Puri -The Holy City of the Unblessed..

The city is not unfamiliar to me – I was here about 13 years ago, with my parents and brother. This time too, I was there with my parents.

We reached the city (I guess ‘town’ would be a better word) in the early hours of the morning, when dawn had just about made its comeback. Since I’d been there a long time back, I really had no recollections of the things or places (in Puri) that had not astonished or amazed me; that is to say, that had not made an impression on me. That’s why, the railway station was new to me – a long stretch of platform which extended on and on, onto the station, which was somewhat clean and quiet, totally unlike the crowded noisy railway station that we’d left at Kolkata. Whether that was because of the diminutiveness of the place or the early hours, was something I couldn’t conclusively figure out.

As we left the station, and traversed across the town, we came across big, big bungalows with beautifully maintained gardens. All these crafted structures belong to the ranks of the administrative services; copper plates engraved with ‘Officer of the IPS’, ‘Collector’ etc. were nailed on the series of gates of all the different bungalows, all in a single linear road. Maybe that part of the town is the administrative hub of Puri.

Finally we entered the street along the sea. As usual, I couldn’t take my eyes off the water – breathing in the slightly salty air, and hearing the rushing sound of the waves. The hotel we were booked into (Puri hotel) is sea facing; situated directly across the street along the beach. We’d stayed in the same place, the last time we were in Puri. Due to the hotel being one of the oldest in the place, it is also one of the biggest and well established.

Even though Puri is quite a popular holiday destination for people of neighbouring states, especially of West Bengal, (it being an overnight journey away from Kolkata) the cost of the place is not very high. Generally, in popular destinations, sea facing hotels (so close to the water that one can even see the blue from the rooms) with balconies overlooking the sea, would easily cost over a thousand. Here a triple-bed room cost us about 800 rupees, the room being pretty decent too. As we settled into the room, we could see the first glimpse of the rising sun on the left side of the balcony view.

Puri has a pretty long stretch of beach and the best part is that the beach is parallel to the east-west direction, along the Bay of Bengal. So everyday, in the morning, while facing the sea, and looking leftwards, one can get a glorious view of the sun rising from the water (i.e. only if the weather is clear) and every evening, looking rightwards, one can see the sun sinking deep into the horizon – leaving for its daily siesta after the long day.

From the hotel, the beach is just about 5 minutes away – after all, all one has to do to reach the water, is cross the road, and walk across the sand. The sand of the beach preceding the water is not particularly clean – very dirty in fact. The scarcity of toilets and the abundance of homeless people have created their impact – mostly on the beach. Supposedly, (according to my mother) every morning, directly across Puri hotel (where the beach is relatively empty with no shops) from about 4am, people can be seen moving towards the sand, squatting, and after a few minutes, covering up their crime with the surrounding sand. Of course, the sea water does its job of cleaning the rest. Fortunately (again, according to source), this phenomena does not occur at all the stretches of the beach, and particularly not in the part of beach which has the evening bazaar. I, myself have never seen something like this happen, although I have seen people relieving themselves into the sand, just after entering the beach from the street, far (thankfully) from the water.

Anyway, inspite of the unconfirmed nature of the above conjectures, each time I walked towards the water, I totally avoided looking too deeply, at anything beneath the sand; maybe that’s why I didn’t come across any such unpleasantness. Or, maybe it was, after all, all a misconception and nobody ever squatted on the beach although, I have a sneaky feeling it wasn’t.

The Puri sea has a character of its own – sometimes quiet, bordering on serenity, and sometimes violent, touching the peak of its fury. Yes I know it’s a scientific phenomenon called tides, which happens at every sea beach. However, in Puri, the sea changes in minutes – something I experienced the second day we were there. It was about 8am in the morning, and we decided to go into the water for a little while before going to the Jagannath temple which was the main action item for that morning. As we reached the shore, I felt the same serene joy that I always feel when I come face to face with the sea..(I know I know I’ve said all of this before but I can’t help it)… Waves playing endlessly with the shore, the sands moving with the flow, as if having no control against the power of the waves, the air leaving its distinct smell – not pleasant and yet not unpleasant ; I just love the whole feel of the cool breeze coupled with the happy sunshine. Even though these extremely joyous rays also double as intense burning rays, which prove to be really unbeneficial for the skin tone (foreigners might go on and on about sun bathing, its just sun burn and dark tan for Indians), once I’m at the beach, I never want to leave.

