by Marisha Pink
TWENTY-FIVE
ON the morning of Rath Yatra, Arun rose earlier than usual, too excited to continue sleeping. To his surprise, both Lucky and Hanara were already awake, preparing for the departure to Puri. Arun had arranged for them all to spend one night in the city at the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel; a gift of thanks for the kindness with which they had welcomed him into both their hearts and their home. He wanted to give them a chance to relax together without the stresses of the shop and house, or Lucky having to worry about navigating them home through the crowds when the procession ended. It had been a simple matter to change the room reservation for what should have been his final night before returning to England, and a night in the city would allow him access to a telephone in order to make the call to Arthur that he had deliberately been avoiding.
They travelled to the city in Lucky’s rickshaw, chattering away and feeding off each other’s excitement, until collectively their energy pulsed around them like a force field. The roads were buzzing too as devotees descended upon Puri from far and wide, and tourists lined the broad streets hoping to catch a glimpse of the great Jagannath. Arun couldn’t remember the last time that he had seen so many people gathered in one place and the noise that they generated was deafening. Pilgrims shouted across to one another, beating tambourines and drums in time to the rhythmic cries of the street sellers, rickshaw drivers touted competitively for business, and it wasn’t long before the familiar domes of the mandir came into view in the distance.
When they were no longer really advancing through the thick crowds, Lucky pulled the rickshaw to one side and squeezed it between several other haphazardly parked vehicles beneath a small tree.
‘Here we are,’ he announced enthusiastically.
‘I can’t believe how many people there are,’ said Arun, dismounting and immediately running his hands through his hair to calm the bouffant that had formed on account of Lucky’s erratic driving. His hair was starting to get long and unkempt again, and though the hairs on the back of his neck routinely dampened with sweat from the heat that they trapped, the hairstyle made him resemble Lucky more closely, a fact which made Arun feel more like one of the family.
Collecting their small overnight bags from within the rickshaw, the trio linked arms and joined the throng of worshippers and voyeurs, pushing through the crowds to find a good spot from which to watch the procession. Arun became lost in his surroundings, mesmerised by the myriad sights and sounds of the organised chaos that typified India, and it was all that he could do to keep from being separated from his siblings as they were shunted along by the growing crowd. Eventually, they managed to settle into a slightly elevated spot set back from the Bada Danda, giving them a perfect view of the grand avenue along which the three deities would be paraded.
Three lavishly decorated wooden chariots, each resembling a small temple structure, lined the eastern entrance to the mandir and spanned the full width of the road. The constructions were an impressive sight at over forty feet high, their domed, striped canopies emblazoned with crests, and topped by giant spindles and flags that fluttered romantically in the breeze. Each canopy swooped down dramatically, stopping just short of a stepped wooden base, to reveal porticos draped in low-hanging, orange valances. The wooden bases created a platform around each portico and were almost entirely ringed by low fences swathed in flowers. Complicated cage-like structures extended from the platform down to the ground and protectively encased the brightly painted wheels that supported each chariot. The sides of each structure were decorated with small golden shrines, bedecked in garlands of freshly picked marigolds, and three wide wooden ramps rose up to meet the front of each chariot, providing access to the raised platforms.
A wall of blue-uniformed officials held back the restless crowd, who were jostling each other forcefully, craning their necks to secure a glimpse of the majestic chariots. The crowd extended as far as the eye could see and, much to Arun’s surprise, it was peppered with a mix of devotees, both young and old, all waiting impatiently in the scorching heat. With no space left unfilled, he struggled to see how the crowds could ever be sufficiently displaced to allow the chariots to proceed, unobstructed, down the Bada Danda, but Lucky was quick to offer a sombre account of pilgrims being crushed and killed each year, whilst trying to pull or touch the passing chariots. It was a sobering thought, and in an uncharacteristic move, whilst exuberant cries carried on the wind over the drone of religious song that rang out from the loudspeakers stationed around the mandir, Arun offered up a silent prayer that no-one would be hurt this year.
His prayers were interrupted by a sudden surge in noise from the crowd and by Lucky tugging insistently at his elbow, pointing towards the mandir like an excited child the night before Christmas. Arun followed the line cast by his brother’s finger to the main entrance, where the deities were finally beginning to emerge. The noise from the crowd continued to escalate, accompanied by the eclectic sounds of instruments being struck, blown or beaten, until even Arun was unable to escape the sense of euphoria that had gripped the crowd below. In the crush of devotees it was difficult to see clearly, as first the celestial wheel, then Balabhadra, Subhadra and finally Jagannath were carried out of the mandir. When the elaborate wraps and floral decorations that surrounded them were stripped away, the dark wooden statues were much smaller than Arun had envisaged that they would be. Yet with each statue requiring over fifteen men to carry it from the mandir to its waiting chariot, it was evident that the gods were deceptively heavy.
