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December 31, 2003
Too damn cold for bloggingI'm afraid this being the cold season, my mind has frozen up and firewood takes priority over blogging. Happy New Year.
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December 20, 2003
PratishthaSometimes events in India are extremely difficult to make sense of yourself, and far more so to describe to others in a meaningful way. The Pratishtha ceremony we witnessed yesterday (background in previous blogs on this subject here and here ) in Nasogi village is probably the most striking example. How can you adequately convey the meaning and atmosphere of a freezing December day that started with 200 men dragging a slightly out of control 62 foot tree downhill, and ended with 6 guys in Dhotis hauling 3 sheep to the roof of a 20 foot temple and cutting their heads off in the darkness?
One of the great things about Indian ceremonies, is that if you think you are going to be late, you probably aren't as they invariably start later than anyone has told you to turn up. While this is great for me as I love any extra time in bed, its harder for Kirsten whose Germanic soul still hasnŐt got the hang of Indian notions of On Time, time being far more relative here than even Einstein could have dreamed. This leads to arguments and UN style compromises, yesterdays being that I got to have a rather hurried breakfast at the Green Forest cafe, but couldn't get her to budge on the second chai, near obligatory for a civilised start to the day.
In spite of the fact Nasogi's temple is small, the Pratishtha is a large event, attended by people and God idols from many local villages; Jamloo from Burua village, Prashar Devta from Palchan near the entrance to the Solang Valley, Siyali Mahadev from Siyal village close to Nasogi among those who attended. Manali's Hadimba Devi and entourage also attend and play a prominent part in the proceedings. We caught up with Hadimba's procession about a kilometre before Nasogi. Even by the usual standards of such events a lot of Old Manali's villagers had turned out, and were walking behind the Idol and band. The procession stopped at one or two temples for a brief ceremony on the way, to greet another God Sriti Devta of Aleo village and entourage, and to accept the offerings of villagers whose houses it passed, before winding its way uphill through the twisting lanes of Nasogi to the Shankar Narayan Temple.
When we arrived at the temple, the hole dug to take the Dhoj (commemorative pole erected on finishing temple work, see here for more background) was finished, and a guy in a Dhoti was sitting on 3 planks of wood over the hole, as he had been since the digging finished, looking both bored after a freezing 12 hours sitting on a plank, and nervous; presumably at the thought of what was to come, which entailed some risk to him.
Hadimba's party wasted no time, and headed up the hill to the place where the tree for the Dhoj (pronounced as "dhoss" or "dhoz") had already been cut down after being selected by Shankar Narayan earlier. The steep winding path up to the treeline of the forest suggested that bringing a massive piece of wood down would be both awkward and dangerous. In a clearing in the Tolkienesque forest, men from Old Manali and Nasogi were watching as workers in ritual Dhotis cleaned the last of the bark from the massive felled Deodar tree, shaping the trunk to a square profile with axes and cutting a notch through the trunk at one end for attaching ropes. The pungent smell of freshly cut Deodar could be smelled 50 yards away across the clearing. The palanquin of Hadimba stood to one side, carried by two village youths and officially "supervising" the proceedings. Of all the Gods that attend the Pratishthas at Nasogi, only Hadimba goes to the forest with the group bringing the Dhoj; we were told that according to an ancient arrangement, the villagers of Old Manali are responsible for bringing the Dhoj for Nasogi village, reciprocated by the Nasogi and Belsari villagers and their God when a Pratishtha is held in Old Manali.
After the usual puja (prayer ceremony) of opaque meaning the band struck up with Nirkali trumpets and drums, and the villagers began to crowd around the massive 62 foot trunk, which must have weighed several tons, and began to attach ropes through the notch, and by wrapping them around the girth. The drums and trumpets upped tempo and volume and the villagers began to pull the ropes, sideways at first to angle the tree towards the path down the hill, then straight to start the Dhoj on its way. There was a lot of yelling, much of it apparently conflicting orders and suggestions on the course of action; in short semi organised chaos. In a couple of seconds it had gained momentum, and it was the turn of men on ropes at the rear to hold it back from making its own way to the bottom too rapidly. Occasional halts were made to pull the ropes sideways to effect a change in direction, and with the tree being so heavy considerable pulling was needed to get the thing going again. Once underway it was again restrained by those on the rear in a process that was repeated many times on the descent. Just to make the whole thing a little more interesting and difficult, it is not permitted for the villagers to step over the ropes or the Dhoj (something to do with stepping over Holy objects), hard to avoid while trying to guide an out of control log 20 metres long. Had someone done so, there would have been a stop and another puja involving a sheep sacrifice to "cleanse" the Dhoj.
