Guwahati and Kamakhya

Written on 24 Sept, 2008. I forgot to post this one for some reason..

So I am in Guwahati finally doing some useful fieldwork. This has been a pretty amazing experience in so many ways. Of course I am struggling with the local language, getting cheated by auto rickshaw drivers and surviving on Café Coffee Day sandwiches and coffee. For some reason in most non-metropolitan cities in India a girl still can’t go out and get dinner by herself. Of course I also happen in to be staying in a state classified as a “disturbed area” by the government.

There are lots of police and paramilitary forces everywhere. Men in Khakhi holding Kalashnikovs or AK-47 assault rifles. I feel strangely at home in this environment since I grew up in army cantonments being chaperoned by such men driving us to school and back in Punjab at the height of militancy in the region. I am staying at the police guesthouse here in Ulubari. I guess this is probably the safest place for me to stay in anyway. Outside the gate to the guesthouse there is a little assault post complete with sandbags and men with assault rifles. For some reason everyone thinks I need help. Being the guest of the DIG helps. In the morning when I leave for the interviews, these same men basically wave their assault rifles at auto drivers who meekly accept a lower rate than what they usually charge. Chivalry ain’t that dead.. :D.

In my ten days here I seem to have found out a lot about how people think, how stoic many tribal people are and of course how the pattern of insurgency differs from state to state. But the little things first!

Guwahati is a very pretty city. It is flanked by the big, fat and brown Brahmaputra on one side and hills run through the city making it an interesting place for hikes, etc. I was told by someone that the Brahmaputra is the only male river in the country. Simply because it is so HUGE. And it is! I haven’t gone on the hills yet because many of the little hills are populated by settlers in little village type communities and I have been advised not to venture out by myself in unfamiliar territory. I look different and am a woman. Double risk. In a place riddled with ‘insurgents’ who knows where one may crop up. I think people are unnecessarily just trying to scare me.

Abheek was here for a few days to help me get settled in, and we got ourselves a car from someone so were able to drive through many of the main areas of the city. Kharghuli hills is a cluster of small hills on the other side of which the Brahmaputra twists this way and that. That’s the funny thing about the river. One can’t make out which way the waters are churning. They seem to be swirling in all directions at once. It is a pretty fast river as well. And very, very broad. In all honesty the sight of the river fills me with dread. For some reason I keep thinking of Sanjoy Ghose being ferried across the Brahmaputra by the United Liberation Front of Assam to one of the various river islands and not returning… ever. They have not found his body to date. A summary of his findings on the region are found in an edited volume called Sanjoy’s Assam.

The 17th of September was Bishwakarma Puja day. Apparently this is the one day that everyone worships their tools, modes of transport and other machines used to generate a livelihood for the locals. So small entrepreneurs go to their factories and call in a priest to conduct prayers. All vehicles and machines are cleaned, washed and adorned. I think this is the one day the cleanest of cars vroom around in the city. I call it “Wash-your-mode-of transport-day”. Suraj, the young man from whom we borrowed the tiny Maruti 800, came to collect it for the festivities and returned it to us later in the evening. Poor thing! We had accidentally parked the car under a shady tree that also housed many pigeons bursting with poop. And of course, they pooped all over Suraj’s car. I’m guessing the Puja had to wait till the car was scrubbed clean.

After getting the car we decided to go visit the Kamakhya Devi temple. The drive up to the temple is quite pretty. You need to drive up a couple of miles of green hills. At the top there is a huge parking lot where you have to leave your vehicle. Then you have to walk up a longish stairway and enter a little settlement where shopkeepers will incite you to buy offerings for the Goddess, lest you come away with curses rather than blessings.

Yep, I have always maintained most Gods and Goddesses were petulant brats who have been spared a spanking in their childhood. Had they been spanked they wouldn’t be so capricious and may actually operate with some maturity.

It takes very little to annoy Hindu Gods and Godesses and the way I am going I have probably annoyed gods of every single religion on earth. When I am in Hell do drop in to say hi people…

Anyhow, I did not end up buying any offerings and of course Abheek stuck out like a real tourist thanks to his huge Nikon camera which can effectively be used to mug anyone. So people called us with “Mish-ter, mish-ter, take take!” And of course since Abheek goes to Business school and there is a healthy recession around in the US economy Mish-ter did not take take anything from anyone. Besides I think we’re both a little curious about Hell.

At the penultimate entrance to the complex which houses the temple people hollered at us in Assamese to take our shoes off. Actually we didn’t know what they were saying but from the frowns and the frantic finger pointing at our feet, we understood. OK, if you ever go to an Indian temple TAKE YOUR BLOODY SOCKS WITH YOU. The place is usually filthy and you will willingly want to amputate your own feet after the experience. Gurudwaras, on the other hand, are much much cleaner. I was wearing Gandhi style chappals from BATA (cost only 200 rupees.. :D) and slipped them off. Abheek faithfully took off his sneakers AND his socks. I am a complete idiot, I should have borrowed his socks.

