Hey, Krishna

Krishna is at it again; this guy doesn't know when to stop. He invites himself in to any and all gatherings that interest him. I'm walking down the hill to the ashram this morning, and I have to walk through the market square. Off in a corner, having some sort of serious pow-wow are about seven sadhus, deep in conversation. The tone is grave, with deep engagement. They are in a circle, some seated on a bench and few chairs, some standing. A gathering of orange and white, heads nodding, and who's there amongst them, head going back and forth attentively following the conversation? Why, Krishna, of course. His orange and white coloring so closely matches the colors of the sadhus that it takes a moment to take note that that's a dog standing amongst them. Yup, there he is, engaged, holding his own, and completely a part of the discourse. His backside faces the square, and all onlookers.

I make it down to the ashram without his seeing me. Relieved, I take my seat on the veranda for morning meditation. I'm glad he doesn't see me as he would follow, take a spot next to me, and then severely get his butt kicked when he's spotted by a certain ashram regular we'll just call "Him." I breath a sigh of relief when I get there, as no "Him" in sight, and it's only a matter of time before the morning Sadhu/Krishna meeting breaks up and Krishna will pick up my sent. Sure enough, a few peaceful minutes go by and in saunters Krishna. He sees me, and yes, there's a smile on his face, a jump for joy and he comes running over; never mind how many crossed legs and laps he's got to leap over! Happy day; he hasn't seen me for at least twelve hours, must be time to celebrate. I try to tell him to cool it, he pretends he doesn't understand. Keep in mind this is a very intelligent dog. "Playing dumb" is not beneath him.

Although "Him" is nowhere to be found, a new meditation-hanger-on spots Krishna and summarily begins to bash him. I have to intervene.
"He's not allowed here."
"Says who?"
"Him."
Before a few choice words can leave my mouth, none other than Maharajhi himself steps out of his room. As he is frail and elderly, this is extremely rare. No time for conversations or conversions, we all respectfully pranam and Krishna lays low. More amazing as this is not a direct walk to the hall, and a bit of time transpires. It's raining, and Maharaji's escort thinks it would be a good idea to get something to cover his head. He leaves Maharaji standing alone at the doorway while he runs back inside, and comes back with a towel for his head. I thought he was going for a pair of shoes, as Maharaji is in his stocking feet. The caretaker looks down, but they decide to proceed. I've never seen a living saint tiptoe through water puddles to the next building. You really would have thought shoes might have been a good idea. Well, who knows? Maharajhi continues on to the bhajan hall, and we follow. Ladies sit on the right and gentlemen on the left. Maharahji not only stops to visit, but sits down and joins the singing. This is really extraordinary, and a great honor to be in such company. I take my seat ... and so does Krishna. He literally walks in with me and makes it to the floor before I do. I can't help but think, you're making me look bad, and I do have some thoughts of asking for a bit of space on occasion for the animal welfare program I am starting ....
"Shove off ... !" Won't budge. The best I can do is take a few steps back and sit outside the room. He follows. It's a wide open space, so it's almost like I'm right there; but still, I'm outside. Thanks, Krishna. Who decides to join us, but "Boon," the black and white dog, who doesn't want to be left out of this auspicious occasion.
There I am sitting on the floor outside the hall on this rare occasion with two dogs next to/on top of me. "What next?" I can't help but think, not really thinking there would be a "next."
Well, Krishna decides this would be a good time to dry himself off from the morning drizzle, using my back. There he is toweling himself off on the back of my shirt, with vigor and gusto. "Don't hold back Krishna", and "why did I wear white today" I can't but help thinking, still trying to pretend I fit in with the crowd. Looked like so much fun, that Boonie decides it must be playtime ... I try my best to "shush" them and they decide to really give me their all. Bhajans are sacred chants, words put to music, often very spirited, sometimes hypnotic.
The dogs decide to wrestle and vocalize next to/on top of me ... I stare ahead, innocently. Heads turn, look at me, and all I can do is lower my head and slink away, hoping to not be associated as an instigator in this most "un-reverential" behavior. Shame.
Will have to hold off on asking for that ashram favor. Still. I can only admire this dog's tenacity, his spirit, and his happy confidence in that wherever he is, he belongs, and now is now and now is the time to time to enjoy life. Never mind that he will always get bashed, or kicked out of the same places all the time. Never mind that he's got old scars from old habits. He approaches life with joy and an unquestioning sense of belonging. A lesson we can all learn from and appreciate, and nod our heads to.

Hari Om, Krishna.

CHOICE?

Is choice an illusion? How much choice do we really have?

