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.
