dream darshan

At dawn on Sunday, February 6, on our last morning in Benares, city of Shiva, this dream came to me:

I am walking down the ghats toward the Ganges. The steps are high and steep. Just below me sits a naked sadhu, his dreadlocks flowing onto the stairs. As I walk down, I step on one of them. The instant my foot touches the knotted hair, I realize that it is a snake!

I wake abruptly, energy surging through me. The arch of my foot is still cold from the touch of the snake's icy skin.

"I have to go down to the river now!" I tell Roxanne, who is sleeping soundly.



The dream draws us both to the river, where we finally say yes to one of the ever-present boat wallahs . We light candles and leave them floating across the river in flower-filled clay bowls.



It is light when we return. I can still feel the energy imparted by the dream.

Assi Ghat, Benares

When I asked Chris to set this blog up for me it never occurred to me that would have so little contact with my old world on this trip - but since we arrived in Delhi four days ago, we've done so much that my imagined quick stops at internet cafes here and there vanished into the everpresent crowds.

Now we are staying at the Sahi River View Guest House, right on the Ganges. Roxanne lived a few doors down while she was doing the research for her disseration a few years ago, in the hostel for foreign visitors (mostly hippies) that Jayant set up and ran in the early 70's, Ganga Math .



The experience of being in India is even richer than I expected, multi-layered and intricate, like the illuminations in medieval books. We came to Delhi first, where we stayed with Jayant for two nights. Jayant's father, who was a very wonderful man, died just a week before, and much of my time was taken in just listening. But Jayant was a wonderfully generous host, having us taken around the city in his car, taking us out to eat in Vandana Shiva's organic cafe



and to shop at FabIndia, where we bought beautiful kurtas, scarves and pants.

Early the next morning we met Christian and Martine, who had just arrived from France and took the train to Bareilly, where Ganesh Baba is buried, but the details of that trip deserve more time than I care to spend in this carrell.

My love to you all, Eve

Varanasi, Tuesday evening

At dusk, Ramrani, Roxanne and I walked along the ghats to see if Mark was home. It was a long walk and every fifteen or twenty feet along the way, men called out to us, "Boat, Madam? Very cheap! Best part of day for ride!"

Mark's house, painted red with a huge image of the Kali Yantra painted on its front, rises high above the river, up a long flight of stairs.



Unfortunately he wasn't home, so we sat down on the steps. The moment we stopped, we were approached by some little boys. Both Ramrani and Roxanne are fluent in Hindi, but the oldest of the three was eager to practice his English, as well as to exchange the American coins from his international stash. In minutes we were surrounded by boys and boat wallahs. The mad woman who lives under Mark's house came home and was shouting angrily. Goats climbed up and down the steps, brushing against us. A mother dog nursed her puppies a step or two above us, other dogs checked in on their way by. Ramrani ended up with an extra $1.75 to carry around.