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The fires of creation, in a way,
did fashion the landscape of Chitrakoot. According to geologists, the
step-like structures of the Deccan Trap were formed by lava welling
up
The Mandakini is still very
beautiful as it flows through the forests of Chitrakoot. It was here
that we encountered a Ramkand vendor. He assured us that during their
wanderings in the forest, the favourite food of Rama, Sita and
Lakshmana was the astringent sweet root of the Ramkand creeper. He
and his fellow vendors told us it was relished even by Hanuman
Chitrakoot is a ‘power
spot’. It is one of those magical places where there is an
effervescence, a vitality, which makes everyday problems seem as
trivial as thistledown. And there is no discernible reason why it is
so. In fact, there’s a pleasant informality about the way the
people go about their affairs. Pilgrims stream into Chitrakoot in
cars bursting at the seams, and buses, which are so crowded that many
folks travel sitting on its roof, often armed with shotguns and
rifles. Timid visitors tend to cringe from such displays of machismo.
They shouldn’t. For it is just as much a matter of status to own
and display a firearm in this region as it is to sport a bandoleer
bristling with ammunition and a ferocious moustache.
And so we grabbed our cameras and
walked out of the gate, past the bus, down the lane of the sellers of
coloured powders used in worship, and brass lamps and beads and
oleographs of deities in frames, and a tumbling, leaping mischief of
monkeys, and two sanyasis in the saffron robes of mendicants. And
came to the festive, crowded, friendly ghats washed in the golden
glow of sunset with the Mandakini river flowing lap-lap-lap on the
watered steps. Boatmen importuned, women bathed, children had their
heads shaved, pundits prayed. And near the platform where Tulsidas
wrote his Ramayana, a fearsome looking yogi with matted locks said:
“The morning light’s much better for photographs: the
shadows are a little heavy this time.” Nancy Mitford would have
approved of his very ‘U’ accent. We wondered what he had
done before he renounced the world.
Chitrakoot is dominated by an
epic renunciation. It was here that Rama, Sita and Lakshmana spent
many of their years of exile after the Prince of Ayodhya was tricked
out of his birthright for years by a scheming stepmother.
Many of the places associated
with the exile are here in Chitrakoot, and Ram Ghat is one of them.
Long flights of landing steps lead up from the brown, lapping water.
Ferrymen wait expectantly in their canopied barges, often festively
decorated with tinsel streamers. Early in the morning, devotees stand
waist-deep in the flowing river, worshipping the dawn with an
oblation. Viewing the rising sun from across a sheet of water is
supposed to strengthen the eyesight. This is also the time when there
is a tintinnabulation...which is exactly how it sounds... of bells
ringing from all the shrines at the same time, the hollow calls of
conches, the chants of voices raised in prayer. Blue incense wafts
down from the temples and its resinous fragrance mingles with the
broad, ozone scent of the river. People bathe, wash their clothes,
dry them like fluttering banners, backlit and translucent in the
rising sun. Men sluice down the ghats with metal buckets filled with
river water and, on a platform in front of a shrine, an elephant
caresses the head of a young priest while a daubed mendicant looks
on, coldly aloof.
Ram Ghat is the focal point of
Chitrakoot. Here, people believe, the sacred river Sarayu surfaces
from its subterranean sojourn, and then vanishes again. Here, too, is
the Tulsi Chabutra, the platform on the Ram Ghat where the great
poet-saint Tulsidas wrote his Ramayana. Some scholars like C.
Rajagopalachari, believe that the first author of the Ramayana,
Valmiki, emphasised the noble, human, qualities of Lord Rama.
Tulsidas, however, was more mystic than historian and so, in his
Ramayana, Lord Rama’s divine qualities were brought out in great
measure.
Rising above the Ram Ghat are
such ancient temples such as the Param Kutir, the Bharat Mandir and
the Yagya Vedi. The first two are associated with the Ramayana; the
third goes back to the very origins of the universe, according to the
resident priest. Today’s Param Kutir bears little resemblance to
the prime cottage, the first hut erected by Lakshmana for his brother
and sister-in-law. Rajagoplalachari says: “Lakshmana was a
clever workman. He soon constructed a strong hut, which was
weather-proof and made it comfortable and convenient.
Single-handedly, he completed the mud hut with windows and doors all
made of bamboo and jungle material.”
Clearly, such a fragile hut could
not last the eons that have elapsed since the age of Lord Rama. The
Param Kutir has been reconstructed as a temple, popular with
worshippers today.
Lord Rama’s younger brother,
Bharata, came to Chitrakoot to persuade the prince to return from
exile and assume his rightful position as ruler of Ayodhya. He was
unsuccessful but, according to a local legend, Bharata and his army
of “... chariots, elephants, horses and foot soldiers”, as
well as the royal family and nobility of Ayodhya, camped a little
below Param Kutir. Today, that spot is marked by the Bharat Mandir
where the whole court is worshipped as resplendent idols.
But we must admit that there is a
slight difference of opinion here. Some devotees believe that the
great Darbar of Bharat was held in the Yagya Vedi, or the Brahma
Temple, adjoining the Param Kutir. This temple, however, has a much
older association.