After demolishing a low dry stone wall and churning up a couple of small fields, the Dhoj plus Hadimba, her band and villagers reached the temple, with the tree coming to rest a few feet from the hole dug for it. The young guy sitting on the planks over the hole now looked more wide eyed and nervous than ever; if he had seen the performance that was to come in putting it up, he would have done well to pass out at this stage. At this point someone must have declared a lunch break (not allowed for those on official duty wearing Dhotis), and the crowds wandered off in various directions for chai, food or up to the plinth in front of the temple. We headed to one of the 2 or 3 chai points laid out near the temple, manned by guys with plastic cups and huge kettles who distributed an exceptionally sugary version of the wonderful liquid to all comers. Unusually for such things in environmentally ambivalent India, local woven baskets (or Kiltas) had been set up as rubbish bins, and were even hung with signs saying "use me"
Other deities were still arriving, and people headed to the front of the temple for the elaborate rituals of Shanku (the host God) descending the temple steps and greeting the newcomer. These greetings always resemble a kind of dance as the palanquins are carried by villagers on poles and manoeuvred around each other; sometimes tipping sideways, sometimes moving toward or away from each other or bucking up and down in sometimes delicate motions that seem to convey a strong sense of emotion. Occasionally one or two of the God idols would go walkabout, passing through the crowds on their way to one of the other small temples nearby to pay respects. Several pujas were held on the plinth in front of the temple, accompanied by drums and Nirkalis and performed by the Gurs and Pujaris of the various deities. The Gurs often enter a trance state in order to convey the words of the deity to the onlookers. HadimbaŐs Gur is always easy to recognise by voice when in a trance state. Normally a quietly spoken man, he literally yells the words of Hadimba in an angry sounding voice when in a trance, apparently in Kullvi, the local language. Occasionally he will jump up and down and contort his face, his tongue extended fully from his mouth in a way that looks much less amusing than it sounds.
While this was going on, work was being done on the yard in front of a small hut to one side of the temple. Four or 5 guys, dressed in Dhotis and with shiny coloured cloth wrapped around their Kulu caps, were preparing the finials (known locally as Paru) that were to be affixed to the massive wooden beam running along the apex of the temple as the last work to be done on the temple. The finials were first cut as blocks from the same piece of wood used for the beam, and were in the process of being carved into shape using chisels for the finer cuts and sharpened pick-like tools to hack out larger pieces of wood. Like the other Dhoti clad workers, these guys were only permitted to eat once a day until work was finished, and the area they worked in was separated with a laid down ladder to prevent other from coming to close, I assume for ritual reasons. One of the older carpenters was joking with the crowd about how much he fancied a cigarette and a meal, and chiding some jovially to go and find something else to stare at. The speed with which they worked was surprising, with a combination of delicate chipping and chiselling the finials quickly began to take shape. All the more surprising as I am accustomed to the normal speed that Indian carpenters work - especially memorable being the two guys at our guesthouse this spring who nearly had my landlord tearing his hair out with frustration by taking 15 days to panel a small 8ft by 8ft room to waist height, most of the time being spent turning my landlords beautiful and expensive planks of Deodar into wood shavings.
At the same time, on the other side of the temple, large X shaped support braces were being made from thick lengths of timber formed into crosses and spliced together with heavy rope. The braces would later be used to support the Dhoj on its way to vertical.
We took more time to drink chai while waiting for the main event, the raising of the Dhoj. We originally intended to have one, but ended up having four or so cups after a few kids kept filling our cups each time they were emptied in exchange for having themselves immortalised on video and seeing it played back. Off to one side, several villagers were carving up the body of a sheep, which had been sacrificed earlier, for later cooking. The carcass hung from an apple tree while one man expertly skinned and gutted it with a sharp knife.
Around 4.30 PM things began to look as if they might happen soon, which generally means anywhere between 2 minutes and 2 hours, so we went and found ourselves a vantage point near the "top" of the Dhoj, at a spot a few feet outside the radius of where we could be crushed to a pulp should it prove uncooperative and fall. We had been given various stories of how long it would take to put it up, the shortest estimate being half an hour but with the prerequisite that the Gods would have "full power". Should one of the Gods not be happy, the whole process could take far longer, maybe all night, maybe a full day; the deciding factor being spiritual rather than earthly; literally in the hands of the Gods.
As it began to get fairly dark, a group of Dhoti clad men came to the head of the Dhoj and began proceedings with a short puja. A small bleating white lamb was thrown over the Dhoj and caught on the other side, while simultaneously a piece of dough was thrown the other way as an additional offering for the Gods. The lamb was then taken to one side, and with one man holding it to orient its neck correctly, was expertly decapitated with a single blow from a sickle shaped tool wielded very quickly by another man. One hoof was then cut off and placed in its mouth, something whose significance I have never ascertained.
