Tag Archives: pilgrims

Gokarna: Shiva Worshippers and the Beach

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After nine years of spending at least a month in Agonda we decided to split our time between Gokarna, Gulijbagh and Agonda. We still have friends there that we want to visit. For those who remember, we made a day trip from Goa last year to see if Gokarna, just over the border into Karnataka, could be a possible alternative. Unlike most beach towns on the west coast of India, Gokarna’s major draw is not the sunbathing crowd from the west. It’s primarily a place of pilgrimage for Shiva worshippers. As the legend goes, Shiva was passing by on his way from Sri Lanka to the Himalayas when overwhelmed by the beauty of the area, he shed a tear. Where the teardrop landed, it created an abundant source of fresh water next to the sea.

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Meat and alcohol are not served and there seems to be little incentive to develop infrastructure for the beachgoers. Unlike Agonda, Gokarna has not become so commercialized that the local life has all but disappeared behind beach huts, sun beds and souvenir shops. On the other hand, for years Gokarna’s been a strong pull for hippies of our vintage and the present version, with its dreadlocks, tattoos and body piercing. (Where are the hippies from the 80s and 90s? I guess it was all disco.)

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Accommodation is not plentiful. We booked one of the few guesthouses posted online. On arrival, we were not thrilled but too exhausted from the 36-hour train ride to venture further. After reviving ourselves with a thali, we looked around to see what else was available and realized we had a good deal.

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The town beach is certainly not as beautiful as Agonda but after walking 20 minutes away from the hubbub of the town, the beach became virtually empty and the water very clear. No sun beds cluttering the sand, and the few beach huts are hidden in the undergrowth bordering the beach. It’s appealing for us to be in India AND at the beach. Harder to find than one might think. Two or three restaurants serve good South Indian food at Indian prices. At most times of the day, they are packed with Indian tourists and pilgrims making such a din you can hardly hear yourself think.

p1030120I respond to the religious fervor even though I can’t personally identify with Shiva worship. Such conviction and dedication are refreshing in today’s world of lukewarm faith. Even though I’m here for the beach, I like the diversity. As I make my daily pilgrimage to the sea down the winding main street, I pass two temples. Around them, the local women wrapped in a sarong pinned over their breast to numerous beaded necklaces, sell flowers, coconuts and who knows what as offerings. Then I dip myself in the clear sea water, giving thanks.

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Beside the temple sits an old carved wooden chariot decorated with flags waiting for the next occasion to be hauled out; furrows in the street shows its path.

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We had hoped Republic Day would be one such an occasion. But instead, all the school children in the district paraded up and down in their uniforms carrying flags and beating drums.

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The beach wasn’t as convenient as in Agonda, but the town was far more appealing. We plan to pass by this way again.

Eastern Sounds

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In the early morning, long before dawn, the melancholy song from a man and his harmonium floats over the rooftops. He laments the passing souls who came here to shed their last tear of earthly existence and cast off their broken bodies to the funeral pyre. But, he sings, why should we mourn?  For they’re set free in the light, while we worldly ones struggle to find our way.

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Around 4 am energetic chanting and bell ringing echo from the Chausathi temple. With such exuberance emanating across the alley, it makes it easier for us to arise and do our own morning practice. And just in case we’re not fully awake, shortly after, a cacophony of mosque calls summon the faithful to prayer across the large Muslim section. The haunting sound as one imam leaves off and another begins, dragging the reluctant out of the oblivion of sleep toward the first prayer of a new day. Get up and shake off your drowsiness. Fritter away your time no longer. Pray to God now while there is still breath in your body. I can hear no political jihad, Al Qaeda or ISIS in his voice.

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As we get ready for breakfast, the school master leads his students in call and response, his call eagerly returned by the joyous out of tune voices of his young pupils. Listening to all these sounds drifting through the early morning air, we are reminded that while we may have aged, much that is important in Varanasi has not really changed at all.

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My mind lingers back toward our arrival in the city eight years ago – that never to be recaptured first impression- an explosion of color and vibrancy. The ancient Ghats descending down to the Ganges, glittering in the morning sunshine. It was India at its most exotic. Intoxicating, but also scary –would I ever find my way through the maze of little lanes if I dared venture out alone? Saffron robed sadhus with painted faces and dreadlocks; others half naked and ash covered. Hustlers touting puja offerings, boat rides, a massage, a hair cut…

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Today, the city has not lost its mystery but with familiarity it no longer threatens.With the ebb and flow of pilgrims and tourists, for the short period of time we’re here I now feel part of it.

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The 6pm mosque call rings out and the day’s cycle is complete. As the sun sets, a mass of paper kites flutter in the sky, black specs in the fading light, like book pages charred by fire, blowing in the breeze. While we may not be able to capture the wonder of our first arrival, such timeless moments lure us back each year.

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