As usual, I’m wavering from the point. As I was saying, the temperament of the Puri waters changes without following any pattern (or so it seems). That morning, initially the waves were small, gently lapping into the shore; even when we went a little deeper, there was no sign of turbulence. Then suddenly, in a matter of 5-10 minutes, the ocean changed its stance; waves started dashing into the shore – higher and higher, angrier and angrier: violent, noisy, and very, very powerful. People who knew swimming remained where they were, taking full advantage of the heightened fury of the water, while people like me (untrained in the art of swimming) started moving back, momentarily shaken by the sudden intensity of the waves. Then again, after about 10-15 minutes of a show of temper, the ocean cooled off, the water started receding back to its tranquil lazy form. Its incomprehensible why, after seeing that majestic exhibition of mood swings, I felt complete unadulterated peace.

We then, went on to the holiest place in the town (maybe even the entire state of Orissa) – Jagannath temple. It is said (the source my mother), the temple is ancient, and at some point in the distant past, it had been covered by sand, and had fallen into oblivion. And then, after several years (I have no clue about even the approximation of that number), it was re-discovered, only due to someone’s noticing something shiny jutting out of the sand from a far distance. That ‘something’ was the temple’s ‘Shikhara’ or the ‘topmost point’ of the temple. The temple is huge and beautifully architectured. One can imagine the age of the temple by looking at the intricate engraved figures on all the walls of the main shrine. The Jagannath temple, now, is an enclosed set of structures, constituting of many temples, all situated around the central temple, the heart of Puri – the Jagannath shrine, which is actually a shrine containing a trio of Gods, the names I cannot recall.

Due to commercialization of the place, and the immense crowds, to reach the actual room (where the original idols are placed and worshipped), one has to hire a local pandit, ‘Panda’. They start approaching you the moment you set foot in Puri. Starting from the railway station, all the way to the hotel, and even then if you don’t hire one and arrive at the temple yourself without a Panda (in foolish optimism that how difficult can it be to find one’s way in a temple), you’ll eventually find yourself obliged to hire one, just so that you can be guided through the labyrinths of the temple; spaces halls and corridors, and also through the swarming crowds. When you finally do reach the holy shrine, you are granted just a moment’s glimpse of the holy gods, above and past the bowed heads of people already standing there in prayer. I still remembered the crowds from the last time we were there, how I felt trapped inside a closed room with no space , except for the air above our heads (maybe that experience was worse so because of my age and physical height) . Add to that memory, my indifference regarding the concept of Religion (that’s another blog); I wasn’t really looking forward to the trip to the temple.

Fortunately, I was agreeably surprised when we entered to find the temple premises somewhat less crowded. Either it was the time (10:30 in the morning.. just a few minutes after which the shrine would be closed for the morning) or, as my mother surmised, it was because of the full moon (‘Purnima’) the next day, which is considered to be an auspicious day (hence all the tourists would have postponed their day of pilgrimage to the next day). Whatever the reason was, we (more so my parents) were able to pray peacefully and see the idols clearly (without being nudged, shoved or pushed from all directions). I’m not religious in even the slightest sense of the word; however, standing there, with the atmosphere around – the slight chanting, the scent of incense sticks, the idols projected as the centre of spiritual power, the dim light, people bowing in reverence, people prostrating on the floor, the ancient smoothened rock tiles, the darkened walls, the coolness of the temple interiors, all came together to bring about a certain indescribable sense of contentment. Now, when I think about it, I cannot explain that momentary bliss. For quite some minutes after we walked out of the inner chamber, that feeling remained.

