Tuesday, Feb. 23, 2010

I am back in Varanasi and feeling much better. I'll try to catch you up.
We took a taxi from Bhopal to Sanchi, about 46 miles away. It is a very rural and peaceful place. We saw the huge stupa constructed in 35 BC by the Emperor Ashoka in reparation for the carnage he had caused in Orissa. The stupa is situated high on a hill overlooking beautiful agrarian fields. It probably looked about the same in Ashoka's time. It is amazing how well this structure has survived after so many centuries. It was totally lost until the British rediscovered it in 1818. It is 50 feet high and 120 feet wide and has four magnificently carved gateways. Back then the Buddha was never depicted as a person. Instead, symbols were used. The lotus signified birth; bodhi tree, enlightenment; wheel, teachings; footprint and throne, his presence; and the stupa himself, Buddha. There were many school groups visiting, and I was a hit. I told a group of about 6th graders that I was from America. I then asked them where they were from. None of them got the question except one little girl who yelled, "From India". I clapped.
JP told me an interesting story about Ashoka's wife. She was very jealous of his devotion to Buddhism, so she had the bodhi tree, under which Buddha had reached enlightenment, chopped down. Luckily, Ashoka's daughter had brought a sapling from that tree to Sri Lanka, so the line was saved. I wonder how well Ashoka practiced the Buddha's teaching when he found that out. JP also mentioned that at one time kingdoms in this area were ruled by Moslem women.
Next we visited the Heliodorus pillar constructed in 140 BC by a Greek ambassador to India. Heliodorous had become a Hindu and dedicated the pillar to Vishnu. It is believed that if a person were possessed by an evil spirit, the spirit could be driven out on a full moon night and nailed to a nearby tamarind tree, along with a lime, coconut, and red thread.
I was too ill to continue, so back to bed I went while JP visited other sites. I wish I could have seen the prehistoric cave dwellings and that state of the art hospital. That evening we were to have dinner with Arun's friend, Punkage, and his wife, but I was too ill. They came to the Forrest retreat, and I was embarrassed to be in bed looking like a drowned rat. His wife is a PhD. psychology professor at a local university. I asked her if there were many birth defects caused by the Bhopal disaster. She said babies were still being born with birth defects, and they have no idea how many generations will be effected. It will probably be in the gene pool permanently.
As I dozed in bed, I turned on the TV and saw a horrifying story portrayed as a positive one. It seems a remote village had practiced female infanticide for untold generations. Now the village was marrying off its first bride. No other information was given. I don't know if the government stepped in 20 years ago, or if just some of the female babies are allowed to live. This is such a land of extremes: many female doctors and PhD.'s along with female infanticide.
We left the Forest Guest House at 3 AM to get the train back to Varanasi. I slept most of the time but was awake long enough to talk with a man sharing our compartment. He was a biologist and had hybridized the first coconut tree in India. We talked a lot about farming practices. He is for genetic engineering but very against the introduction of terminal genes into the plants. I could not figure out if he was saying terminal genes were introduced into hybridized seeds or GMO's. I always thought hybridized seeds were always terminal, meaning they could not be replanted and get the same hybridized plant. I am confused. He was adamant that the world should stand up the the big seed companies and insist no terminal genes be added to any plant so that the farmer can save seed and replant. . His life story was just a riot. He was a poor boy from Chennai, which was still Madras at that point, who had never worn anything but a dhoti in his life (15 feet of material wrapped around the waist and draped and tucked in many different ways). He was very smart and also a very good "footballer" (soccer player). He won a scholarship to BHU, JP's alma mater here in Varanasi. He borrowed a relative's small suitcase for his meager possessions and off he went. His mother told him to always keep the suitcase under his arm on the long train trip north and not put it with everyone else's suitcases. In the middle of the night the train suddenly stopped and he awoke to screams from people inside and outside of the train. The train had been attacked by a group of 30 or 40 dacoits (robbers), who had stolen everyone else's suitcase. But he had listened to his mother and his was saved. When he got to BHU he was shocked to find that people wore clothes and had shoes. So he scraped together 3 rupies to buy a pair of shorts to play his first game of soccer. He had no shoes and had never played soccer in shoes, so they let him play barefoot. He scored in his first game and he began his college education. He is now 77 and is on his way back to BHU to give a talk to the students and to honor his teacher. Beautiful story. He also mentioned that 60% of Indians are diabetic and he hopes genetic engineering will someday help them. After he got to know us better, he said he does not believe in a personage of God, just some sort of energy we do not understand. I said I agreed. He added that his son keeps telling him to keep his mouth shut about his beliefs, which is probably sage advice. He also told us that now India is 20 times the density of the US. Just imagine, for every one person you see, in India there would be 20. Mind boggling. As we traveled around the country, I could see that it is the cities that are so overcrowded. The countryside is mostly agricultural.
It is so good to be back in Varanasi. Babhi is at her alter and India passes by my perch. There is now a huge pile of branches piled across the street in preparation for Holi. I am excited and terrified at the same time. You are now caught up on my travels.. Tomorrow we head to Bodh Gaya.

Peace,
Nadine