The good humoured woodcarver, having presumably finished his finial, was brought to cut 2 notches around the circumference of the Dhoj. The slots were started with a large bow saw, and finished by the carver with his sharpened pick chipping wider slots, the wood being rolled over onto each face in turn by about 60 people along its length, one or two using poles as levers. Additionally a hole was cut into the very top of the Dhoj into which a metal trishul, or trident, was fixed, standing out about 18 inches from the crown.
By this time it was almost dark and we could make out few details of what was happening in the gloom, except that a final puja took place by the light of a torch with severely depleted batteries; a man and woman dressed in red going the length of the Dhoj on both sides, and sprinkling something - which I took to be oil - along the upper surface as they passed.
The crowd was beginning to thicken around the low, broken wall on which we were standing, with plenty of jostling for position and the usual "tut, tut, tut" noises when someone had their view obscured. The opposite, lower end of the Dhoj closest to the hole was now a dense mass of people - men mostly - who were going to be hauling the pole to the upright. That end was harshly lit by a large floodlight hung from a nearby tree, and the camera-mounted light of a videographer filming the event on behalf of the temple management.
With much yelling and grunting, the Dhoj was dragged the remaining few feet until the bottom tip was close to the hole, still with its cold and doubtless extremely nervous guard standing on top of his planks, to remain there until the Dhoj had "filled" the hole. Thick ropes were attached to the upper end nearest us and passed into the crowd at the lower end on either side of the pole.
Just to make things a bit more interesting, the obstacles and terrain around the Dhoj hemmed it in, leaving only a small space to work in. Looking down the line of the wood from our position, a 2 foot high dry stone wall was to the left only 3 or 4 feet away, running the length of the pole. On the other side, 10 feet to the right, the ground dropped away to the temple plinth. On the same side, close to the hole and the foot of the Dhoj stood a huge Deodar with a massive trunk and plenty of branches. This was clearly going to make rope pulling on that side awkward at some point in the ascent. Finally, immediately next to the hole on the right was a dry stone walled hut with a loose slate roof, already occupied by a dozen lads as a rope pulling point.
The temple band began to up the tempo and volume of its drumming, signalling that something was about to happen. The air was now hazy from the oily, acrid smoke of several pine wood fires and the scene began taking on a surreal dimension, as the Gods began to move away from the plinth and pass through the crowd at the lower end of the Dhoj, one stopping next to the tree close to the hole and rocking violently from side to side, backlit by the glare of the halogen lamp. The occasional ceremonial blare of the Karnali trumpets made me feel more like I was witnessing a scene from "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" brought to life, than watching a village religious event on a cold Friday night in December. Another God idol began to walk up the length of the Dhoj as if inspecting it, while others went to the small temple to our right, behind the main one.
The raising of the Dhoj is done in parallel with fixing the finials to the temple beam, and now we could see dhoti clad figures ascending the ladders laid against the slope of the roof, the finials pulled up once they sat astride the beam at the apex.
There were loud shouts from the crowd and the pulling began; two ropes on either side went taut, and with a jerk the top end of the Dhoj left the ground by two feet and hung suspended. The crowd cheered its approval and somewhere amid the seething mass of people around the hole, a sheep was sacrificed and its severed head thrown into the pit, the guy that had spent 24 hours ensuring the hole was never empty was released from his duty, his place taken by the bottom of the great wooden beam. Another yell and a tightening on the ropes and the Dhoj lifted high enough that the first of the X shaped braces could be placed underneath to ensure the Dhoj didn't slip back to the ground. With the next heave the Dhoj wobbled a bit and came up to 30 degrees from the horizontal, leaving enough space for a second cross brace to be placed, the first moving down toward the bottom of the pole. There was now a solid crowd underneath the Dhoj, holding and bracing the supports against the downward pressure. A devout belief in the divine must have been especially important at this point; a slip or a broken brace and 2 dozen people might well have been crushed to death. In answer, the divine figures of the God idols milled round through the crowd ever faster, their frenetic movements echoed by the rising murmur of the onlookers and shouts of the rope pullers.
The six men on the apex of the temple were now beginning to attach the finials to the beam, making the last adjustments to the holes that would hold the wooden dowels used to secure each of the three pieces. The light of the floodlight scarcely extended that far, and they worked in near darkness, virtually ignored by the crowd who were all concentrating on the raising of the Dhoj.
By now the Dhoj had been raised to roughly 45 degrees, swaying slightly as those in charge of the braces pushed and cajoled them into a more secure position. Another yelled instruction and those on the ropes took another heave. Just as the Dhoj began to rise again, one of the two ropes on the left side of the beam from us snapped with an extremely audible 'crack'. The onlookers gasped as the broken end hurtled back along its path and into the group that had been pulling on it, throwing a shower of dust that hung in the light of the floodlamp. The pole wobbled alarmingly, and then settled back onto the braces, which now looked none too stable. With a lot of shouting, the group manning the supports angled the braces to take the full weight of the wood, then one brave soul climbed the tallest brace to where the trailing part of the broken rope hung from the Dhoj. A couple of deities rushed through the crowd to the bottom of the brace, and rocked on their palanquins, evidently to offer support as the broken end was handed up to the climber atop the brace. The thick rope was crudely knotted together in a few minutes and the repairman descended to his position at the foot of the brace.