It turned out that the frowning and finger pointing was actually a ploy to get us to leave out shoes out for ‘safekeeping’ by these young boys, whom we would later have to tip. So we basically took our shoes and stuffed them in with my laptop in the backpack. There is a metal detector at the gate that you have to walk through. While Abheek struggled with his shoes and my backpack I decided to go in. Except this huge, black, buffalo had decided to try and walk through the metal detector towards me. Now buffaloes, unlike cows, are a little wider around the middle and have larger flanks. So this one didn’t really fit through the detector. So after poking its head in and deciding against going through my buffalo went around it. I walked in. From behind the gate I saw Abheek looking around frantically for me (I’m sure convinced that I had already been kidnapped or something). I waved and waved at him while some priests sat around looking pretty annoyed with everyone. So Abheek came in, camera, backpack and shoes intact. Whew!!

In the little courtyard behind the gate there were many goats, pigeons, monkeys and a couple of bulls. Two monkeys were hitting each other near the temple’s dome fighting over a scrap of food. Then one of them came to where the birds pecked at some grain and meanly swiped a few. Pretty funny. Then there were the goats. The meanest of the goats had two little horns sticking out of his head and I christened him “Rammy” instantly. Rammy decided he was going to be mean to the other goats and promptly went and butted this one weakling goat. It was pretty cute until I realized why all the goats and bulls were there – sacrifice!

Kamakhya smells weird! It is a smell I have not smelt anywhere else on the planet. It is a fetid, rancid sort of smell. It took me a while to figure out what I smelt was the stench of animal fear at being led to the slaughter mixed with smell of people and of course the excretions of animals waiting to be killed.

Let’s just say since I have a very powerful nose that was wrinkling of its own accord I was in a pretty big rush to get out. The priests have tried to clean up the place well. But there are still remnants of dung in the courtyard and goat and pigeon droppings. And we had to walk barefoot on these things. I have a pretty bad case of OCD and one can imagine the inner conflict going on in my mind – between bolting to the nearest water tap and scrubbing my feet and the curiosity to see what comes inside the sanctum sanctorum.

The sanctum sanctorum of Indian temples are very hard to access. You either have to walk up several kilometers, crawl through a claustrophobic cave and then most horribly wait in line for HOURS sometimes to meet with the god or goddess of your choice. And then you barely get five seconds in front of the ‘very holy of places/idols/strange natural phenomenon’. So you mutter your prayers in fast forward, clasp your hands or simply prostrate yourself in front of the deity (or do it several times in rapid succession to impress the deity) and hope you have conveyed your fervor and faith.

Now you understand why I am not a big fan of religious places. Crowds bother me, I don’t understand the rituals (and in all honesty have never bothered to) and since Marx corrupted my mind, I tend to take religion as salad dressing – too much and it ruins your meal. Also, my OCD prevents me from willingly leaping into a very dirty cave and crawling along on my elbows, while someone else’s feet try to get into my mouth.

But Kamakhya I wanted to see for many reasons. Many moons ago a former roommate once mentioned how her father, Colonel Jolly, went to Kamakhya once and when he announced his name to the head priest the priest shook his head and spoke rapidly to another priest. It turned out that someone had asked for a rooster to be sacrificed in the Jolly Colonel’s name. Apparently if you want someone to be demoted or not make it to brigadier a dead rooster usually does the trick.

Then I heard from someone that when Goddess Parvati died and was chopped up into several pieces and flung around the world, her uterus and vagina apparently fell here at Kamakhya. The sanctum sanctorum, located much below the temple and accessible only through a narrow staircase, is where the Goddesses uterus still lies today and annually menstruates.

A third legend says that a god once instructed Narakasur (trans. Demon from Hell), a demon, to make this temple before the rooster crowed at dawn. He worked very hard, but the god (being petulant and spoilt) chopped off the roosters head and while it died the silly bird crowed for its life. Narakasur lost the bet and was killed. But this temple still stands. Dating the temple is very difficult. One of the priests inside told us that the sculptures on the wall are from the Iron Age. Not hard to believe actually. The figures were straight lines and squareish bodies vaguely resembling Picasso. Unidimensional figures.

It seemed to me, architecturally speaking, that over this iron age temple a new Hindu one was layered on much later. I am a bit sketchy on the details but it seems that around the 11th century a king who had converted to Islam destroyed the temple. It seems to have been later rebuilt with a very clear Hindu edifice. Although it possibly started out being a sacrificial site for the Khasi tribe.

