only more convenient, it acts as a protective bubble of sorts; it is like a safety blanket. You don’t have to ride along with strangers, locals, end up dusty or sweaty unless you want to. You stop wherever you want, leave whenever you want. You inevitably distance yourself.
So here we were… mingling! We rode through seemingly endless tea plantations, and gold, yellow and emerald rice fields. Hazy blue mountains across the horizon. It’s really quite beautif
ul out here. Just over two hours later we were in a large town with traffic jams and pollution. 45 auto-rickshaw minutes later and we were at the “pier”, a windswept sandbank from where the over-over-over-crowded ferries for Majuli Island depart. My biggest concern… we don’t have enough toilet paper to last us until we get back to Guwahati… .the last time I noticed seeing toilet paper! Now I may have lived in India for 5 years, and I may have become Indianized in some ways… but my butt is still Western. Ok, time to ration the TP (toilet paper)! But my nose is still running profusely from my cold. Aaaauuuuuuuuuggggggg
We board the fer
ry but decide we want to ride on the roof instead, as we see some people standing up there, in the open air. Yes, bright idea… at the time. We see a few boxes up there and some cargo and a few guys playing cards... No problem. We whip out the yoga mat and place our backpacks so that we can comfortably lean against them. Within 30 minutes however, the roof is full with cargo and 6 motorcycles, not to mention the dozens of men staring at us like “what the hell are you doing up here?” Clearly this is not the regular seating area for white folk, once in the blue moon when they actually come this way, and definitely not where a lady should be. We laugh and enjoy the breeze and sunrays that manage to poke through the spaces between the parcels and boxes and bags filled with chilli.
Majuli island is situated in the Brahmaputra River, and it is considered the world’s largest river island. It is filled with rice fields and fish traps in water meadows, and the local tribe is called the “Missing” people. Majuli is also home to 22 ancient satras, monasteries of neo-Vaishnavism and centres of learning, art and culture. This faith was formulated by 15th Century Assamese philosopher Sankardev, and it eschews the caste system and idol worship, and focuses on Vishnu as God especially in his Krishna incarnation. Most worship is expressed through dance and music, and dramatic plays from the Bhagavad Gita and Krishna’s life are performed.
We decide to stay at one of the satras, and pick the nearest one (of the two mentioned in our travel bible, The Lonely Planet) from where we are dropped off after our ferry ride. And who do we meet as we are walking in? Another Polack!!! Nisarga has only met one other Polish person since February in India, a woman at Osho, and on this river island in this satra guest house, tucked away in the far north east corner of this subcontinent, he runs into the second. Antek tells us about the festivals and the way of life and his experiences over the past 2 weeks staying here. He is hoping to have enough good pictures after his stay at Majuli for some kind of photo exhibit.
So according to him, the satra whose guest house we are staying at is a smaller satra, with only about 100 monks living there. They do not cut their hair after a certain age (but they can shave), although at other satras monks do cut their hair. They wear white loungies (like a wrap) in the form of pants always, even young monks who go to school. People come and leave their sons to be raised here in this f
aith, like at Buddhist monasteries. Unlike Buddhist monasteries, the kids go to regular school with the village kids, and they are given extra lessons on philosophy, theology, dance and music at the satra. As adults they can pursue worldly livelihoods, like running a book shop, a printing press, or whatever they wish. But they can not eat outside the satra, they must bathe each and every time before eating, they can not eat anything that is not prepared by themselves or within the satra (unless it’s natural like fruit), and they should not touch or be touched by others, accept anything touched by others or give something directly to others (but if this happens they should bathe). If as adults they decide to leave the satra because they want to marry and have families, or for any other reason, they are free to do so. There is even one satra where married monks live with their families. There is a certain femininity about many of the satra monks, a lightness, gentleness and gracefulness. Even among the kids.
We woke up just after 5 with the birds and other creatures of nature eager to have us join them in welcoming in the rising sun. Mist covered the fields and the Missing people were beginning their day. We walked around the village surrounding the satra guest house for about an hour. It was soothing and lovely. However, Nisarga was feeling unwell, weak and with a stomach ache. I had diarrhoea. All that food exploration over the past 4 days took its toll on o
ur stomachs I suppose. So we returned for herbal tea and further sleep. It was a mostly lazy day. Walking in the village again in the middle of the day, loudly followed from a safe distance by young school kids. Walking into the nearest town for a light late lunch, closely followed by dust. Now I have to say, I am absolutely amazed at the far reach of the dish TV in Assam! It is absolutely incredible. In what would otherwise be considered bamboo shacks on stilts you find Dish TV outside!
Also, one quick point about the satra guest house we are staying in. Its basic but clean and safe and just fine. And there is no running water. To flush, wash, or do anything that involves water, we pump water out of the ground into plastic buckets which have turned a shade of orangey brown, from the colour of the water coming up though the red earth below. I have stayed without out running water before, in Bolivia and Peru, but not so often and not in a long time I must admit. (We do have electricity however, hence these blog entries, thankfully.) As Nisarga puts it, the water smells like it has every possible mineral in it. At the guest house, ther
e is a couple from Denmark, Antek, and us.
Unfortunately we will not be able to go to Arunachal Pradesh or Nagaland, the two states we had settled on for our second week up here in the Northeast, because foreigners need a government permit to enter these states and the process time takes between 1-3 weeks we are told. We accept our reality (and the festivals we will miss as a result, which is why this trip was planned for now), vow to return one day with said permits already processed, and several rolls of toilet paper, and opt to head over to Sikkim for the second week instead since we can get the permits necessary at the border when we cross it (so we are told anyway).
One extremely interesting thing, at least to us, about Assam: No Postcards Anywhere! Not in the capital, not at Kaziranga, and certainly not at Majuli. And those are the three highlights of the state. So we can sa
fely say there is a state in India where you can not get postcards! Now you know we are really way out there!!! Not even those taken in the 70s or 80s that are faded. None.
So off we go again… in reverse: an autorickshaw to the near by town at 630am, a shared jeep to the “pier”, the ferry from Majuli island to the mainland (an experience which was much more peaceful this time), a shared ride to the traffic jammed and polluted town of Jorgat, and an all day bus ride back to Guwahati. There were no seats available on the only direct bus going to Guwahati so we sat up front just behind the driver… which was actually pe
rfect for seeing the beauty of the country side we past. In fact, as we were passing Kaziranga, the driver pointed to our right and there was a rhino!!! In plain sight, very visible on the low grass, and not far off at all! Amazing. What a lovely “see you next time” from Kaziranga. Apparently goats are a real traffic problem; during this 8 hour ride I saw several just dash out of nowhere and cross the road and our poor driver trying not to hit them. As a side note, how great it was to see Nisarga in action, getting us on that bus and situated… I was very impressed!
ther was scheduled to follow a week later. The purpose of him going was so that her parents could meet him and he could ask for her hand in marriage. They have been together for about 3 years, and have been living together for about 2, and they even have a dog together. She really wanted her parents permission first, but with her visa expiring in less than 2 months she decided to just take the plunge and go for it.
Christmas Day, Thursday, but since Friday they were both working all day, and Sunday she was leaving for Japan, that only left Saturday. So they went and got some silver bands, went to the court house with one of his friends and one of hers (two witnesses required), and signed their papers! Then she went home to pack and he went to work. My mother called him that night just to say hi and see how he is doing and he told her. And she told me when I called her today to see how she is doing. They have already told her parents and so now his trip to Japan has been converted from going to ask for her hand in marriage to meeting his in-laws!!!
o do all or any of the above meditation, that is simply what we will be doing. We will be in Kathmandu, on a trek.