With the leverage on the ropes now fairly good and the men holding the brace also pushing upward, the Dhoj made it to an almost vertical position with only two more quick pulls. When it hit the vertical, the crowd cheered once more, seemingly more in relief than anything else. The whole exercise had taken a mere 40 minutes; the Gods must indeed have been on good form. The rope crews spread out evenly and held the ropes taut to keep the pole upright while rocks and the excavated earth were shovelled hastily back into the hole and trampled flat. Gods and men milled around the base of the pole in an atmosphere much less tense than it had been five minutes earlier. Other Gods were carried rapidly through various parts of the temple ground, the crowd quickly clearing a path as they approached. Kirsten grabbed me and pulled me out of the way as Shanku Devta charged out of the dark from behind us heading straight for the tree festooned with the horns of sacrificed Rams to our right. I jumped smartly out of the way, and kept a wary eye on the Devta till it had descended again to the temple plinth below. Gods on the rampage are best avoided as I found out two years ago at the Hadimba festival, when I hadnŐt moved fast enough and ended up taking the full force of one of the poles of Hadimbas palanquin in the ribs, then again in the elbow as it turned; not an experience I intend to repeat. Apart from the pain, my health insurance doesn't offer cover for "acts of God".
The Dhoj was now securely in place in the hole, and people were standing around its base and waiting for something else to happen. We had been told earlier that in times past a sheep would be sacrificed on top of the Dhoj, but that these days it was usually done halfway up as few people were strong enough to climb the pole the whole way any more.
Sure enough, the crowd stepped back and a young man went up to the foot of the Dhoj, took hold of one of the ropes recently used to pull the pole upright and began to climb, to a few cheers and whistles from the crowd. On his back was a small backpack, out of which was poking the head and legs of a young lamb. My mind boggled at the logistics of ascending the narrow pole by rope, getting to the top, unpacking the (presumably rather uncooperative) sheep and slicing its head off with an unwieldy scythe 62 feet above the ground while trying to hold on to the rope and avoid the unpleasant side effects of gravity. It wasn't to be, however, and the guy looked less and less sure of himself as he climbed, his feet struggling to get any grip on the side of the Dhoj. By the time he got halfway up, he had slowed right down, and was looking towards the top rather unhappily. After a minutes deliberation, he slid back down the rope to the ground, the crowd responding with a few catcalls and whistles.
There was a plan B however, and as soon as he had reached the ground, the group still on top of the stone hut next to the Dhoj began to shout for someone to bring a ladder. The ladder, a shaky looking 10 foot long collection of wooden poles lashed together with rope, was handed up and taken to the apex of the roof at the point closest to the Dhoj. Gently, they tried to lean the ladder against the pole, bridging the 2 or 3 foot gap, and place the bottom on the roof at a stable point; difficult as the huge slates were uneven and rather loosely attached. Eventually, after a few minutes fiddling, they set the ladder at a 45 degree angle, then 4 or 5 gathered round the base to hold it firm while someone else gingerly set foot on the bottom rung and began slowly to ascend, crawling up rather than climbing. On reaching the top he tried standing up very slowly on the topmost rung while holding onto the Dhoj, to the sound of loud laughter and whistles from those on the ground. Once he was upright on the extremely shaky ladder, someone handed him an axe which he first used to chop the ropes still hanging from the Dhoj, leaving about 4 feet or so dangling. Then the small lamb was passed up with less of a struggle than I would have expected, its neck placed against the wood of the Dhoj. A swift stroke of the cleaver and its head fell to the ground below.
The crowd began to break up, some heading home, some moving over to the plinth to watch the puja or the men on the temple roof, who had by now finished attaching the finials. At this point the light dimmed and it was difficult to make out the shapes of those on top. Three of them came down the ladders up against the pitch of the roof, and were handed a sheep each, much larger than the animal recently sacrificed on the Dhoj. Tucking them under their arms, they began to climb slowly, grasping the ladders with their free hands. The sheep put up little resistance, although one occasionally struggled, kicking its legs and swinging its head in an effort to break free, its struggles subsiding the higher they climbed. At the apex, the carriers handed the sheep over to the 3 other men sitting astride the wooden beam, who dragged them firmly onto the wood and waited while their companions climbed up beside them. In the near blackness we couldn't see what happened next, but it was all over in a few seconds; a splash of blood at three places on the wood of the beam, and the carcasses and heads of the sheep were handed down to others on the ladders, and taken down to the ground.
