Rock Cut

Though often referred to as caves, the monuments of Ajanta and Ellora are manmade structures. Comprised of numerous monasteries, shrines, temples, and living quarters, each of these sites provides visitors with a unique glimpse into the extreme lengths to which man will go in the name of religion.

Ajanta’s structures, carved into a cliff wall encircling the U-bend in the Waghur River, are the oldest of India’s famous rock-cut caves. Dating from as early as 200 BCE, the site’s various enclaves are entirely Buddhist. Filled with stone carved scenes depicting the life and teachings of the Buddha, Ajanta served as a monastery for Buddhist monks for up to 800 years.

The staying power of Ajanta’s hand-carved statues and monasteries is not nearly as impressive as the fact that a handful of its numerous frescoes are fairly intact. It is absolutely amazing to see remnants of frescoes, which disintegrate in chunks of falling plaster, survive over 2,000 years of history.

Sometime during the 5th-7th centuries the style of rock cut cave monasteries began to be replicated some 100 kilometers away in Ellora, leading to the abandonment of the Ajanta Buddhist settlement.

The various structures at Ellora display primarily Hindu, but also Jain and Buddhist temples and monasteries. Historians believe that the coexistence of temples from all three religions in one single site demonstrates a unique time period of religious tolerance in Indian history.

Directly at the entrance to Ellora sits its main attraction. Marking  the height of the development of India’s rock cut temple architecture, the Kailasa Temple is the crown jewel of Ellora’s complex. Built over the course of multiple generations, carved from a single rock from the top down, Kailasa demonstrates an incredible ability to plan and execute a design.

Looking at the tool marks visible on the floors, walls, and ceilings of Ellora and Ajanta, it is nearly incomprehensible that human hands carved such buildings directly from the earth. Elaborate, beautiful, and impressive, the caves of Ellora and Ajanta are impeccable examples of the feats and determination of man. 

Jains: A Peaceful Bunch

Some of the holiest sites in India sit way off the well-worn path. Ranakpur, about three hours from the tourist center of Udaipur, is on the list of secluded locations.

Dedicated to Adinath, the first enlightened human according to Jain teachings, Ranakpur’s temple is one of the most sacred Jain sites in India. It is also among the more beautiful and intricately carved temples we encountered.

Constructed during the 15th century, the temple is widely considered to be one of the most spectacular Jain structures on earth. Inside one finds over 1,440 pillars, each of which is unique (including one pillar at an odd angle, which supposedly serves as a reminder of the futile nature of striving for perfection). The pillars, walls, statues, and ceilings are carved in such elegant detail that one scarcely knows where to look.

When they aren’t building lavish and incredible temples, the Jains tend to be a peaceful bunch. Not a particularly well-known religion, Jainism closely resembles the Western conception of Buddhism.

The primary path of Jainism is strict adherence to the practice of ahimsa, or nonviolence. Not only does this include a vegetarian diet, but often also excludes onions, garlic, and other root vegetables, as living organisms may be harmed when the vegetables are pulled from the ground. In order to avoid inadvertently harming even the tiniest of insects many strict Jains sweep the ground ahead of them as they walk, rarely go out at night, and even go naked lest bugs get trapped in their clothing.

In addition to ahimsa, vows taken by Jains include satya (non-lying), asteya (non-stealing), bramachariya (celibacy), and aparigraha (non-attachment). Monks practice these vows in the strictest sense, while the common man is expected to adhere to them as much as is practical.

With 4.2 million followers Jainism is among the smallest of the major world religions, but they sure do know how to make some beautiful temples. Where spirituality and architecture meet, there one finds some of humanity’s most amazing structures.

Wedding Crashers

“When we go to India, are you gonna wear a sari and get your hands henna’ed?”

“Probably not. It’s not like we’re going to be attending an Indian wedding.”

It’s conversations like this that make the universe silently chuckle about all the things you don't know.

