BUT BUDDHA, WE HARDLY KNEW YA'

Yes, rain equals power outage.

Anyway, I arrive in McLeod Ganj, it's raining, and there are no available guest house/hotel rooms. I've gone to six places already, I'm drenched, I've just gotten off the train from hell, and I'm hauling my bags. One gentle young man notes, "That bag has become a burden to you."

"Yes," ... apparently I like to bring my burdens with me, I take time to reflect.

What's a woman to do? UPSCALE, and there's one room available. I take it. The whole experience of McLeod Ganj is surreal. My hotel room has cable, the dogs look good, and the Tibetan people are kind. Where's India?

The Dalai Lama is still giving public teachings, and I head down Temple Road, to the Temple. I'm not allowed to go in to the actual Temple where he is speaking as I have my camera with me, although I am allowed to enter through the Golden Gates. It is after this hopeful entrance that one is turned away, should one have cameras, cell phones, guns, etc.. The Temple is beautiful, tasteful, and quite modest. Dogs, everywhere. As I leave, somehow I strike up a conversation with a young man, turns out he heads "Tibetan Volunteers For Animals." I help him sell T-shirts on Temple road to raise funds for his group. My first day in McLeod, participating in a Noble Cause. His appears to be mainly an awareness campaign promoting kindness, compassion towards animals, animal rights and vegetarianism; the website is: www.semchen.org. I had a great time, with more stares from the Buddhist monks than the Westerners, and I sold three T-Shirts.

But Buddha We Hardly Knew Ya

McLeod Ganj is sometimes called "Little Tibet." The Dalai Lama lives here, The Tibetan government in exile resides here, and the refugees from Tibet come here. The stories are amazing. The stories of struggle, escape and capture by the Chinese, imprisonment, torture, with somehow a nature of hope and hard work that pervades the psychological climate here. His Holiness the Dalai Lama is referred to with the utmost respect. He has asked the Tibetan people to learn English and focus on education. They approach their studies with an earnestness and dedication that is admirable. There are many opportunities for Westerners to volunteer with the Tibetans, especially in teaching English. In one conversation I am surprised to hear how little the younger people know of the Buddhist teachings before they come here. Well, makes sense. The Chinese haven't allowed this for quite some time. I speak with a young woman who came here at 15, from a remote area where she and her family were shepherds. There she had no schooling of any kind, and no teachings of Tibetan Buddhism. I ask her if she's been going to the Dalai Lama's teachings, and she says yes, as much as she can, but this is new for her and difficult to understand. I come to realize this is common for the younger generation, and the Temple is typically filled with elderly Tibetans, and visitors, both Western and Indian.

Although the public teachings were coming to an end when I arrived, these were followed by a beautiful "Long Life" ceremony including elaborate Tantric ceremonies, prayers and offerings. Exquisite.

[I assume "Long Life' infers a happy long life ... a long life of misery ... makes one pause]



Along with monasteries, politics are prevalent. Posters, slogans, peace marches, and Olympic protests. These people are involved. A town of Tantrics and Politics; side by side.





The Tibetans know something about the power of sound, and I watch and listen to trumpets and horns stretch out over the valleys below the Temple, sending cosmic vibrations out to the universe. Lots of spitting involved, too. The dogs come to listen from the rooftops and take in the vibrations ... or are they sending them out, as well?

One of these days is the day of the Buddha's enlightenment. No, the day the Buddha gave his first teachings, no, it's a different day, but it's some kind of Tibetan Day, as the library is closed and it's a Wednesday. In a somewhat peaceful cafe on this day of enlightenment, or first teachings, or whatever important day it was, tensions break out in the early a.m., while I sit quietly over a cup of morning chai.

The owner of the cafe becomes visibly upset with a few men who quietly walked in, and are somewhat casually "in his face". "He said he was going to punch me, He said he was going to punch me," we hear repeatedly. I guess they do things differently in the Peace Cafe; one peacefully enters and announces their intentions of violence. Very strange. We hear words of "Kashmiri",
"No, Hindi ... Kashmiri?? Hindi!"
Kashmiri got the most votes. Tempers flare and broomsticks become weapons. Things really escalate. The western guests sit quietly and we pretend as best we can that we are not there.

