So far, we haven’t entered any temple. We see them everyday, hear the prayers and mantras that rhythm the days from sunrise to sunset, watch people getting in and out, peep through the half open doors. It really fascinates us, but it is awkward to step in a holy place without belonging or understanding the tradition and religion, the rituals, the meaning of gestures and of the words pronounced. In France, it is part of our culture not to come to a religious ceremony just to watch without being part of the community. We would never imagine to go and eat the holy bread if we are not Christian who has gone through Communion. But here, it is a part of every day life they invite anyone to share with a great tolerance and ease. One girl in Orchha who gave us a sign to come asked us why we don’t go to pray Durga, as we answered that we don’t know how to pray her, she was very surprised that is was possible someone doesn’t know. She simply explained “Durga is the mother, just ask her something, success or marriage…”. She had a great smile saying this evidence.
Our first entrance in a temple is on the evening ceremony in Orchha Ram Rajah Temple. The building looks like a cheesecake, painted with bad taste in orange and yellow and kitschier than usual. There are two lines, gents and ladies, but nobody follows it. The only aim seems to be to get as fast as possible in front of the “priest” and give one’s offerings. We get stuck there, pushed from back and sides. But there is no sign of surprise coming from anyone at the view of two tall (so highly visible) white women in the queue. It is a mess, but extremely lively. Children run or play, mothers call them back once in while but not worrying at all, people laugh, talk their everyday (or that’s what it looked like)… As we pass in front of the priest, we feel very uncomfortable and embarrassed. What are we doing here ? What should we do ? We have no offerings, we don’t know the gestures, the meanings… We hope nothing would be given to us. We rapidly go by, the priest is not surprised, and gain the square in the middle of the temple. From there we can observe quietly.
Sitting on the stairs, on the edge of the square, there is very little difference between a temple and a town square. Life goes its way. Two children come to play around us and talk a little. People are sitting or wandering around. And there is no timetable for the rituals. Men and women come in and out between 7 and 8. Some stay less than 2 minutes, some stay longer chanting or praying. All around the square, in some open corridors, many small altars are to be seen and people go to them in an order that seems to us random. On the square also, two main altars – much bigger – attracts the believers. They always leave an object, some flowers or food (little milk cake purchased on the market outside), light incense, and go round the altar. What is so surprising is how daily the quality of the movements is. It looks as if it is not neither holy nor spiritual. There is no pretention, not more than when they prepare tchai or wash clothes in Varanasi. Maybe there is even less a feeling of presence in the temple than out. The ritual is clearly a part of everyday life, without all the ceremonial we have in Christian churches. Here it is as if the religion was more outside the temple (and the temple rituals is only part of the daily actions) when it is concentrated in the holy places in our culture. From our observation seats, it felt like there is no meaning in the rituals performed. They are simply performed. Is it because we are outsiders (which might be the case), or is it always so that in the mass of believers – all religions mixed – only few people really live their spirituality. This is an open question. But we tend to idealize India on this side, this is how so many foreigners come to places like Rishikesh.
Then, the day after, we meet one of these men who really live their belief and make it part of their being in the world. It is even more beautiful as it happens by accident. We are walking around the palaces gardens and bump into a white temple. The chants and the sound of the bell first bring us. The view of women walking around this temple make us sit and watch. We contemplate the place, so white and simple compared to the numerous cheese cakes we have seen so far. The colourful sarees match perfectly. There is here a deep sense of spirituality, alive and not locked in a pattern. People come freely here to pray Durga, leave offerings all day long. We are invited to come and pray Durga, the women give us a type of Indian sweet to eat after the prayer. We are very clumsy but the feeling of being misplaced is not getting us like the last time. It is very intimate, there is nothing much around but nature (and two palaces). It is a humble place. And we are welcome to share their rituals. The son of the temple’s guardian welcomes us to eat in his little hut, made of branches and a plastic cover. First time we share a meal with Indians. The communication is a bit difficult, and the man starts to talk only Hindi after a while, and we just nod, smiling. But we understand that this man continuously repeats that is life is based on his relationship to God. Money doesn’t mater, living does. He is a farmer, and his “hobby is God”. The food fills us as it is made from full corn and cooked simply without overdoing it with spices or amount of ingredients. Something is radiating from him. We leave the place with some more questions and the sense this is one of the most important meeting we make on this journey.
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