One of the pups I was worried about was the little brindled dog that hung around the taxi stand. He was young, a typical puppy, with puppy manners, and not accepted by the existing dog pack of that area. Shortly before I left for McLeod Ganj I saw a sadhu feeding a group of dogs in the area; I approached him, and he didn't want too much to do with me, until he realized I was appreciative of his treatment of the dogs. The little dog saw me and approached. I asked the sadhu to watch over him, and feed him while I was gone; he understood and I felt as confident as I could that the pup would have someone looking out for him. I also asked one of the westerners who walked down that path to keep an eye out for him. When I came back, I was happily surprised to see him looking well, and now a member of the pack. He was happy to see me, and I him.
One sad piece of news I did get, was that another pup, in the same area had been hit by a car, and died along the side of the road. He looked like "my" pup, and concern was that it was him. It wasn't, but a still smaller version I had never seen. Is it a trade-off? Had only one of those two had been destined to survive? Did it matter which of the two? Had I found the other pup first and started feeding him, would he have been the survivor? If he had been the focus of attention, would he have been the survivor? Is there some kind of balance that needs to be kept that's already pre-determined? I don't know. Did I have any choice in meeting the one dog and not the other? In the grand scheme of things, is it even important? But to that one dog, or individual, does it matter?

Have we all signed on to these particular roles of our lives, with the script already done, and we keep repeating scenes, until we "get it right." A kind of spiritual cinema, where we are the players. Some events seem too familiar, already acted out and now being revisited. Far too long and detailed for a simple deja vu. Revisited for what? Getting the part right, trying different endings? Who knows. Coincidences that are beyond imagination; this is what India has been offering me. Do I really just sit back and let it unfold?


I met another pup on the walk to Ram Juhla today, on my evening round of feeding a group of dogs by the Sivananda ashram. It's my first time seeing him, and maybe my last. This one is just too young to be on his own. He's no more than 10 weeks old, a shepherd mix, black and tan with half folded ears. His distinctive markings are a set of brindled stripes that curve along each side of his nose. His face is filled with a sweet determination and innocence as he walks along the road, coming out of one of the hidden trails on the hill-side. His tail half-curls, not quite in a complete cork-screw. I feed him, of course, and he eats it up. He looks to see if he'll get more, and as it's enough for one meal, I continue walking. Not surprisingly, he follows behind, and I expect he will stay behind, until he asks for more food, or turns off somewhere. But no, he walks along and then ahead of me, seemingly with purpose. Although tiny, this guy struts his stuff with his broad chest and strong gait. He walks like a "Champ."
I make it to the outer gates of Sivananda where one of the regulars can be found, lately in deep sleep, as he has not felt very well. He's suffering from mange, open wounds from flea-bite allergies, and internal parasites, at the least. He's miserable with his open sores and the fleas and flies that attack his skin. I've been treating him and feeding him, and he's improving. Today's been the first day that he recognized my step, and he sat up to greet me. In the first few days I've found him he's been so miserable, I've had to stir him from his rest, so I could feed and medicate him. One day when he would not get up and all I saw was a tightly curled body, I thought he might be dead. He seemed resigned to die, and was not very responsive. Today was a good sign, and a great improvement. It's these small victories that keep one going, hopeful.







I feed him, and the puppy "Champ" politely asks for more food. I give him a bit more, and both dogs eat side by side, no aggression or food possessiveness on either side. It would be nice if these two could buddy up, I can't help but think. The other dogs at the Sivananda gate pick on the white dog. But I can't stay too long, and I can't promise these dogs an attachment I can never fulfill, or promise of a future that I can't give them. Best I can do for now is feed, medicate them, and ask for a prayer for divine grace and comfort to look over them. Besides, I have other dogs to feed further down the road, and in the market.

I don't know if I'll ever see Champ again. He's too young and too little to be on his own. If none of the sadhus along the road takes a liking to him and gives him help and companionship, this dog won't have a chance. I'll only have the memory of this determined little dog walking along the road to Ram Juhla, between the hills, with the sun setting. The path shines golden this particular time of day, and Champ walks along, innocently alone, to meet his destiny. Confident and dazzling, unaware of what hardships lie ahead for him. Maybe that's all any of us get. Moments of glory, innocent of what may lie ahead. Choice; where is it for this little dog?

The next three days saw heavy downpours of rain, not at all good for such a tiny pup, out on his own; but for one golden moment, he was dazzling.

KRISHNA AND I ARE ONE

I miss India, and although weather reports are still bad, I leave McLeod for Rishikesh. It makes no sense, but it's easier for me to take the bus to Delhi, and then take an overnight train, than to go more directly to Rishikesh ... same amount of time, but more comfort to go further; go figure, it's India.

The platform at the Old Delhi Railway station is way more crowded than usual. I've taken this train before, and it was never like this. Men are squatting at the platforms edge, waiting for something, and the people keep coming. The platform is becoming packed, the air is becoming more frantic, and I'm getting pushed around. I'm also seeing these large makeshift tinseled ornamental structures being carried by lots of men. The trains pulls in, and people go nuts. The train has bunches of these assemblages hanging from the outside of the train. People are frantically shoving around and yelling to get on the train. What's the hurry, I wonder, we'll all get our seats. Anyway, after some one's trying to grab my backpack off my back, I shove back and hop on board. That burden of a bag I haul around has powerful wheels, and I don't care who's feet I roll over at this point. I've got a good seat on an overnight sleeper, so good that I have to ask a travel mate in my compartment if this is Car A1 ... He glares at me, "Yes, it is." We take an instant dislike to one another. Funny how that happens.