OM-TARA-TU-TARA-TO-RE-SO-HA

The recitation of the mantra of Green Tara protects us. Wish I'd thought of it while I sat there. Apparently, ethnic conflicts and dramas exist in Little Tibet. This is not the only incident I encounter that crosses ethnic tensions.

They say the Buddha summarized 84,000 defilements ... the cure for which is the eightfold path,

through the threefold path, ... or more ... to cure greed, desires, lust, ... or more, following the Four Noble truths, that have five conditions, and at least a Triple Jewel, and a Wheel of Life and six paths of re-birth .....

But Buddha, there are those of us that hardly knew ya. How about the Direct Path? I'm American, and impatient.

DOGS EVERYWHERE!

As I've mentioned, there are the Temple dogs, (unofficial), they roam within the gates of the Temple. There are the street dogs of Temple Road, there are the street dogs of Jogibara Road, there are the street dogs of Bhagsu Road ... the Bus Stand square dogs, the Dharamkot Road dogs, you get the picture. They are everywhere, and territory is territory. It's claimed. The Temple dogs, surprisingly, seem the most territorial. Perhaps it's the one ring leader who sets the tone, but he's tough. A handsome black and tan long-coat who has an identical female counterpart, but she's sweet, and sits on some stairs near the entrance gate that lead to some offices and residences. She doesn't move much, just sits there and checks out what food is being passed by her as the monks bring in dinner. Her brother the "Emperor" likes to spring out of nowhere when canine intruders cross the line, with his hair raised and teeth barred; he means business. Perhaps this guy could use a little more time in meditation. One sad victim of the "Emperor's" wrath is a mottled colored, large gangly pup who always manages to look a mess. He's got mange, his legs and tail are too long, and he seems to always sprout fresh wounds, most likely from "Emperor." One whiff of Emperor in the air, and this pup goes running, tail tucked and head down. (OM TARA TU TARA ---) "Motley" wants no trouble.

I've tried to give him mange medication and antibiotics, and he won't touch it, no matter how well I think I've hidden it in his food. Funny thing is, he leaps up at the food I've got for him with complete enthusiasm, as though he's really hungry. Then, once he sees it's not to his liking, he spits it out, or just turns his nose up at it. These dogs are well fed. Anyway, he doesn't hold it against me that I don't bring him food that he likes, he greets me with great enthusiasm each time we meet, as though I've brought him food fit for a King. He's very dear, and just a big enthusiastic puppy. I'll miss him.
... I did eventually get him some mange meds and antibiotics before I left.

THE "EMPEROR"

"MOTLEY"


What's most surprising with all these street dogs is, just how good they look, and how well tolerated they are by the Tibetans.

Not all perfect, of course, but pretty good, and many are kept as pets ... and "designer dogs" have come to India, just like in the west.

I notice one handsome gent, who turns to give me his backside just as I click the camera, and what do I see? Or rather what do I not see? Testicles. This guy is neutered; I'm impressed. I think this must be some kind of anomaly, the one neutered male in all of Northern India! But no, I keep looking, trying to make my lowered sight line not too obvious, and what do I find, but many, altered males! The locals that I speak to don't seem to know too much about that, but they do know of people who feed them. One such person is a Tibetan nun who has been feeding a bunch for the last thirty years. She's known to really love dogs, and I find that a movie has been made about her life and love for the dogs by a former resident of TCV, Tibetan Children's Village. I determine I'd like to meet her ... it will just be one more day in McLeod even though I had planned to leave a few days earlier. So, I walk around, somehow I get the name of a street and it's not too far from where I'm staying. I find the spot, and although she's not there, there sure are a lot of dogs around. The dogs that I do see look good, and again, the males look neutered.
The next day, I'm walking about in the morning on another side of town, and I come across an elderly woman, late seventies maybe early eighties, who is very enthusiastically hugging and squeezing street dogs. One black lab in particular, so much so that he yelps in pain. I've met the nun. Yes, she loves her dogs. Perhaps a little too much, one can't help notice. I recall times of childhood when a friend of Grandma's would come to visit and squeeze us too hard, and my brother and I would run when we saw her coming.

Late seventies, early eighties, ... started thirty years ago ... does history repeat itself? I shudder, just a little, and move on.

