Fierce grace
August 2023
The purpose of a pilgrimage, just as of life, discovered K Geethanjali, is not so much
what you can gain but what you can let go of.
Why do we do this to ourselves?
I asked myself as the pony I was holding on to for dear life made its descent down the
Yamunotri Mountain. As it teetered to the edge, I held my breath. One wrong move, and I could hurtle down the cliff and be a goner! Why, God, why?
Do we really have to go through so many sacrifices and so many trials to have a darshan of the deities? Why are they placed in such difficult-to-access
places? I was on my Chhota Char Dham pilgrimage and was visiting Yamunotri, Gangotri, Kedarnath, and Badrinath.
I now looked at the hordes of ponies carrying their burdens up and down the yatra trail. They had no choice but to follow the urgings of their masters, making the same back-breaking trip again and again. Trekkers braved the rain and jostled with the pituwallas (frail young mountain folk who carried pilgrims in baskets) and the doli bear ers. It all looked so scary and chaotic.
Narrow and treacherous mountain paths:
A lesson in surrender.
As the pony boys reached a treacherous trail, without warning, they asked us to get down and walk a few kilometres up the trail as it was too dangerous for the ponies to do so car rying us. This was an experiment in living in the moment. There was no time to complain or grumble. The trail was slushy as it had been drizzling throughout the trip. Each step had to be taken in awareness lest one slipped and fell. Our joy when our ponies met us ahead of the trail was short-lived as we found we could not mount our ponies yet as there was a jam ahead since pilgrims made their way single file to the goal—the Bluewater goddess, Yamunotri.
“Are we mad to have embarked on this trip, when Ramana and other Advaita masters point out that we carry the very one and same God within us?” we asked ourselves throughout.
I did not receive any answers to my questions though I went through the other Dhams. Maybe that was because I was so busy hurtling from one end of the Himalayas to another in our hired car, drinking in the beauty of the landscape—the snow-capped mountains; the Mandakini, Alak nanda, Bhagirathi, and Ganga rivers; the ash rams and sanyasis; the beautiful remote villag es; and the pure fresh air—absorbing the lives of the mountain folk, and realising what a priv ileged life we city folk lead. Surrounded by such awesome beauty, the mountain folk, neverthe less, lead tough lives trying to make ends meet, deprived of educational and job opportunities.
It was only when I came home and rested af ter the trip that the answers kept coming. It’s not about gaining anything, a voice inside me reminded me. You have nothing to gain. You are the Divine Essence. It’s about letting go.” Letting go of likes and dislikes and adapting to the sit uations. Accepting the same type of food con tinuously: roti, sabji and dal when my palate longed for the familiar idli and sambar; being fair and taking turns to sit at the back of the
Bolero we had hired; willing to be bumped and thrown about as the car swung round hairpin bends; looking out for each other in the group; giving up the comforts of a warm home; and tolerating the terrible chill we South Indi
ans were not used to. It was about accepting life in all its hues with grace and openness.
I found it very difficult to accept the dark face of life when I came upon a dying horse which had collapsed due to exhaustion, with no one to care for it. The other horses trampled on it as they kept trotting on, along the trail. I felt my heart break when I saw this. There was nothing we pilgrims could do for it in the middle of nowhere but pray for it to have an easy pass ing. For many days, I could not get the scene off my mind. Accept the unacceptable,” came the voice again. “Life is fierce and raw sometimes. Accept that too! And so the next time I resist ed the thought of the dying horse and the tired plodding horses carrying their burden, I didn’t shrink away. Was there a reason for all this dark ness? I really couldn’t tell. All I could do was to send up a prayer for them. I didn’t understand why it was happening, but God must have His reason and I knew that I had to trust that He would look out for His creatures while I did whatever was within my capacity to ease their pain, even if it meant making a decision to stop using these ponies for my spiritual upliftment.
I learnt to accept that people have their quirks and patterns, and feel compassion for them and myself. I learnt to let go of expectations. I learnt to trust the higher power when I tumbled from my pitu and found myself sitting on a mound of snow in the middle of the Ke dar trail, with none of my family members in sight. I knew I would be taken care of through the toughest of times, and sure enough, I was. Each time I found myself in a tight spot, some kind hand would help me. It could be that of family members or total strangers. I realised that didn’t matter. It was the Divine looking out for me through different guises.
A strange calm began to take hold of me, and I began to accept and even enjoy the tough parts of the pilgrimage almost as much as I enjoyed the happier parts, like sitting by the banks of the Ganges in Gangotri. The mountaintop temples like Kedar and Yamunotri were tough, but there was a fierce grace in them which was balanced by the serene beauty of Badrinath and Gangotri, which were easier to access
I came back from my Chhota Char Dham, worn out but exhilarated. I had really stretched myself physically, mentally, and emotionally to my max imum. I expected to come back home and have a long rest but, instead, found myself thrust into the capacity of a caregiver for an elderly relative.
That I realised was the litmus test. It was about applying what I had learnt on my pilgrimage to real life. For, ultimately, Life is the greatest pilgrimage, and if I can accept the tough times in Life with as much grace as I could during the pilgrimage, I would be empowered. Like the Chhota Char Dham yatra, it is not about what I gain but how much of my false self I can let go of.
K.Geethanjali is a mother, writer and Senior and Secondary English teacher. She has published two books of short stories for children entitled The Enchanted Land and Who am 1? She is also an ardent seeker and meditator.