With the last sacrifices over, the musicians stopped, and most of the crowd began to leave, presumably to thaw their frozen limbs in front of a warm tandoor. A few die hards stayed a while longer to watch the last remaining ritual taking place on the roof, lit by the bright flame of a smoky, sputtering brand of Pine cut into wide slivers. Our limbs cold beyond feeling, we headed down the long dark path to the bright lights of Manali town below, to thaw out in front of the Bukari in Chopsticks and rip into a bowl of Roast Pork Chilli, while reflecting on what had been one of the most extraordinary events we have witnessed in this most extraordinary land.
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December 11, 2003
A bit cold for a DhotiTommorrow is the Pratishtha ceremony for the raising for the Dhoss (looks like a flagpole outside a temple, as described in my recent blog entry) in the village of Nasogi, close to Manali, aceremony that will hopefully leave us a little wiser as to what the deeper meaning of the Dhoss actually is.
After my recent article, I got an email from Erick, a friend in Holland, who lived in Manali for most of the 1980's and married a local woman from Belsari village (he is also the designer of the Web site promoting Himalayan Caravan Adventure, a local trekking firm. He took part in many of the ceremonies in the area, and offered me some explanation of the what and why of the Pratishtha. He describes the Dhoss as a commemorative pole erected at the temple, and my own understanding is that it is the final thing done after the completion of major work on the temple, such as redoing the roof, as appears to be the case with Nasogi temple. The tree to be used is chosen by the village Devta (God / idol) in a ceremony held in the forest some distance from the village, and is then brought back to the Mandir (temple) by the villagers. Erick describes the journey back;
 (the Dhoss is) then hauled to the Mandir by the villagers, where it is ever important not to step over the pole or ropes attached, the reason being unknown to me, but an almost impossible task when you're pulling a huge tree down a 45+ degrees mountainslope with nearly a 150 villagers crisscrossing and yelling to each other. First time you experience a scene like that you immediately understand how the Egyptians must have build the Pyramids!
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My landlord and cultural adviser tells me the reason for not stepping over the ropes or pole is that they are Holy, and in general you dont pass your body over holy things in Hinduism.
The hole for the Dhoss to sit in is dug a day or two in advance of the arrival of the pole, and according to Erick, some poor bugger has to sit in the hole until the tree arrives.
So to check this out in advance of tommorrows ceremony, we headed over to Nasogi on a partially cloudy and seriously freezing day to see what was happening. I really wouldn't want to miss the spectacle of some chap in a Dhoti (VERY thin cloth worn as a sort of lunghi; think Gandhiji) sitting in a 10 foot hole on a freezing December day; a real once in a lifetime opportunity.
Nasogi is a stereotypically idyllic Kulu Valley village, scattered on the hill above the mud road. The houses are a mixture of old and new; the older ones of indeterminate age built of wood and local stone with heavy slate roofs, with carved balconies at improbable lopsided angles passing around the first floor. Like so much of the Kulu Valleys history, they could be a hundred years old or a thousand. Local people tend to be a little more modest and honest about the age of the houses than they are the temples, most will say 100 years if pressed (temples are always 5,000 years old), although our friend Ravi reckons many are several hundred years old. These beautiful houses are now almost impossible to build, with the skills gone, wood hard to obtain in quantity and the costs prohibitive. Ericks house close to Nasogi is probably one of the last built in the traditional manner, albeit with a far wider balcony than most.
When we arrived, the hole for the Dhoss was well under way at about six feet deep, being dug by 4 guys clad in Dhoti and rope sandals, and wearing special green coloured cloth around the bands of their Kulu caps. This kind of clothing is often worn when people engage in temple or God idol related work, and is connected to purity and cleansing. Those directly engaged in the work, or the work on the roof of the temple will also eat only once a day for the duration of the work. Others were cleaning the giant pots used to cook the permitted meal at the tap at the foot of the temple plinth.
Other Dhoti clad men were on the roof of the 15 foot high temple, fixing slates that must have been in need of repair and preparing the massive crossbeam for the finials that will be fitted tommorrow, marking the final work on the temple roof. A couple of fires were on the go, and as usual at these events, groups of men were sitting around smoking beedies and drinking chai, exempt from the "one meal" rule.
Another feature of many local religious ceremonies is the sacrifice of a sheep. A video was shown on the local cable channel last week of another topping out ceremony in which a sheep was hauled to the roof beam of the newly finished temple, and beheaded, extremely cleanly. The Pratishtha is the same only rather bigger. A friend suggested their may be as many as 70 sheep sacrificed at this Pratishtha, and before we left, we saw the sheep being herded rather gullibly into the village to spend the night in a half finished house. The meat from these sacrifices is rarely wasted (the exception being the buffalo occasionally killed at Hadimba temple; presumably too much like a cow to eat), and will be cooked soon after the sacrifice and served to the villagers and other attendees. Quite what they are going to cook with 50 or so sheep is beyond me, but it may be that the meat will be dried for winter as is often the practice here.