"ESPRESSA"

I've developed a favorite .... This bright beauty hangs at the "MoonPeak Espresso" cafe and gallery. The best coffee in town. This dog is delightful, with impeccable manners. She's a medium size with pretty golden brown eyes, and a lovely disposition. She's black and tan, medium coat, and I can't help but think, perfect city-size. Not too big, and not too small, a great apartment size dog. She's not hungry, someone is feeding her, she just really likes to be with people. Of course, people at the cafe will give her bits of food, but she does not beg for food, she is not obnoxious about that in any way, she really likes to just be by some one's side. She wants companionship. I can't help but think of the notion of relationship, and in seeking the company of others we look for unity, for connection. Those who believe that animals only come to us as their source for food, need look no further than this beauty and her gentle nature and the peace she feels in connection. What a waste, that this dog will be forever a street dog, I can't help but think. She asks nothing of me, or of anyone else at the cafe, only that she be allowed to quietly sit in connection. This is a gentle beauty.
Can I pull one more miracle out of the bag of "animal adoption miracles" and find this dog the home she deserves? I don't see how; this is new territory for me, and McLeod Ganj is only a brief stop on my journey. I do determine to have her spayed, inoculated, and hope to perhaps find a somewhat permanent caretaker. Still, what a waste, I can't help but judge. This is what people are looking for when they want a "pet" dog. This is an absolutely perfect companion dog.; I should know, I've done animal adoptions for over 16 years.

Well, with a goal but not a plan, I go about my usual business. I feed her; again, she's not even always hungry, just happy to be with someone, and sometimes we play. She follows me along Temple Road, for only that part of which is her turf, and when I go too far, she retreats to the safety of her spot at Moonpeak Cafe, or the terrace at lookout point. On one of my morning walks with her, I stop in the Pharmacy on this route. She patiently waits outside. I put in my order, and the pharmacist asks me what this is for. For the dogs, I reply. Your dog? No, street dogs, for the mange and parasites. "Uh huh". He makes a phone call while he completes my order. "Someone wants to meet you." I nod, and look around to see who he's talking to ... "me?" "Yes, he's seen you playing with the dogs." "Well, ..." I try to explain I don't play with the dogs, I try to feed and medicate them ... but before I've finished my sentence some one's there to meet me.
Things move fast sometimes in India, and before I know it I'm at the Dalai Lama's residence meeting his dogs. He's out of town, and I also meet his sister's dogs, at her residence, she's also out of town, but I have some chai there. Turns out I've met two very amazing people who are taking care not only of the Dalai Lamas dogs, but the street dogs of McLeod Ganj. In a very short time they have started a sterilization and inoculation program that has made a very visible difference.
I mention my delightful dog "Espressa" and it turns out they know her well. She had been hit by a car and was with them in recovery for a full three weeks. She is fully recovered and now sterilized, but I can't help but fear for her well being. Strange, it is through attachments that we may take actions of compassion, love and care. Yet it is also attachment that can bring us misery, suffering and illusion... but in the mean time ...we carry on.

HILL STATION OR BUST

The heat had become too oppressive. Although I knew it was time for monsoon, it has been mild so far here, and offering little relief from the heat. Oppressive heat and humidity are more than I am physically up for. So, I do what any able resident does this time of year, I head for the hills. The "Hill Stations" offer a somewhat cooler climate and are a common destination for travellers and Indians at this time of year. Even a few days respite feels essential. I'm climbing cliffs, feeding dogs, and feeling dizzy. Plus, I enlisted the aid of a few of the sadhus to continue feeding the dogs, especially the puppies. We'll see how well that works. A few obviously care for them, and already do what they can.

Reports of Dharamsala-McLeod Ganj from fellow travelers are encouraging, and the Dalai Lama may still be there giving public teachings. Plan, done. Actualizing, not so simple. I hear of local buses from Dehra Dun to Dharamsala, totalling about 17 hours of bus rides in oppressive heat on bumpy roads and hard seats; not so appealing. So, I go to a travel agent who tells me there is a train from Rishikesh close to Dharamsala, with a short, convenient bus ride from the train station, with buses waiting at the station. Sounds great.

I arrive at the Rishikesh train station in plenty of time, and ask which platform. Why, the furthest one, of course. I haul my bags up a high flight of stairs to a bridge crossing the train tracks ... (just how high did they think these trains would be I can't help wonder as I keep climbing). I check for my car number and, it's next to the last, all the way down the platform, of course.