Well ... so much to learn and so little time. All those people did not have seats. This explains the frenzy at the station. They were fighting for standing space, and roof space. At one station the train was stopped for over two hours as police tried to get people off the roofs of the train cars. Sticks flying, head-bashing, and people climbing back on the train tops as quickly as they were thrown off ... so I was told, by my disagreeable compartment mate. I slept through it. It really was a good sleeper/seat. "Hah, I missed all that? I slept right through it." "Yes, you did," Did I hear a hiss? Must need his eight hours.

We get to Haridwar, where I get off for Rishikesh, as does my disagreeable train mate, and almost everyone else. It's BAM BAM BOLBAM; a local Shiva festival. Tinsel, men in orange, more men in orange, and they all yell BAM BAM BOLBAM.

Madness and masses; not enough buses, rickshaws are full, how to get out and on to Rishikesh? My disagreeable train mate asks if I want to share a taxi ... Uh, no. Nothing to do but join the party. BAM BAM BOLBAM! By the time I leave Haridwar, it's late, I've taken way more photos than I wanted, and I'm still not sure what the fuss is all about. It's lots of young men doing some kind of Shiva pilgrimage, but it has more the look of a frat party, in orange, by the river. Men who don't really swim dive off bridges and priests pray. I'm the only western woman I see, and they see me, too. They ask me to take their photos once they've spotted the camera, and it would be rude to say no ... so, snap, snap.

In my car on the way to Rishikesh, I repeat BAM BAM BOLBAM; uproarious laughter in the car. "Madam, you made a good joke." I thought I was merely repeating the slogan. BAM BAM BOLBAM, I repeat; more laughter and heads turning. Like a child with a new skill, I try once more. BAM BAM BOLBAM! Laughter, this time a little forced. I know when to stop.

Turns out this is the Shiva festival I was hoping to avoid by leaving Rishikesh for McLeod Ganj. Rishi was already crazy with people and heat, and I was told it would get worse with the Shiva festival. I was told it begins the 15th and ends after a week or so. When I asked what it was about, the holy man cryptically replied "If one is meant to be there, one will be there." I tried to miss it, but there I was, and here I am. BAM BAM BOLBAM (pronounced more like bomb-bomb, but with a little of the Flintstone's Bam-Bam).

Also going on that night in Rishikesh, and the next day, is Guru Purnima. Party time in Rishikesh. This party honors one's Guru, and their Guru, and their Guru's guru ... Exhausted, I skip the night's festivities and rest up for the "Bandera" of the next day. Food, singing, chanting, more food, Guru speak, and more food. The dogs and the cows love Bandera! Lot's of leftover food, if only they can get through the Temple Gates. This is Rishikesh, not McLeod.
The ashram I go to in the morning has two official ashram dogs "Boon", and "Holy", so named by the westerners who go there. Boon is for "Spiritual Boon" as she likes to spend a lot of time on a meditation veranda by the head maharahji. She's very sweet. "Holy", is more like "Holy Terror" if you ask me, but no one does.







There are three unofficial ashram bulls who come in during breakfast and lunch, and they have to time it just right so the gatekeeper doesn't shoo them away before the end of the meals, when all the left-overs are dumped in one corner for them.
The breakfast/lunch bells rings, and the bulls line up and face, but do not pass through the gate. They wait until the gatekeeper has stared them down, and then turns and leaves for his meal. Then, they walk right through. It's a ritual they go through every day, two times a day.

Also unofficial, but ever hopeful, is an adorable orange and white dog whom I've met in the springtime. He doesn't look that bad, and it turns out he is the dog of a sadhu. He just likes to come in, get some food, and lie down on the veranda. Well, for whatever reason, he is not well liked by the ashram regulars. He gets his butt kicked every time he 's found by one particular ashram regular, and he goes running out, yelping. He keeps trying. He's taken a special liking to me, although I don't feed him (he's always looked good, and doesn't need food from me).

But for whatever reason. when he sees me he comes running, tail wagging and smiling.

Turns out his name is Krishna.

This particular day of Guru Purnima, and extra food, I walk towards the ashram gate and Krishna has been waiting. He's no fool. He wastes no time with playful greetings this day but moves straight to my left side, with his head respectfully bowed down, and we walk, side by side, step for step, shoulder-to-knee, past the gate keepers. They have no reason to deny me entrance, and like this, Krishna and I move as One. He's in. He sticks to me for a few more feet, and I go towards the temple, and with a skip and a wag, he heads for the food. I don't know how long he was there as I didn't see him later that day, but when I saw him on the road the next day, he looked just a bit fatter than usual. The day of Shiva, and Guru Purnima were good to Krishna.