Mid-way through gallivanting around India, we found ourselves sitting in a café with a group of perfect strangers. They swept in, sat down, invited us to a wedding three days hence, and promptly left.

Leaving me eating my words.

So, Win got a haircut and a Rajasthani-style mustache. My hands were henna’ed. A sari was purchased (to later be twisted, stuffed, folded, and pinned by the family of the bride). And off we went to an Indian wedding.

We had been invited to the fifth and final night of said wedding, a ceremony that turned out to be a triple-decker party of sorts. Two sisters were having arranged marriages; a brother-in-law was having a (less prestigious) love marriage.

The pomp and ceremony, makeup and costume changes, set design and pyrotechnics were enough to put a full Broadway production to shame. Grooms with feathers fluffed and turbans twirled rode in atop bedazzled horses. Brides shuffled slowly to center stage, at times carried by brothers, beneath the weight of beautiful, elaborate, bejeweled marriage saris.

Time between ceremonies, of which there was much, consisted primarily of eating. And being photographed. And being asked if we had eaten. And being asked if we would take just one picture.

It was exhausting, but it certainly wasn’t dull. Plus, the universe gave me good reason to wear a sari in India. 

Sultry Sandstone

Bare asses, melon-breasted ladies, and entwined lovers entice tourists to central India’s Khajuraho. But these sexy scenes are nothing new. In fact, they’re between 800 and 1,000 years old.

The temples are often, erroneously, called Kama Sutra temples. The erotic carvings only compose about ten percent of the elaborately detailed imagery that covers all sides of the temples remaining in Khajuraho, but of course draw the majority of the attention. The other carvings depict daily scenes of musicians and farmers, women applying makeup, warriors preparing for battle, as well as numerous Hindu deities.

The erotic sculptures themselves shine a light on a couple of basic truths:

• apparently sex has always been what sells
• ancient Indian culture was clearly far less conservative about sexual matters than today’s India
• men throughout history have thought that breasts should be bizarrely cantaloupe-shaped  

But even without the draw of sexy statues, Khajuraho’s temples are awe-inspiring. All of the carvings, in their dusty pinks, are surprisingly well-preserved. The time and effort that must have been lavished on these buildings, built over the course of 200 years, is evident in the minute attention to detail. Gods and humans carved from slabs of sandstone are exquisite, even after a millennium.

Absolutely astonishing, the things humans are capable of creating. 

The Sacred in the Profane

India assails the senses. It honks and shouts. It offers and begs. It is the drifting smoke of incense and the heavy stench of garbage. It silently whispers prayers. It calls out to you in the street.  It is stubborn cows stomping into traffic and skinny dogs catching naps in puddles of shade. It is color draped and wrapped, over shoulders and heads.

It is in this barrage that even the holy must exist, especially in one of their holiest cities, Varanasi. And in this world, religion has pushed and prodded into every available space.

On India’s holy Ganges River, which plies the banks of Varanasi’s step-like ghats, sacred and humdrum intertwine their fingers and greet each day.

Pilgrims bathe in the revered waters alongside people simply lathering up and bathing. Hindu ceremonies take place alongside rollerskating and cricket matches. Prayers are said, children swim, people squat and piss. Hundreds of blessings are asked of hundreds of gods.

Chai is drunk, beggers beg, hawkers peddle their goods, and the Ganges stretches her arms in preparation for another day in Varanasi. 

A Bit More Buddhism

Kushinagar

Heading over the border from Nepal to India, sits the quiet, seldom-touristed town of Kushinagar. This is believed to be the place where the Buddha, at the age of 80, rolled onto his side, put his head in his hand and died.

The town itself isn’t much to speak of, a dusty spot boasting ruins of an ancient city, a fairly unique temple housing a reclining Buddha statue, a smattering of monasteries from various Buddhist countries, the stupa and ghat where the Buddha is said to have been cremated.

The wandering monks, the lack of other tourists, the relative serenity, make Kushinagar a place for contemplation and reflection rather than pomp and spectacle.