Some foreigners who see these sacrifices seem to have a real problem with them. At a prayer event in Dhungri last week a backpacker said to us "shame isnt it?" just before the sheep was killed, presumably expecting us to share her sentiments. I personally find the transposing of Western prejudices onto Indian life far more problematic than the killing of a sheep. The guys with the axes are usually very good, one blow being enough to remove the head, and the meat is shared and eaten immediately. I feel a lot safer and less queasy eating a sheep that breathed its last an hour ago, than grilling a nondescript pink blob of uncertain provenance, bought from Sainsburys prepacked in blue polystyrene with an apparent sanitary towel in the bottom to mop up the remaining blood.
Its always a little odd being a foreigner and outsider at these small village religious events. In Old Manali it always feels more comfortable as our faces are well enough known in the village, but at other villages it can feel a little uncomfortable. The feeling is ours, much to do with worrying about intruding on peoples beliefs and with no real basis in fact as we have never been made anything other than welcome at anything we have attended. We are probably over careful about do's and don'ts, always a minefield as Hinduisms mechanisms of repect differ from our own experience. Taking shoes off before going to the front of the temple is an obvious one, but in general the atmosphere is far more relaxed than you would find at an equivalent (if there were one) Christian ceremony. You always feel less like an intruder if you know someone at the event, and anywhere within spitting distance of Old Manali there will be someone we know, or a relative of someone we know and today was the latter case with Kirsten getting some low down on the Pratishtha from a cousin of Ravi's, and so by extension a sort of relative in law of Ericks. There will be a name in Kullvi to describe the relationship - there always is - but I have no idea what it is.
With not much else happening for today we headed off to town for chai and pakora. The hole wasn't finished, and so we missed the guy preparing to spend the night sitting in it. The Pratishtha starts at about 10 tommorrow, if we get there in time perhaps we'll go up to the forest and enjoy the spectacle of 150 people trying to drag a 70 foot tree downhill.
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December 8, 2003
Who is Miss Manali?The Kulu Valley has had yet another rude shock delivered to its collective morality this week, with the news that it has become a favourite location with the makers of porn movies in addition to the more usual Hindi movies that frequently film in the area.
Newspaper reports a few days ago mentioned a series of Police raids on premises in Manali, Kullu and Bhuntar, in which "blue movie" VCDs (video CDs) featuring local actresses had been seized. In connection with the raids, one man was arrested locally and another in Chandigarh, where some of the post production work was apparently done. A Video cameraman in Kullu, when approached by police near the Beas river, threw a dozen disks away into the river, which the cops then retrieved and found to contain porn.
The porn films were apparently filmed locally indoors, using local actresses, with the footage being edited and burned to CD in Chandigarh, before being brought back to the valley for distribution here and elsewhere in India. Locally they were apparently shown in late night showings at video halls. The "local" Himachal factor has apparently given them a rather niche market outside the valley, presumably for the rarity value of Himachali girls in the raw. They have reportedly been selling for 7 or 800 Rs as opposed to the usual 100 to 300 Rs for normal Hindi movie fare, with substantially higher rental charges too.
The video titles also had a local theme, apparently being titled "Miss Manali", "Miss Kullu" and "Miss Bhuntar", presumably in reference to their leading ladies. In an effort to track down Miss Manali and friends , the cops have made screen shots of those appearing in the films and had them printed on posters, which have been distributed in the area in the hope that someone will recognise them in their day job and call the cops.
The news rather passed us by as the english language Hindistan times only made a brief reference to the VCD seizures, and not to the filmmaking, and I had assumed they were not a local product. Raids on video shops are not infrequent in any case, although usually for counterfeit CDs. The Hindi press though has been having a field day, with half the papers for the last 3 or 4 days full of little else, although evidently short on specifics or pictures. When my landlord mentioned it, I took little notice, assuming he was just passing the time of day; somewhere I obviously missed his profound sense of moral indignation, which seems far less directed at the fact that porn exists, or even that you could rent it in Manali, than at the fact cast, crew and producer of this vile corrupting media was local. I was quite surprised at his sense of outrage; I am certain video rental shops have been doing this for years here and indeed he confirmed this although saying that the films sold were "English", which evidently was less of a problem, presumably as the English are inherently morally currupt in any case and this was to be expected.
The market would certainly be there; walk into almost any Internet cafe in India quickly enough, and you can catch a group of (usually) teenage boys clustered intently round a screen checking some anatomically detailed images, followed by frantic mouse clicks and red faces when they realise someone else has come in to the shop.