The volume of the crowd surged once again until a steady chant formed the deafening backdrop against which the deities were to be carried from the mandir in a seductive, drunk-like dance. Several hours passed by as the celestial wheel was placed beneath the red and black striped canopy of the central chariot, followed by the transport of Balabhadra to the chariot closest to Arun, which featured a red and blue canopy. Subhadra appeared to move faster than her brother, with the devotees almost rushing through the procession to settle her into the central chariot, then last came the great Jagannath in the most regal procession of all. Largely obscured from view by the many hands that gripped him, Jagannath was proudly carried to his red and yellow canopied chariot amidst a flurry of dancers performing to the synchronised beats of drums and gongs, whilst the crowd repeatedly chanted the names of the gods and jumped around ecstatically.
Shortly after the deities were in position, a smaller procession began to make its way up the Bada Danda, dragging Arun’s eyes away from the spectacle of the chariots. A large caparisoned elephant lumbered up the wide road and behind it several men carried an elegant, silver-coloured palanquin, though Arun was unable to make out who, or what, was inside from such a great height. On arriving at the mandir a young man, dressed entirely in white, emerged from within the palanquin and set about performing a series of rituals. Climbing each of the chariots in turn, he knelt or bowed in prayer to the seated deity, before sweeping the surrounding platform with a golden broom and sprinkling colourful flowers and holy water across its surface. When he had completed the ritual on the final chariot, the young man departed and the crowds were whipped up into a frenzy once more when the chariots were primed for the climax of the day’s festivities: the pulling of the chariots to the Gundicha Mandir.
Brown, black and white wooden horses were affixed to the three chariots, along with thick ropes a few hundred feet in length. This alone took over an hour to complete and though Arun’s legs were beginning to ache from standing for so long, and his stomach ached from not having eaten all day, he remained rooted to the spot, not wanting to miss a moment of the celebrations. His patience was duly rewarded when the pulling of the chariots finally commenced. Balabhadra’s chariot was first, followed by Subhadra’s, but it was during the grand finale, when Jagannath’s chariot began its slow journey along the Bada Danda, that Arun felt a wave of elation wash over him, as he shared in the moment with the half-a-million people gathered around him. Initially the ropes were taken up by official-lookin
g priests, but soon visiting pilgrims were diving into the street to assist, hurling themselves against the crush of the overexcited crowd for the opportunity to touch Jagannath’s chariot, an act considered to be auspicious by devotees.
Those that hung back continued to chant devotional songs, strike their drums and tambourines, or trumpet loudly with unquestionable devotion. Small children lined the streets adding their own chatter and songs to the hubbub, and absorbing the electric ambience, Arun was glad that he had listened to Lucky and stayed to experience the festival. The colours, sounds, sights and smells were all things that he had come to know and love during his short time in India, and watching his brother and sister, both equally absorbed in the passing spectacle, he felt a sense of peace and satisfaction lift his spirits even higher.
Several hours later when the procession had passed some way down the Bada Danda, the light fading rapidly, the three siblings made their way back to street level, where the crowds had dispersed leaving only mountains of rubbish behind. Remarkably Lucky’s rickshaw was still in the exact place that they had left it and it wasn’t long before they had packed themselves into its tiny confines once more, bound for the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel. The journey passed quickly with Lucky quizzing Arun on what he had seen and what his favourite parts of the festival had been, but reliving the day over again made Arun realise that it was more significant to him than any other since his arrival. He had seen and done so much with Lucky during the earlier part of his visit, yet having Hanara present to witness the majestic elegance of Rath Yatra with them had somehow made the experience, and their family, more complete.
Before long they were being greeted by the familiar smile of the concierge and when he ordered his staff to carry their bags from the rickshaw into the hotel, Lucky and Hanara became giddy with excitement. Unaccustomed to being treated like such important guests, they snuck along behind Arun, whispering and gasping at the hotel’s opulent interior, whilst being careful to stick closely to their brother, for fear that they might appear out of place and be asked to leave. Though Arun had spent two weeks at the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel, it felt strange to be back in such luxurious surroundings, and finding himself missing the homely simplicity of Mata-ji’s house, he wondered how he was going to adjust to life back in London when he was finally forced to return.
When they arrived at their room for the night, Arun watched Lucky and Hanara’s reaction to the space and amenities with great amusement. Hanara marvelled at the size and spring of the bed, and the cleanliness of the sheets and towels, whilst Lucky became enamoured with the balcony and its breathtaking views of the large pool and sea. Both opened the doors to every cupboard, drawer, minibar and safe that they could find, curious to inspect the contents, and when they had finished gushing and gawping at their luxurious surrounds, Lucky excitedly announced that he was off to take a very long shower in the huge marble bathroom. Hanara settled herself onto the balcony to watch the sun descend into the sea and Arun took the opportunity to make the call that he had been dreading all day.