Anyway, feeling very lucky, we then walked around the premises, entering other temples containing the shrines of lesser gods (atleast in these parts). The place is huge; the Jagannath temple forming the epicenter of this huge enclosure of holiness. Some people were sitting, others were meditating, Pandas were showing their clients around; religion is a busy activity.

The Jagannath temple is protesting against the years of neglect and use; the walls are crumbling at some places, while at others, the delicate carvings are getting eroded. The carved walls are being restored by some masons working at one façade of the temple and an enforcement is being built on another side to support the weakening beams of the aging temple. Outside the temple, it is a busy marketplace, filled with an assorted variety of shops – small and big, selling sweets or souvenirs, flowers or clothes. After a light feast of some of the tastiest Rabri of the world, we returned to the beach.

Every afternoon, barring the third (when we went to Chilka), we remained at the hotel; the sultry heat proving a very effective deterrent for even the most enthusiastic tourists. Plus, the drowsiness that is induced after bathing in the sea is something that cannot be fought and can only be surrendered too. And so, each evening, after some refreshing hours of rest, where either one slept, or sat at the balcony, staring at the sea for hours at length, finally letting one’s eyelids droop, we walked along the extensive beach.

The evenings in Puri, especially at the beach, have a life of their own. From a distance, the beach looks like a house celebrating Diwali permanently; so many lights – concentrated at places while scattered at others. Lights of the recently constructed lampposts, extending to quite a length of the beach, lights of the temporary shops, lights of the lit yo-yos sold by the vendors, lights of the far away newly opened resort (at one end of the beach), and then when one looks at the sea, lights of ships (or fishing boats) far away, looking still in the water and yet moving, light of the moon in the sky – it is a dazzling array of lamps. All those lights emerge slowly, in an unintentional random sequence, as not wanting to cause a sudden glare to the eyes of the thousands of sea watchers…

First, as afternoon ends and the heat decreases, the sun starts its journey westwards, lower and lower; the blazing ball of fire, turning duller and duller. As one walks along the length of the beach, walking westwards, the entire time one can see the setting act; a gradual yet sudden event of the sun dipping into the extensive horizon. Usually (at least the day we were there), one can never see the sun actually touch the earth, because, at some point or the other, the clouds take over the western sky and engulf the saffron circle in their whiteness – creating a crimson hue all over the sky. At that time, the sea water turns yellowish, the reflections creating a breathtaking backdrop of shimmer and shine. The experience is wonderful, walking along the sands, waves almost lapping at your feet (especially when you’re trying to avoid getting your feet wet), the chilly breeze making you wish you had worn something warmer and finally the curtain act – the sun disappears into a golden haze, leaving splashes of red, orange, blue and white pieces here and there, and then finally darkness. If its a moonlit night (as we happened to be there during one)it gets even better… the tide grows higher, the moonlight creating silvery magic with the water – rays and fluid, shimmer and shine, stillness and motion; waves of white unfurling across kilometres and kilometres, almost at the same moment of time.

And then evening sets in; the beach which is already crowded becomes even more crowded. However, one doesn’t feel it, i.e. the crowds somehow do not suffocate the place. The sea, in its infinite generosity doesn’t tire of all the visitors, and continues inviting others; its large expanse doing much to dilute the concentration of its guests. One area of the beach, (slightly far from the beach overlooking our hotel) is the most crowded of places – the market area. Starting from the beach, the market extends out of it, into the narrow lanes of the permanent shops, where going forward, there rests a cremation ground, and then again, shops, hotels, a temple, mini restaurants, and sweetshops selling the local specialty ‘Khaja’ (a sweet made of flour, fried , and then immersed in sugar syrup), amongst other inconspicuous establishments.

On the beach, besides the many daily temporary stalls, selling miniature idols, images, posters, shells, decorative pieces, traditional Oriya handbags, conches, Yo-yos, toys, bedspreads, food, and what not, there are also mobile vendors, selling the same stuff, except, they don’t wait for you to approach them; they’ll approach you and advertise their wares. To see the innumerable vendors coming and marketing their stuff is a rather sad testament to the hardships faced by the locals. Most of the vendors are young – their ages ranging from 12 to 20, and the look of despair on their faces, after the ‘nth’ person says no to buying whatever s/he is selling, is a little hard to forget. And yet they persevere, walking relentlessly, person to person, along the sand, carrying their bag of idols or posters or shells. I don’t say they hardly sell anything, but how much can each sell per day, when every 5^th person is also selling the same thing? And after the tourist boom in the winter season, they need to find yet other alternative ways of employment.