I've taken Indian trains before and had quite enjoyable rides. But this one, ... my oh my. The car reeked of urine, among other scents, further enhanced by the heat and humidity. The fan didn't work, and there we were. Me, the only westerner, and one of two women on this car. Finally we take off, close to on time, inching along the tracks, and in two hours we arrive in Haridwar. As Haridwar is about 20 minutes by auto, this gives you an idea of the pace. Lovely sights, including a goat that may have tried his escape along the tracks, and a rescue/ reclamation team in earnest efforts to get him off the tracks. He was happy grazing; he was fine.

At Haridwar, more men board the train. These guys like to stare. It was a long ride, I'm in a sleeper car, with lots of local stops. It only got worse, with one stop for colorfully dressed prostitutes as it soon became obvious, to board for about 10 minutes, a bathroom pit stop for one of my fellow travellers who couldn't make it to the toilet so the floor worked just fine for him, (it did smell like urine, anyway - perhaps in the middle of the night in a dark car he was confused), and an announcement from the conductor that my stop would be at 2:30 a.m., in the middle of nowhere, as it turned out. Huh? Where's my "right by the bus stop, lots of people, buses straight to McLeod Ganj" the travel agent promised me? After a rickshaw ride through dark alleys and bumpy dirt roads the rickshaw driver took me to ... another train station, even smaller than the first. The dark sky was now becoming illuminated by a lightning show. Even the dogs went into hiding. "Bus stop, bus stop" I repeated. "Bus stop, bus stop" he replied. The gentleman that he was, he took my bags out of the rickshaw even though I kept trying to keep them in, and he took off... I looked around, and well, technically, there was one bus, and the guy near it looked Tibetan. My spirits raised -- I must be close!

Undaunted I wheeled my bag over and asked "McLeod Ganj?" "NO! No McLeod!" Ah.
Well, long story short, I eventually made it to Mcleod. The Tibetans are a lovely people, and the dogs here look great compared to Rishikesh. More later, I sense a power outage coming ... as it's started raining. One learns to sense these things...

BY THE RIVER

Along one part of the river Ganga between Ram Jhula and Laxman Jhula there is an older dirt path, and below the Ganga and some beach area. Many of the Sadhus stay near this path.

One evening while walking along here to feed the dogs, some beautiful prayer music was coming out of some makeshift loud- speakers at the beach. Something was in the air, people had gathered, the atmosphere was charged, and even the sadhus were coming to listen. I was invited to sit on one of the rocks, and I noticed even the dogs and the cows were lying down, ready for something.

A small, frail looking man was helped down the path until he took his seat by the river. People lined up to pay their respects and receive his blessings, and then he began. Although the language was Hindi, and I couldn't understand a word, the message was loud and clear. This was a holy man, Swami Hamsa-ananda-ji [sic]. He was over a hundred years old, highly revered, and he gives satsang on the beach at night. Beautiful, moving, and sacred.

I meet two women who have traveled all the way from from Calcutta to receive darshan from this Saint.

The sadhus are starting to notice that I come regularly to feed the dogs. This has amused some, and some have chosen to engage in conversation with me. A few have suggested I go on pilgrimage to Gangotri, the source of the Ganga. Undertaking the Chardham (the four sacred spots) Gangotri, Yamunotri, Badrinath, and Kedarnath, are the most sacred of all pilgrimages in the Hindu traditions. Undertaking a journey to these places will not just wash away one's karma, but will ensure release from the cycle of birth and death. It is said that heaven and earth converge in these spots. Gangotri has called to me for some time, but this is not the right time for me to go.

Of Kedarnath it is said "the unholy become holy, and the holy, holier." Kedar is also another name for Shiva, the preserver and the destroyer. It lies close to Rishikesh in a valley ringed by lofty snow-capped peaks. The views are breathtaking, and the climb to the shrine is steep. One is meant to walk the path, it is steep and long. But for those who can't, ponies and mules are made to carry the heavy, and physically unfit. The mules wobble, struggle, and are covered with sores, beaten with sticks to keep them going up the pilgrimage road carrying the holy aspirants in their journey for release and redemption.