How they found the women to do it though, is quite another matter. People around here, as in most of India, see themselves as very moral in such taboo matters as sex and pornography, hence the great denial when AIDS numbers began to rise in India (now at 0.8% of the adult population) - the logic being, "Indians are all faithful to their spouses so it must all be foreigners bringing it in", as I've heard it expressed many times. But given the fear of being caught, and the social stigma (and god knows what else) that would follow a girl being caught for making a porn video, I am surprised they could find any volunteers for the part, unless the money was just too good to refuse, or some kind of coercion was involved. I certainly cant think of any likely canidates among the local women I've met.
At some point doubtless, the police will catch one of the starlets - perhaps Miss Manali - and then the shit is really going to hit the fan in a messy sort of way, and some family is going to end up with some major egg on its collective face. If the girls involved were from outside the Kulu Valley, I imagine there would be a large (and probably smug) sigh of relief around here that the virtue of Kulu's women remained intact.
But there may be a nastier side effect whoever the girls turn out to be. I have been told many times of the harrassment of local girls by some of the hormonal and unsatisfied youths who come here on holiday, fueled up by the insanely tall stories of their imaginative and macho friends, who have told them of their numerous conquests of the local Himachali (and probably foreign) girls when THEY came here on holiday. Assuming these movies have done the rounds of the video parlours in Chandigarh, Delhi and the Punjab, Manali can expect an influx of unmarried males with overly fertile imaginations and a low gullibility threshold, many of whom will be wondering "who IS Miss Manali".
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December 1, 2003
Chapatti challengeWith the last restaurant in Old Manali long since closed, the nearest place to eat is in New Manali, enough of a walk away that cooking for ourselves becomes a serious option. Great, except that with temperatures falling rapidly you begin to understand how Scott and the boys felt on the way to the Antarctic when Oates suggested eating in.
Much as I like cooking under normal circumstances, the incredibly basic nature of the kitchen and ingredients, the lack of an oven, and the fact that everything you touch is freezing make me reluctant. So while Kirsten is adept at producing a decent meal under difficult conditions and varying what she cooked, I spent most of last winter perfecting (maybe not exactly the right word) my own interpretation of Tikki, a sort of fried potato cake sold commonly on Manali's streets.
Good as it was, I've decided to try a new variation partly inspired by an Indian interpretation of enchilada I tried in town. Basically a mix of potato, cheese and veg wrapped in a corn chapatti and deep fried. Or so I thought. After a very drunken conversation with my landlord, the Corn Chapatti Challenge was born. He claims that most women in the valley live in fear and loathing of making corn chapattis, the crumbly nature of the flour making them structurally tough to deal with and likely to fall apart at the first opportunity. When I suggested using them as a wrap for my latest culinary masterpeice, he nearly wet himself laughing. Being stubborn and a great believer that nothing is impossible, his ridicule has made me all the more determined to succeed. The fact that his wife, stone cold sober, looked at me as if I was insane when I suggested it this evening, makes me a little more nervous as she has "been there , done that" I have no doubt.
However, I have a plan and the stakes are high. Should I succeed in moulding this intractible substance and producing something edible, we have agreed that I will have achieved the status of a "Maharishi" - a very wise man - bypassing the normal rigorous years spent in a cave and learning, meditating, growing a beard, smoking outrageous amounts of hash etc. The end result of my taming the vicious corn chapatti will be elevation to status of a Deity in the manner of the Kulu Valley Gods, complete with my own temple built in the orchards (we are arguing currently about the proposed size) and a place in next years Dussehra festival. Doubtless adoration would be assured from the grateful women of the valley to whom I would pass the knowledge of "Corn Chapatti made easy".
So with so much at stake - pride not the least - there is no room for failure. Corn Chapatti Judgement day comes on Wednesday.
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Its not a flagpole stupid!In the next couple of weeks one small piece of my religious curiosity may well be at least partially solved. I have always been intrigued by the huge poles found next to temples in the Kulu Valley (maybe across India, but I have never noticed elsewhere), sometimes more than one of apparently different ages. I had always - rather naiively in retrospect - assumed they were flagpoles that never had flags flown on them, or at least I had never seen one. This would be an easy assumption for a European since any straight piece of white wood more than 15 feet tall tends to be a flagpole in Europe. The gardens of many houses in Kirstens native village in North Germany are peppered with a rather unnatural number of flagpoles usually displaying the Schleswig Holstein State flag or the Dithmarchen district flag. One or two who have not heard that Nationalism has been unfashionable in Germany since the 1940's have the national flag, while one extremely confused soul flies the US flag. Or perhaps this is actually the CIA - well known as they are for subtlety - north German HQ.