‘Hello?’
‘Arthur, hi, it’s me, Arun.’
‘Oh hello, how are you? Are you well? Is everything okay?’ came Arthur’s worried voice all at once.
‘Yes, I’m fine. How are you?’
‘Yes, not bad … not bad at all … looking forward to having you home finally.’
An awkward silence followed and Arun swallowed the lump in his throat, realising that the conversation wasn’t going to be a straightforward one.
‘How was that rash thing?’ Arthur continued.
‘It’s Rath Yatra, Arthur.’
‘That’s the one; you knew what I meant. How was it?’
‘It was great. A little long, but definitely an amazing festival to have watched. The chariots were enormous and there was singing, and dancing, and music. And so many people and pilgrims, all helping to pull the chariots along.’
‘I see. And did you get to see this juggernaut thing that you stayed for?’
‘Jagannath,’ Arun corrected again with a sigh, ‘and no, not really.’
‘Well what was the point then?’
‘I saw bits of him, but there were just so many people wrestling to carry him from the mandir to the chariot that it was difficult to see much. And we were quite high up.’
‘Right then,’ concluded Arthur disapprovingly.
Another brief silence followed, all obvious topics of conversation exhausted and Arun twirled the telephone cord nervously around his fingers, desperately searching for the right words to break the news that he was not yet ready to come home. He didn't know how to begin but, eventually, Arthur unknowingly forced his tongue.
‘What time is your flight leaving tomorrow?’
‘Um, it’s supposed to be at six o’clock.’
‘Supposed to be? Don’t you think you ought to check? You don’t want to miss it.’
‘Well actually, Arthur, the thing is … I’m thinking of staying on a bit longer.’
There was silence at the other end of the phone, save for the sound of a single, heavy sigh, and Arun felt the tension reach through the receiver and strangle him with the cord.
‘Meaning?’ Arthur answered finally, a false calm evident in his voice.
‘Meaning, I’d like to stay in India a little longer.’
‘Why?’ fired Arthur, accusingly.
‘Because, I’m enjoying myself out here. I’m enjoying spending time with Hanara and Lucky, getting to know them better, and getting to learn about my culture, and –’
‘Your culture?’ Arthur interrupted, unable to disguise the contempt in his voice.
Arun ignored the jibe and continued, feeling strangely more empowered the more irate and irrational Arthur became.
‘There is so much that I never knew about India; all the customs and traditions, they’re so fascinating and so different to what I’m used to at home. I guess being here and being around my family has made me look at things differently. I just want to make the most of that while I can.’
‘Your family? Your family? Aaron, they are not your family, you barely know them,’ Arthur cried bitterly, the jealousy evident in his angst.
‘Yes they are, Arthur. They are my family, and it’s not my fault that I barely know them.’
‘Fine. Then why can’t you just come home, call them, write to them, and maybe visit once a year like normal people do with their relatives? Enough is enough, Aaron. You need to come home and start preparing for university – Oxford is no joke.’
‘Which is precisely why I want to stay now, while I have the time. When I start at Oxford it’s going to be so difficult for me to get back out here often.’
Another silence followed, during which the old man seemed to be searching for an alternative argument, but Arun remained mute, resolute in his decision to stay.
‘Well, you can’t move your flights again, you were only allowed one amendment. So how exactly do you propose to get yourself home, Einstein?’
‘I’ll have to buy a new flight, I guess.’
‘I’m not paying for it,’ spat Arthur petulantly.
‘That’s okay, I wasn’t expecting you to. I have a little money left in my savings, enough to buy a new flight with a little bit to spare.’
‘Fine.’
Arun listened patiently, waiting for Arthur to try his next line of attack, but when none came he realised triumphantly that not only had he stood his ground, he had won the battle.
‘I’ve got to go now, Arthur. I’ll let you know my plans as soon as I can.’
‘Fine.’
‘Bye. Oh, and say hi to Aunt Ruby for me,’ he added, but Arthur had already rung off.
Arun replaced the receiver and sat on the edge of the bed, his head hung low between his knees, whilst he ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to unwind from the stress of the call. He was replaying the conversation in his mind when the sound of the balcony door closing broke his chain of thought. He spun aro
und to see Hanara standing sheepishly in the corner of the room and realised, to his horror, that she had been there for some time. One look at her face was enough for him to know that she had overheard every word of his conversation, but there was a look of understanding and empathy in her eyes that instantly soothed him.
‘Parents can be stubborn sometimes, isn’t it?’ she whispered with a smile.
‘Yes, they can.’
‘So can children,’ she added.
‘Do you think I’m being stubborn?’
‘Of course you are being stubborn, but don’t worry … it’s a family trait.’