Sarnath

Just outside the bustling Indian city of Varanasi lies the deer park where the Buddha, after obtaining Enlightenment, gave his first sermon.  To those who would become his first five disciples he laid out what he called the Middle Path. This would become the basis for Buddhism.

Sarnath’s deer park isn’t much to see. The site sports a temple and the ruins of a stupa. The Buddha’s first sermon is posted in numerous languages – from Chinese and English to Burmese and Sanskrit – allowing those coming from any of the various Buddhist nations to read what was taught here. A miniature zoo (small zoo, not small animals, sadly) sits behind the temple, offering patron a glimpse of deer in the deer park, as well as a handful of rabbits and birds. A bit down the street a Thai monastery sits quietly beside a towering Buddha.

It felt fitting to visit a place of teaching in a fairly unassuming park. It seemed more suitable than the big, international jostling to build temples or the hordes of pilgrims. It was a quiet conclusion to our tour of the Buddha’s life, a peaceful respite from the honking traffic of the city.

Lumbini's Buddhist PuPu Platter

Lumbini, just near the Nepal-India border, isn’t much to look at. A couple of dusty streets, a handful of hotels, a smattering of restaurants and convenience stores make up the majority of the town. But what makes the town auspicious, what draws those who come here, happened some 2,500 years ago, give or take.

This is the place where it is believed that Siddhartha Guatama, the Buddha, was born.

Despite the fact that the deification of the Buddha and the material worship that tends to follow is fairly counter to the Buddha’s teachings, Lumbini is considered to be a holy place by Buddhists worldwide.

Temples, stupas, and monasteries abound. Theravada Buddhist organizations from Thailand, Myanmar, Sri Lanka, and Cambodia show off their various architectural styles. On the opposite side of a long, narrow reflecting pool, the Mahayana school of Buddhism is represented by places as far-flung as China, Vietnam, South Korea, Germany, and Austria, as well as semi-resident Tibet.

The Maya Devi Temple, ruins of an ancient temple believed to be built on the exact spot of the Buddha’s birth, is also considered holy by Hindus, who hold that the Buddha is an incarnation of Vishnu. Hinduism is a bit of a grab bag like that in general, and Lumbini is a veritable international religious sampler plate anyhow. 

We were fortunate enough to have our trip to Lumbini coincide with the massive pilgrimage holiday of Buddha Jayanti, the celebration of the Buddha’s birth.

For the holiday Lumbini exploded with the sounds and colors of pilgrimage. Sari-clad Indians and Nepalis, Buddhist and Hindu alike, piled into the tiny city by the bus- and carload. Duffle bags and firewood were transported atop heads. Hotels set up stands to distribute free water and juice to combat the heat. Blessings were sold and handed out in every direction. At dusk, devotees ignited hundreds of butter lamps around the holy pond at the Maya Devi temple.

And though it wasn’t very true to the teachings of the Buddha, it was a beautiful thing to witness. 

Chaos and Calm in Kathmandu

Flying into Kathmandu has the feeling of suddenly coming upon a pile of blocks spilled by some child giant; individual, brightly-colored, multistory buildings dot the landscape in jumbles and clusters.

On the ground, things aren’t much more organized. Dusty roads weave and wind. Buses, vans, cars, motorcycles, bicycles, and rickshaws vie for their place, honking and passing without mercy. Cows meander and graze in streets and empty lots.

But amid all the chaos, secreted away down side streets and back alleys, it is easy to find respite in the city’s numerous oases of religion. Temples, stupas, and shrines offer occasional bits of silence. Prayer flags flap in the breeze. Bells are rung. Tibetan child monks play games behind monasteries. Prayer wheels spin. Devotees circumambulate.

It’s a city of sound and silence. Of concrete buildings and of ancient Newari architecture. A city of Hinduism, of Buddhism, of Lamaism. A city of multiple languages, but also English. Tucked away in a valley, but surrounded by the world’s highest peaks.

It’s a city where serenity and history are available in all the commotion, if only one looks for it.