Given the contradictory nature of legends that surround the place I OBVIOUSLY had to go in. Ok, so I am quite the meanie and I played a game. I asked a few people selected at random what the story of the temple was. With the exception of two local female friends everyone went with the Narakasur story.

The main entrance to the inner temple has a short walkway at the end of which you enter a set of three rooms. You can also hear chanting. On entering the middle room you go down a few steps and come to the main prayer room. There is a heavily decorated idol or something in the middle of the room under a grand canopy. Puja materials are arranged ritualistically around it. Also on one side sitting innocuously, was a bull’s head. I freaked out when I saw it. I am very tolerant of religions and practices, but I draw the line at animal sacrifice. I was NOT happy. In fact, I think I wanted to run out and swoon at the same time. I actually do not know what I felt at that point. I kept saying “oh my god, oh my god and ‘jesus’ and “f***” and “holy S***” in my head and under my breath. Am sure I looked pretty devout, mumbling lips and all.

Then Abheek came up and I said, “ Did you see it? Did you see it.. the head, the head!” And he of course hadn’t. So I told him to look again at the pandal. And then Abheek got the silly smile he gets when we watch a movie like Alien vs Predator: Requiem. His eyes turned bright and then glazed over a bit and the silly smile came on and I knew he felt he was watching a bad horror flick. In 3-D!!

So very stupidly, we pretended to be devout and folded our hands and trooped up the wrong set of steps. Obviously the Nikon and backpack and our little exchange in English had made the priest notice us. So he came up to us and said in good English, “Come this way, this way”. Apparently there was more. We went to this little staircase with some crudely cut stairs and were placed in what I now call the ex-pat line. We basically got down to the sanctum sanctorum before the line of real believers. I think my huge purse may have nudged someone in the crown because he sounded annoyed. Anyhow, the whole place was very poorly lit and the walls had a reddish hue. I was pretty freaked out anyway and my imagination was running wild? What is that sound of water up ahead?

At the end of the few stairs there is a cave (not to be confused with a room). This is the cave where she dwells. Parvati and her uterus. Menstruating annually. In the center there was a little pool of water and a rock on which were placed tons of flowers and red, embroidered chunnis and chadors. Honestly, it was hard to make much out in the dim light. A lady in front of me tried to lean in to touch the rock. The priest yelled, “chchuna nahin, khoon aa jayega”. Don’t touch it, blood will come. So she touched the water and the priest told her she could drink it. An elderly lady repeated what the priest said. I had had enough. I scampered back up the stairs.

Ok so I am a bit of a wimp. But I was scared that I would be forced to indulge in the water drinking. The pool is supposed to be flavored with her bodily fluids and runs red in color for a few days. Women unable to conceive go there to drink, touch or store this water and apparently the waters make them fertile. Often the women pay for a bull to be sacrificed as well beforehand.

Once back in the room with the bull’s head, the priest asked us to kneel before the wall. And another priest said, “see this sculpture, Iron Age.” He asked me my name and I mumbled “Bonnie”. The priest put a red dot on my forehead and then asked for money. I think we both snapped then. Why does someone have to pay to get anyone’s blessings? These priests always have a little racket running. Anyhow, we paid with a 500 rupee note. Then we left with our expensive red dots. I think to keep the myth intact vermillion becomes a symbolic part of the rituals there. It has been speculated that the goddesses ‘period’ is actually induced by an infusion of vermillion in the pool by the clever priests. Of course these seven days attract throngs of visitors and richer voluntary contributions to the Devi.

Apparently the inner sanctum is now air-conditioned. But when we were there, it was hot and humid and we could see no AC vents. So either the system was down, or there were too many people. We tried to rationalize paying for the visit. I said it was alright since we gladly paid 10 dollars to watch really bad horror movies in a movie theater. This was WAY better than any other film. I actually got the creeps and was royally frightened. Worth every rupee.

I inspected my feet while wearing my chappals. Not pretty, caked with dirt and filth. And traces of red vermillion. The goddess has a sense of humor.

In a very strange way this temple also shows how tolerant the Hindu religion is. In no other part of the world would I possibly find this open valorization of female sex organs. This acceptance of the uterus as holy and the practice of recognizing the sacred feminine. To be fair even the Shiv ling (the penis of Shiva) is mounted on a yoni (vagina) to symbolize fertility and creation. But the lingam always takes precedence. The one big question I asked myself was what happens to the meat after the sacrifice? I got an answer from an architect who also happened to be a part of the 6 year long Assam Agitation. It seems once the animal is killed and the peace offering made to the Goddess, you get to take the meat back with you. Although it seems the sacrifices don’t come cheap.