FEEDING BEGINS

Although I expected to give myself time to settle in, maybe see some of the sights I missed previously, it was impossible not to start feeding the dogs along my path. As I mentioned, they did not look so good, and there was a major mange outbreak. The hair will grow back on its own, and most cases will clear up, but the itching and the dogs scratching the itch can lead to quick infections and more misery. So, a simple remedy of appropriate medications works. The actual feeding itself can be tricky. The street cows and the bulls are hungry as well, and very interested in anyone who looks as though they may be carrying food, and even more interested in someone who appears as though they are dispensing food ... and believe me, they are watching! It became a game of find the dogs, look out for hungry bulls, feed fast, don't fall off a cliff, and move on quickly. The puppies were the ones who were having the most difficult time surviving. They need their protein, and Rishikesh is a vegetarian city, so milk, or curd had to be found for the pups. It's dispensed in plastic bags, tied with a rubber band. So, I roamed around looking for the nearest milk stalls, and would have to make a mixture on the road of the milk and bread, rice, oatmeal, etc.

Where to pour the milk?? There's a major problem of excess plastic water bottles in India, the empties are everywhere. Well, cut the bottoms and they become great containers for milk, curd (liquid yogurt), and food.

RISHIKESH REDUX

Late June, 2007, I placed myself back in Rishikesh. Getting here was surprisingly easy; the destination was, well, the surprise. I had been here just two months earlier, fell in love with the city, the people, and India. A series of experiences within the near past which had been profoundly personal all led me to India. It was a call I could not ignore, at least not without always questioning why I chose not to answer it. I tried to go several times, and always something blocked the journey. Finally, out of frustration and a sense of resignation, I pretty much just went with less than one weeks planning ... I went with no expectations, but with a goal of at least having physically gone there. I fell in love with India. The craziness, the combustibility, the spirituality, the noise, the peace, and that presence. The contrasts, the dualities were there, but not in my line of vision. I was in love, and wanted to come right back.


So, I did, and here I am ...



Within less than two months time, my beloved India had transformed herself, or at least, was showing another side to me. This India was unbearably hot, crowded and dirty. Plus, it was Indian tourist season! This meant crowds, and traffic jams in a city which normally held few cars other than auto rickshaws, and no roads for this kind of volume. Intense, hot, few westerners, and closed ashrams. Surprise.



The two months gone had not been kind to the animals. Food was scarce, whether it was because the westerners were gone, who would provide plenty of left-overs for the streets, and thus the animals, or whether the climate just made it a time of less food availability. Anyway, dogs that had looked relatively well fed now looked thin, and were far more territorial with their staked claims for available food. The pups that had been born were having a hard time competing for food with the older, stronger, established dogs. I can't help but wonder at the shock of these youngsters the first few times they were chased off in their attempts to find food. The older dogs when hungry themselves, are not kind to young, potential competitors. The pups that were there were solo, one survivor from a litter, now on their own. They try to join a pack, with usually little chance for success.

The cows too, looked thin. There had been an explosion of births since I was gone, and the majority seem to be males. This is not good news, as they become aggressive as they age and try to position for dominance, mating, and territorial rights. They too roam the streets in search of food. Rishikesh has two beautiful bridges crossing the Ganga; Ram Juhla, and Laxman Juhla. I had my first encounter with an angry young bull while crossing Laxman Juhla. I had seen him from day one, crossing the bridge back and forth, back and forth, seeking food on either side of the bridge ... food being scraps that have fallen from bags, garbage, or tiny food pellets that the tourists toss to the monkeys who stay at the bridge. Rarely do the cows cross the bridge; it's difficult to maneuver with people, motorbikes, and carts vying for limited space. This young brown bulls' hunger was such that he would just frantically search for food all day long, back and forth, back and forth. He was frustrated. I crossed the bridge one morning with my food for the dogs well hidden, I had thought. Well, he figured out that I had food and when straight at me, butting me up against the bridge ... I emptied the food bag and tossed it as far and as quickly I could. He went for the food. This one will be trouble when he's grown!

DIVINE DOWNLOAD?

