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THE CLOWN HORNS OF TIRUVANAMALAI
The clown horns of Tiruvanamalai woke me at dawn. In
my fading dream, an angry horde of crazed clowns has
been wandering the streets, riding cows, stopping at
intersections, peering down alleyways and squeezing
rubber bladdered buggy horns in a slow evil tease.
"The clowns are coming...ha,ha,ha!"
Then at once together the buffoons squeeze and like a
chorus of plastic doggy toys, the whistling wheeze
echoes through the early morning canyons of empty
shops.
Suddenly, I'm there in front of an oncoming transport
truck with the words "Jai Ganesha" emblazoned above
the cockpit in silver, red and gold. In the driver's
seat and hanging out the passenger window, a couple of
clowns laugh heartily as the driver stomps the gas. In
the moment just before I am run over,
one guffawing joker sounds the huge air horn
"BBBBRRRWWWAAAAAMP!" I awake in a sweat. I have to go
the the bathroom...again. Will the madness never end?
For several days we wandered the streets of
Tiruvanamalai recording the rickshaws which, unlike
any other town I've been to in India, are all equipped
with the same brand of vaudevillian buggy horns. each
one has a tone which is slightly different but eerily
enough alike to sound like a purgatory of discarded
squeak toys, perpetually screaming, honking and
squealing. Its a phenomenon worthy of traveling
12,000 miles to record. After another day, I may lose
my mind.
In truth we arrived at the foot of the great mountain
Arunachala Shiva for Pradaksana. Tiruvanamalai is a
small town at the foot of the very sacred mountain.
Every full moon thousands of pilgrims come to
circumambulate the base of the mountain. We arise at
dawn and take the 14 km walk around Arunachula
stopping every few kilometers for some fresh coconut
water or chai. Every now and then we see another
westerner but can't seem to figure out why they won't
make eye contact or return our hello. It makes my
imagination go wild with thoughts that perhaps that
insane George W. Bush has at last made some grievous
decision to bomb India and we Americans had better
start pretending not to speak English lest we become
discovered. Just for an experiment, one day Jill and
I began to tell the Indians that we are in fact
Canadian. In a miraculous turn of custom, we suddenly
become invited to people's houses rather than the
usual response of "where? U.S.A. where? amerika. oh,
America...(silence)...acha(O.K.)...)followed by a
blank stare.
*I'd like to take this moment to implore my fellow
Americans, including and especially all those in favor
of voting for Ralph Nader this upcoming election:
PLEASE DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO GET THAT IDIOT OUT OF
THE WHITE HOUSE! I am tired of defending myself
abroad with statements like "Oh, he's not my
president." or "You know, many Americans feel that we
actually don't have to seize control of the entire
planet." Come on! DO WHATEVER IT TAKES. GET BUSH OUT!
Next day Jill and I decided to climb Arunachala. The
ever outward-bound trekkers, we were aiming for the
top. We had heard tell of one saddhu who has lived on
the mountain for more than 20 years and in all that
time had not eaten and for the past Five years had not
bathed. I didn't really expect to see him, but just in
case, I got my "One question" ready.
We started around 7 am and by 8am had reached the end
of the wooded walk and some small caves, reputed to be
occupied by a certain saddhu. Around that time we
encountered several men in the traditional orange of
the shivite ascetics who offered to be our guide in
exchange for some food or money. I whispered to Jill,
"Do you think this is the guy?" Maybe the old guy was
really hungry after 20 years and each time she
informed me that this was definitely NOT our man. She
has a sixth sense about these things.
Along the hike to the top, which turned out to be
about a 3 hour journey, we were joined by 3 dogs who
would run ahead of us cavorting and flushing out the
bushes in return for some bland biscuits we had found
at the bottom of our sacks. As we neared the top, we
were surprised to hear singing and on further
approach, even more surprised to hear that there were
in fact more than a dozen pilgrims both Western and
Indian along with a dozen or more orange saddhus
directing some kind of pooja. We were ordered to "Sit
Here!" It all happened so suddenly, I forgot my "One
Question!"
Oh the monkey-mind.
For half an hour, in a language totally unknown to me
and far different than any chanting I've heard in a
Sanskrit spiced San Francisco yoga studio, I repeated
with vigor and purpose everything that was called out.
