I got up early and caught a rickshaw and then a bus with Coco, Sara, Catherine, Liz, and one of my host sisters, Aastha, to a small town about 100km from Jaipur. The bus ride itself was quite the experience because it was crowded, not air-conditioned, and quite bumpy. With my knees jammed into the seat in front of me, I stared out the window for the entire hour and a half, watching as city became countryside when we went through a tunnel cutting into a mountain. My eyes picked out of the green fields women working and wearing orange scarves. When we got off the bus, I breathed in the cleanest air I'd breathed in almost a month, which isn't saying much really. A nearby shopkeeper gave us directions to the Mehandipur Balaji Mandir, the exorcism temple dedicated to Hanuman which was our intended destination, and we began the 3-4km walk. It was my first time out of Jaipur, and I was a little surprised at how much more attention we attracted in this rural area than we do in the city, which is saying a lot because a group of foreign women turn a lot of heads even in the big city.
After getting some water and exploring the main street of the city, we got in line to enter the temple, and I couldn't resist comparing it to waiting in line at Carowinds. I was covered in sweat as we packed into a lane divided by metal fencing and the overhead fans oscillated so quickly they threatened to spin out of control. I let my hand wander along the pieces of thread and padlocks people waiting in line before me had attached to the fence. Within the first fifteen minutes, the atmosphere of the line shifted from calm and casual to aggressive and surging. I lost touch with the fence, and found myself surrounded by people--a writer's dream come true! There was so much to see and overhear. I noticed for the first time how much "visual" diversity there is here among the people. Chanting broke out frequently ("जय बालाजी!") and the two hours that we spent in line were almost more eventful than our actual experience in the temple. It was so intriguing to be part of the crowd, although as a distinctly non-Indian, I will never be truly part of the crowd it seems. At one point, one of the women in my group got overheated and almost passed out, swaying slightly as she tried to maintain her ground in the river of people. We got her cooled down and seated for a bit, but people around us frantically told us to go ahead into the temple, thinking that she was possibly possessed. It was an exorcism temple after all.
Inside, the temple was smokey and fairly dark. Now, it all feels like a blur--the unexpected hallways, the dust on my feet, the dizziness I felt because of the smoke filling the space around my brain, the murti that was (to my surprise) painted with silver and yellow wiggling stripes, the coconuts brought as puja piled up behind the fences that contained the visitors, people stooping to touch their foreheads to the ground along the way. The crowd ushered us through a hallway and back outside where we climbed some stairs to enter a large room. Inside the large room, a couple exorcisms were taking place, and I was overwhelmingly curious about the women who were screaming and gently tapping their heads against the floor, supposedly spirit possessed. People sat on the floor around them either watching or participating. I wish I knew more, could have lingered in each moment for longer...but suddenly I was back in the sun waiting for the rest of my group. As I waited, I watched goats eat rice and a little girl carefully imitate her mother's kneeling outside the large room. I don't possess the language to accurately talk about all that I experienced, but it was definitely thought-provoking and memorable.
After the mandir, we got some rocking food from a street vendor with a sweet face and a little girl helping her. For what felt like the hundreth time that day, we drew a crowd. Other street vendors teased the woman who was making our food, saying how it must be her lucky day and asking if she was running a five-star hotel now. It's so interesting to be a foreigner here but also be able to understand a lot of what people say about and around me.
Reenergized and overly full, we got a rickshaw. The rickshawala took us about 10m and told us that we had reached the bus stop. Nope. We hadn't. It became a rather vicious argument, yet again drawing the crowds. But we walked away and found a better, more respectable rickshawala to take us to the actual bus stop. From there, we got a bus and had a peaceful ride home. I couldn't tell if it was the overwhelming amount of newness in my experience or the overbearing sun that made me sweat through so many layers of clothes, but I was more exhausted than I've been in a long, long time when I finally made it back to my room. I was also dirt-encrusted. We weren't supposed to bring our shoes back but leave them at the temple. Probably needless to say, we still wore our shoes home. And so, as my teacher explained to me, we brought back twelve spirits. One shoe, one spirit. Ek joot, ek bhoot.
Leave your shoes on the stairs
To enter into the auspicious air.
My feet bare find flowers crushed in the dust.
The locks left on the fence now sealed forever by rust
Ward off the spirits and entice my wondering fingers.
Chants push the crowds forward, closer, and singers
Catch nasally melodies with their smokey voices. I fend
Off nasty men while the surging devotees send
Puja sweets to the image, wave smoke over their heads.
I feel connected to the screaming women by the threads
Tied onto the gates and the piles of rice dumped in the streets
For the goats while children nearby beg for something to eat.
On the stairs, leave your shoes
Or bring the spirits back with you.
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