Amritsar and a bunch of messing around

The overnight train to Amritsar last night was not too bad. The trains are not very clean and not the most comfortable, but definitely liveable...at least in 2nd class. Anything less would probably be a different story.

We arrived in Amritsar around 6:00 a.m. It is about 430 Kms northwest of Delhi in the state of Punjab, just near the Pakistan border. Amritsar is the centre of the Sikh religion. Sikhism began in the late 15th century as a reaction against the caste system and the Brahmin domination of ritual. They aimed to combine the best of Islam and Hinduism. They believe in one god, reincarnation and karma, but reject the worship of idols. They believe in the khalsa, a chosen race of soldier-saints. These men live according to a strict code of moral conduct (ie no alcohol or drugs) and are on a crusade for dharmayudha, or righteousness. The Khalsa brotherhood are distinguished by five traits: the unshaven beard and uncut hair (kesh, symbolising saintliness), a comb to maintain the hair (kangha), loose pants (kaccha, symbolising modestness), a steel bracelet on the right wrist (karra, symbolising fearlessness and strength), and a sword (kirpan, symbolising saintliness). The Sikh's holy text, the Guru Granth Sahib, contains the teachings of the 10 Sikh gurus.

The reason we came to Amritsar was to go to The Golden Temple, the holiest shrine of the Sikh religion, but is open to everyone. We left our bags at the train station, grabbed a quick breakfast and headed to the temple. The first thing we did was remove our shoes. I tried to put out of my mind just how much bacteria and disgusting things were covering the ground and stinky pools of water around. Everyone must cover their heads before entering, so I tied a handkercheif to my ponytail (I had bought one to combat the dust and pollution in Delhi) and Nige donned the traditional San Francisco Giants baseball hat. We walked through a small, shallow tiled pool of water in order to cleanse our feet. Of course it didn't slip past us that our feet were dirtier upon exiting the pool than before we went in, but I guess that's beside the point. We walked through a passageway and caught our first glimplse of the Golden Temple.

It isn't a large building, but it is stunning. It sits in the middle of a huge sacred pool, the Amrit Sarovar (Pool of Nectar), and is connected to the surrounding square complex by a long causeway, Guru's bridge. The surrounding causeway and buildings are made of a rich, stark white marble which all contrast beautifully with the shiny gold temple itself. The temple's architecture is a blend of Hindu and Muslim styles, but the surrounding buildings seem quite European. There are two clock towers on two sides of the complex, and everything is connected by columned breezeways with tiled floors. The early morning sun was streaming in at an angle, glinting off the sides of the golden temple and making its reflextion in the pool. At this hour, there were hundreds of people here to pray and bathe in the sacred pools. The bright colours of the women's saris and men's turbans (not sure on the proper name) were magnificently highlighted against the smooth white buildings and walkways.

Everyone seemed to be walking around the temple in a clockwise direction, so we joined in. Along the edge of the pool, men stripped down to their undies to take a dip in the holy waters, women were grouped in one area, and all along the square causeway, people were kneeling to face the temple and pray. The causeway to the temple itself was so packed with people that no one could barely move. All Sikh temples have free community kitchens and the one here was packed with worshipers having breakfast on the floor, surrounded by fellow Sikhs and non-Sikhs alike. They also have free accommodation for anyone who wishes to stay. It's like a little town around the complex, what with the guesthouses, kitchen, a library, post office, bank, and railway ticket booking office. Around the temple, 4 priests keep up a continuous chant in Punjabi, reciting things from the Sikh's holy book.

After walking around the whole complex, we bought a food offering (as everyone else was doing) and got in line to see the inside of the temple. The offering was some sort of dhal mush served in a biodegradeable leaf bowl. We got in line amongst the hundreds of others and waited, less than one inch separating us from those in front of, behind, and next to us. After standing there for about 15 minutes and the line not moving, we decided to give it a miss and just enjoy the view from the outside. Before leaving, we had a quick wander around the Sikh museum, a collection of bloody battle scene paintings that really didn't make any sense to us, having absolutely no knowledge of the history of the Sikhs.

There was not much else of interest to us in Amritsar, so we waded back out through the washing pools, retrieved our shoes, and headed back to the train station. We booked tickets for 11:00 am to Moradabad, southeast of Amritsar, northeast of Delhi, and the nearest connection point to Ramnagar and Corbett Tiger Reserve, our next destination. We went to the booking counter, who told us to go to the mysterious "Room number 5" who told us to go back to the booking counter. Nigel was brilliantly persistent and it only took about 40 minutes to get tickets. It was a long, boring day spent on the train to Moradabad, and we arrived around 8:00 pm. The first thing we had to do was get tickets for our connecting train to Ramnagar. We weren't too worried about this, as it didn't leave for 6 more hours. However, despite the seemingly efficient Indian railways booking centre of our previous experience, it took nearly all 6 hours to get our tickets.

After being shuffled around, Nigel found a train employee/porter who was more than willing to help him. Of course he didn't speak any English at all, but by this point we took what we could get. It took some time to get across to him what we wanted, but he basically said, charades-style, 'Just leave it to me.' He had this constant tick of his head (the indian equivalent of nodding or shaking your head, yes or no), which he'd nod either left or right, depending on the question. Happy with that for now, we left our bags at the station and went out to get some air. Moradabad seemed to be a bit of a hole, especially around the train station at 10:00 at night. Outside were tons of people huddled under blankets, sleeping on the concrete. We weren't sure if they were bums or people waiting for trains. Probably both. We looked up, and much to our happy amazement, we saw a sign reading 'Bar and Restaurant' directly across the street. This is exactly what we wanted. Followed by our porter friend, we went into the bar to get a few beers. Of course I was the only female, but that didn't stop us at all. I think all of the locals were amused at the sight of us, and the owner was more than happy to have us there. We sat in a little booth and enjoyed a nice cold Zingaro beer, apparently only available in this state. It wasn't too bad. Nige got a bottle to take away (we hid it in our backpack), paid the ridiculously high price (not only is beer a rare thing here, it's also more expensive than most things, including probably the purchase of a rickshaw) and headed back to the station to see if Mr. Porter had worked out our tickets.

We got our bags back and I found a cozy spot on top of them in the waiting lounge. The combination of being tired, being midnight, the beer, and the antihistimine and valium cocktail I'd had earlier in the day had finally caught up with me, so I guiltily nodded off to sleep and left Nige to it. He followed Mr. Porter around, played many games of charades, worked out his secret head-nod signals, and we finally had things worked out by the time the train arrived at 2:00 am. A brief trip across the street to the porter's father's store allowed Nige to drink his take away beer. The beer was nearly finished and things were going well until Nige spilled some beer on a notebook (possibly the accounts book) and the mood changed quickly. The spill was cleaned up but it was clear that he had outstayed his welcome and rushed back to the train station. We could only get 3-tier beds, but it was late, we were tired, and it was only a 3 hour journey to Ramnagar, so not a big deal. Of course Mr. Porter had to wake up and kick out 2 passengers to get the beds for us, but I don't think they had sleeper tickets anyway. Moradabad was a dump (at least what we saw in the middle of the night, which probably isn't too fair, but also probably not inaccurate either), but we found beer and a friendly person to help us out.

I think all of that was ruined by the fact that we had to pay Mr. Porter 100 rupees for his generous assistance. Nothing is for free in India. In fact, everything in India is at least 5 times the price. I don't think Gandhi would be impressed.