It was just like a musical game. A call and response
similar to those old time gospel Sundays except with a
lot more incense and face paint. Although I, and I'm
sure most of the Westies hadn't a clue as to which
subtle aspect of Lord Shiva we were invoking, we had
fun just the same. About six times during the whole
affair, one of the young saddhus brought a dirty
coconut shell to each of us and filled it with some
sort of chai brewed with what looked a lot like bits
of floating leaves and grass. After much drinking of
herbal mountain chai interrupted by more calling out
and calling back we were heaped upon with various
prasasdam of sugar, limes and sweets. (Here is where
spiritual faith truly comes in. "Oh Lord, please don't
let there be any explosive repercussions from this
mysterious chai before I reach a toilet..." Prayers
like this can cement ones faith.)
*Let me also take another side note to talk briefly
about my soon to be published chart of "Things to
Enjoy!" and "Things to Watch Out for!" in India.
Sugar is one of those things that falls into both
categories.
For example, if you happen to say that you are not
American but indeed Canadian and are invited to
someone's house for tea, ENJOY! You will invariably be
plyed with milky sweets of such delicious and savory
confiture that refusing would not only be an insult to
the host/hostess, but you may miss out on a
confectionery experience of a lifetime...
However,WATCH OUT! It can hardly be avoided and
although tasty and refreshing, too many sweets may
also feed any foreign bacteria that one may have
picked up along the way.
Put it this way: Lots of Sweets in India!
I am not sure what exactly happened next on Arunachala
Shiva, we were once again directed to "Sit Here!" as
one of the young saddhus pointed to the very
precipice.
"Meditate!" OK. The view from the mountain top was
gorgeous. All around us were hundreds of rust colored
dragonflies and the clouds played marvelous colors.
For a moment I felt totally relaxed and at peace. I
contemplated my journey and all that I had left
behind, all that lie ahead, in the obscure future.
>From this view, the surrounding farmlands of Tamil
Nadu seemed like a quilt of green and brown. There was
no question. There was no answer. Just myself and the
sky...
"Come! Stand Here!" the young saddhu commanded. This
was it. We were about to meet the famed saddhu who
hadn't eaten in 20 years or bathed in 5. quickly we
were lined up with the rest of the pilgrims and the
next few seconds recount like a dream.
Somehow my mind went directly to the time when I was a
7 year old kid. One Halloween, my next door neighbor,
Ted, and I made our own haunted house. With discarded
boxes and old tarps we created a maze of tunnels
through which we herded the younger kids in the
neighborhood. At the center of the cardboard house of
horrors, Ted waited with a chopped up plastic baby
doll we had taken from my sister, the kind that ate
and wet by itself and so covered it with ketchup. Ted
held the baby doll and screamed wildly as the little
children hurried in angst through the makeshift
labyrinth. We were total amateurs. On the other end,
all the kids laughed. No one was really afraid. But
all in all, it was fun. I mention this because as I
was being lined up with the other pilgrims at one end
of the hodgepodge tarp and cardboard lean-to, I had
sort of flashback as I felt hands push me into the
dark kneeling space of the tent. There in one tiny
boxed off area, the hermit cackled and banged his
stick on the ground. Just as I tried to look and catch
a glimpse of his face, the young saddhu giving the
orders grabbed my face and smeared my forehead with
ashes and pushed me out the other end. Just then I
remembered my question!...
Stunned, I emerged into daylight. As I said, I am
still not sure what exactly happened. I guess my
question will have to wait.
For the next 3 hours, feeling slighted and tired, we
stumbled down the mountain,our bellies rumbling from
either hunger or the mountain herbal chai. Strangely
enough, we were accompanied by a German hygiene nurse
who had visited the hermit saddhu 3 times to bring him
a bar of soap and try to convince him that 5 years was
far too long to go without bathing. She couldn't get a
private audience let alone a good glimpse.
Dusty and tired we made our way back into town. The
heat of mid-day did nothing to curb the caterwauling
and bleating of the Horns of Tiruvanamalai. Our mood
was light, and we were hungry. It would be good to
shower and nap, use the bathroom.
Our rooftop apartment was quiet at 4 am. Just me, the
full moon and that mysterious glow around the
mountain. It seemed to have a light all its own.
Right now, thousands of people were still circling the
mountain and praying.
It occurs to me that perhaps we must have the
experience that we need, in order to get beyond where
we are. As I make my way across the rooftop to the
bathroom, I wonder what it is that I am needing...I
hum a little bit of a baijhan thats stuck in my head.
I don't know where it came from, but its stuck...
Jai Ganesha, Jai, Jai.
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