While that is all beside the point, I found out last year that the poles are not flag poles at all (this IS India after all), but Dhoss (plural unknown) which have a Hindu religious significance concerning building and fixing of temples. The poles are anything from 20 to 30 feet tall and usually made from a single piece of very straight tree trunk. In spite of many conversations on the subject with the Religious Adviser to the Neoncarrot site (my landlord), I am still rather unsure as to what the exact purpose is of the poles, except that a new one is raised when a new temple is built, or when major repair work such as replacing the roof is done.
He tells the story of when the last one was raised at the Manu Temple in Old Manali in a ceremony called a Pratishtha. Each village has a particular small area where the tree for the Dhoss is cut. The reason for this place being used is lost in the mists of time, but having cut the tree a special predefined route is taken to the temple - not by any means the easist route to carry a 30 foot tree, which in Manali would be to follow the main road, but a serious "back double" involving a short and very steep climb. At this time, the villagers carrying the Dhoss were finding it extremely difficult to get it up the steep path, owing to the weight and awkward length. After offering prayers to the Hadimba / Manu Rishi idol the Dhoss apparently became light and easy to carry up to the temple.
But the trouble wasn't over. Having dug the pit for the Dhoss to sit in, they had problems standing the pole upright. One rope used to haul it to the vertical broke with near disastrous consequences, and although a second stronger rope was brought the thing just would not stand up. Eventually they called in the experts from the Electricity board to use all their experience and equipment to solve the problem. Still no joy. Finally after much discussion, they consulted the Gur, the villager responsible for acting as a medium and translating the words of Hadimba for the village. The Gur offered them an explanation for the failure. Before starting the work, the villagers had gone round to offer prayers at all of the villages many temples. Some are recognisably temples, some look like small houses 2 or 3 feet high, while others are trees or just sacred places. Each is the place of a village deity with different kinds of power, some greater, some lesser - all important. In doing their rounds of the various temples, the villagers had missed one, and that Deity was displeased, and was preventing the Dhoss from being raised. Once the appropriate prayer had been offered the pole was put up very quickly, according to the story.
A walk around the villages of the upper Kulu Valley would reveal that there have been a very large number of new temples built in recent years, the costs of which have mainly been met by public donation. At least 3 separate groups have been to our guest house in the last 3 weeks seeking donations for their new village temples. Presumably the religious building frenzy in the valley (like the secular building frenzy) has been financed by the boom in the Tourism and Charas businesses, and people feel well off enough to replace the older temples with more modern structures. The exception was the Old Manali temple, the reconstruction of which was sanctioned by a government Minister here on holiday, and which was given some public funding due to its exceptional importance. The end result is decidedly unattractive; several people in the village refer to it as looking far more like a five star hotel ( a bad one) than a temple.
But the other new temples springing up are far nicer and more in keeping with the traditional temple style of the Valley. Most are mixed stone and wood alternately laid level by level, much in the style that the local houses were made until recently. The roofs are of slate, with pillars and panels with highly carved local deodar depicting various gods and goddesses. The skills for this style and quality of carving and masonary are rare these days and expensive to commission. It is unusual for anyone but the very well off to have a house built in this manner; the newest I know of is 30 years old. But some skills seem to be lost, and in some temples the wood clearly hasnt been cured properly and the panels already show huge cracks even though they have only been up for 2 or 3 years.
With all this modernity, it is very difficult for the local people to give the stock Indian answer to the question of the age of a temple - "5,000 years old", in spite of all evidence to the contrary. Most of the newer ones appear to be anywhere between 2 and 15 years old. Beautiful as they are for modern buildings, they almost certainly use the same artisans and possibly designers, which tends to lead to a rather bland uniformity that means that apart from the detail in the carvings, they all look much the same. Anyone who has been to a Wetherspoons pub or two in London will know the phenomenon well; go to the first, and you think "thats nice, very traditional". About 3 near identical Wetherspoons chain pubs run by cloned managers later and you are getting a little bored, after 10 you decide that maybe the "wetherspoons effect" wasn't such a good idea after all and that theme pubs have their attractions.
A hundred years and a few repairs from now these temples will look great, with that well worn and ancient look that allows villagers to look tourists in the eye and say "5,100 years old" and keep a straight face. But then a hundred years from now the temples will probably be the only non-concrete structures left in the valley, and local scholars of architecture will be referring to the "classical" construction of the Holiday Inn at Prini.
The temple in the village of Prini was fairly recently completed, and about 10 days ago they apparently held the Pratishtha cermony to erect the Dhoss. Unfortunately we didn't know about all this and missed out, but our friend Ravi tells us that Nasogi village near Dhungri is having the Pratishtha at the recently completed Shank Narayan temple in a week to 10 days. It will be nice to see this, as it is a fairly rare ceremony, and hopefully someone will be able to finally explain to me the actual significance of the Dhoss.
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