My earlier trip to Rishikesh brought me delight, awe, and wonder. I came with no expectations, but hoped to regroup, and recharge, after some time of stress and depletion. As I said, I came with no expectations .... only hopes to nurture myself, and no intention of looking at animals. My last day (my first last day) in Rishikesh had me at a final pit stop relaxing over the Ganga with a lemon soda, unhappily resigned to going back on my scheduled return flight. I had taken to feeding and befriending, on a small scale, a few of the stray dogs. What I can only describe in short terms, was a download of information on how to do this on a more formal, larger scale, which would benefit the animals of the streets, and ultimately the local people as well. A program of feeding and befriending the strays, managing health and parasite issues, sterilization, and inoculations against rabies, with eventually employing locals as caretakers.

Divine Download, or a lemon soda that packed some punch?

Short version, Here I am. The support of friends, and my spiritual community that helped me get here, has truly been a blessing. Thank you.

CONTRAST

Back to today. This time in Rishikesh is a lesson in the contrasts of India. The Ganga, so clear and cleansing earlier, was now brown and strong with the glaciers melting, the waters quickly rising, and the mud from the hills pouring in. Ma Ganga claimed two human lives my first week back. The first was a young man. At the cafe we collectively heard he had died the day before, and his mother was now at the Ganga adding her tears to the river. One week later, a young Dutch woman was swallowed by the current. She made the local paper, but I had no translator. Their deaths moved me deeply. Some say the Ganga chooses those that she claims. It is a ritual to dip in the Ganga, a holy dip it is considered, and a cleansing of Karma and sins. What happens when one is swept away from an act of reverence and bliss to be struggling and gasping for air as one's lungs fill with water and your body contorts with the current? I said a silent prayer.

FOUND DOG

A dog I had not previously seen in Rishikesh showed up at the foot of the bridge, again, my last day in Rishikesh. He was a handsome, black and brown dog with a medium length coat and a distinguished face. He had a confident gate and looked straight up at me. He looked good, until he turned and I saw the new gash on his back that was huge, open, and wide with the folds of the skin completely exposed. A knot in my stomach and a belief that this dog would soon be dead made me look away. It was a wound too large for me to even consider cleaning; this would have gotten stitches and antibiotics in the States, and a "hope for the best." It was my only time seeing this dog and I could only look away.

My first day back to Rishikesh in June, I saw what I thought impossible. This same dog crossed the bridge, made his way to the same cafe and came and said hello. He was fine. He now has a permanent rise of fur along his back where the skin sewed itself back together, looking like a permanent "Mohawk" hair-do. He's not a regular on this side of the bridge, and I've only seen him once since, but he gave me great relief and surprise to come and show me he was alright.

MISSING

We all have our favorites, and mine was an undeniably unattractive, hairless, mange ridden plain black dog. She was truly hairless when I first saw her. At first I hoped she was some bizarre mutation/cross of a hairless Chinese Crested that resulted in a large plain dog with no hair and just a funny shade of almost black skin. An exotic creature who although lowly born to the streets would rise to glory with her unique genes. Could a new star have been born? Nope, it was just the worst case of mange I'd ever seen. This dog was hairless, and you couldn't even say she had a pretty face. What she did have was the "Party Girl" gene and all the charm that goes along with it. This dog was a joy to watch as she befriended every dog that crossed her path. She would immediately initiate play with such good nature, that I had to laugh and could only call her "Party Girl." Her approach on unsuspecting dogs as they passed her was to jump with joy in the air, in an exaggerated "play- bow" and keep this up until they would stop and engage in an unplanned wrestling match. She could usually be seen wrestling on the road by the "Ganga View" restaurant with great joy and abandon. She had a fondness for butter cookies, and would lead me to the nearest butter cookie vendor knowing I would always buy her a fresh batch. One hot day I thought I could vary her special treat and I bought her an ice-cream cone. She wanted none of it; not before the now expected Butter Cookies, made fresh. I did have some cause for alarm when I saw her that day, she was sporting some fresh puncture wounds on her back end. This surprised me, as she was such a friendly, non-threatening dog. But a fresh dog bite to the hind-quarters she did have, and the flies were already biting at the wounds. This could be fatal to a dog of the streets. I cleaned the wounds as best I could, but I was leaving the next day.

I haven't seen her since my return. I've been here long enough that had she gone to some safe spot to have a litter of pups, she would have come out by now to her regular grounds, by the center square butter cookie man. I keep hope open to seeing her, but it seems unlikely.

India, a land of contrast. The one that should not have survived, did. The one that was a delightful, happy, non-threatening dog, is gone.