The local priest told us that,
before creating the universe, Lord Brahma performed a powerful ritual
with 108 fires at Chitrakoot. Only one of these fire pits remain, the
priest informed us. It looks like a shallow well and pilgrims still
revere it with their offerings. The fires of creation, in a way, did
fashion the landscape of Chitrakoot. According to geologists, the
step-like structures of the Deccan Trap were formed by lava welling
up from the depths of the earth.
Consequently, mountains in this
region hold huge caves. A devotee told us that the entire,
bow-shaped, mountain of Kamadgiri is hollow and conceals an enormous
lake. Around this subterranean reservoir, he said, sages sit in
timeless meditation. Perhaps this is why Rishi Bhardwaj advised Lord
Rama to spend much of his exile around this supremely serene place.
Today, devotees walk barefoot
around this mountain, convinced that this spot, hallowed by royal
exiles and sages, would grant their wishes. The hollow mountain is
said to have four doors: the Pramukh Dwar, or main entrance, which is
now a shrine, and three other portals. No ordinary human has crossed
this mysterious threshold and seen the great lake inside Kamadgiri,
but there’s a curious phenomena associated with this mountain.
Rain falling on the protected trees of this hill does not run off, we
were told. It sinks in and then emerges as 360 springs, which start
flowing at the same time as if they were outlets of an overflowing
underground lake.
There is water flowing out from
another hill in the Chitrakoot area. In it is a great cavern called
the Gupt Godavari. Deep in this cave, according to the legend, the
river Godavari emerges as a perennial stream from the rocks, flows
down to another cave, below, and then disappears. A massive rock
protruding out of the ceiling of the Gupt Godavari cave, is said to
be all that remains of the demon Mayank. He had the temerity to steal
Sita’s clothes while she was bathing and was petrified by the
vigilant Lakshmana.
A word of warning, if you are
scared of bats. Be a little wary when you enter Gupt Godavari. They
hang in clusters from the ceiling, twittering, quarrelsome,
fluttering, emitting their high-pitched squeaks whose echoes help
them avoid obstacles in the dark.
When you emerge from the cool,
slightly musty, darkness of the cave into the fresh, bright,
loam-scented hills you will realise that faith has done more for the
preservation of the ecology of Chitrakoot than all the laws of men.
This green environment recharges the Mandakini, which is said to
originate in the hills near Rishi Atree’s Ashram. Today, a
monastery marks the traditional site of his hermitage while a rock
high above is reputedly the place where the sage used to meditate,
overlooking the serene Mandakini. According to Rajagopalachari:
“Descending from the hill (Lord Rama and Sita), would sometimes
go to the river Mandakini and spend time there... Rama would say:
‘The stream is as lovely as yourself, beloved.”
The Mandakini is still very
beautiful as it flows through the forests of Chitrakoot. It was here
that we encountered a Ramkand vendor. He assured us that during their
wanderings in the forest, the royal exiles’ favourite food was
the astringent sweet root of the Ramkand creeper. He and his fellow
vendors told us it was relished even by Hanuman.
This great warrior, and patron of
wrestlers, has his own shrine called Hanuman Dhara on one of
Chitrakoot’s wooded hills. Pilgrims, determined to visit all the
revered sites in this sacred place, travel five kilometres from Ram
Ghat by cycle-rickshaws, buses and taxis to seek the blessings of
Hanuman. Do stop at the old step well, on the way up: it reputedly,
never goes dry, thanks to the rain-tapping forests of Chitrakoot.
It’s a long trudge to the
top: 360 steps up. Hanuman, however, flew to this hill, enflamed with
rage and victory, after sending fire to Ravana’s place in Lanka
and helping to rescue Sita. To cool his great wrath and elation, he
stood under a stream of chilled water gushing out of a rock in
Hanuman Dhara. His idol still stands bathed by a flow of cold,
crystal-clear water.
Do look out over the plains of
Chitrakoot from this high point. Much of the terrain is eroded
ravines, and witnesses to the havoc wrought by man felling the great
forests that once covered this land. But as your eyes travel closer
and closer to the sacred lands around the Mandakini river, the
terrain becomes appreciably greener and greener, protected by the
veneration of the soil of Chitrakoot.
We drove back to Ram Ghat just as
dusk was setting on the river. Bells rang and incense draped its
veils of perfume around us as the beautiful evening ceremony of aarti
filled the temples with the soft light of oil lamps and chanting. A
timeless heritage was being evoked again with particular nostalgia as
day gave way to night and stars began to appear tentatively in the
sky.
A group of women sat in a circle,
holding tiny candles, doing their own very simple but deeply moving
aarti. Or perhaps, it was some other traditional ceremony of
remembrance which their mothers had done before them and their
grandmothers even earlier, and on and on and on back through the
mists of time when, out of the forests emerged a prince, his wife and
his devoted brother and stood on the banks of the Mandakini river.
According to one traditional
system of chronology which divides time into yugs, all this happened
more than a million years ago. Clearly, Chitrakoot has been a ‘power
spot’ for many magical centuries.
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