During the tourist season, the beach seems to have almost as many sellers as there are prospective buyers (tourists); the numbers are saddening. I often wondered, sitting at the beach and staring at the cold waves, while one vendor after the other came to ask if I was interested in buying whatever it was he was selling, whether they sold enough per day so as to make a living. Considering that the cost of making the things seemed higher than the price at which they finally offered to sell them (after a session of quick bargaining where the price reduced to less than half the initial price), it seems very unlikely that they manage to make much profit, if at all. Every other person is selling something, even small children; one kid remains vividly imprinted on my memory. This kid went from person to person, trying to sell wicker strings for oil lamps, and, taking complete advantage of his innocent face, he beguiled several unsuspecting tourists into buying the stuff they knew they’d hardly ever use. My mother bought the stuff once, but when he came around a 2^nd time (obviously not remembering that he’d been here before), with his crestfallen face and angelic eyes, she understood that behind those downcast eyes, lay a very intelligent child, who had to sell wicker to make a living. I wonder if he went to school.

The only people on the Puri beach, who don’t bother tourists to buy, are perhaps the vendors of the small open-air tea stalls which are placed at regular intervals along the beach, just next to the water. A lone table, with a stove and a kettle, some bottles containing biscuits, that is the sum total of their offer. Several wooden benches and chairs placed around the table offer an unspoken invitation to walkers and sea gazers. Some come and sit for some time, but do not buy the tea, and yet nobody bothers them; most come and invariably have a cup of steaming tea or coffee, both of which are irresistible in the chilly air of the night.
It’s rather ironic, that the city of God, the blessed city where Jagannath resides, has so many people leading such difficult lives, unhelped, yet striving. Its as if the Gods have ignored the very people who have sheltered one of their (Gods) own in their midst, according him the highest respect and deepest reverence.

The one place that I saw during this trip, which I hadn’t seen before, was Chilka Lake. Last time, we’d taken the conducted tour of Konark, Bhubaneshwar etc. and so hadn’t gone to this place. Moreover, we’d been advised against it by people who had described Chilka as nothing more than a large lake and a boat in its midst. After going there this time, I cannot completely agree with the above statement. Chilka is a lake on which one goes in a boat (obviously), but it is not just that. It is a lake that merges with the Bay of Bengal, to form a strange combination of stillness and activity. The place is just about one and a half hours (by road) away from Puri, including a stop to visit a temple and breakfast. Chilka (area nearby the lake) is hardly more than a hamlet; except for a guest house or hotel of sorts, there is no sign of any tourism development.

As soon as we reached the place, we were whisked away to an engine-powered boat, complete with a shaded enclosure. The boat entered the lake and soon, all we could see around us was water. Water everywhere, in each direction, with nothing but a few other boats, some fishing paraphernalia, providing welcome relief from the silent monotony. In the heat of the late morning, even the boat trip became sleepy, especially when we kept on wading around in the water for about an hour. Within that hour, we were shown dolphins - or rather, signs of them; one tiny fin bouncing up and down, on the far right side of the boat, another to the left, were the only proof that dolphins did exist here, in the middle of nowhere. Finally, after the never-ending hour, we could see the other bank of the lake – except, it wasn’t a bank, it was a beach. A beach on a lake? Amazing.

As we neared the shore, the calmness of the lake changed slightly; little ripples breaking into its tranquil sleep. It was then that I saw – beyond the shore/beach/bank, there was the ocean; the lake pours into the ocean…or is it the other way around? It’s a breathtaking sight – the unique confluence of sea and lake, calm and restlessness, still and moving, how the lake gradually transitions into the sea, as if it is but a natural everyday phenomenon (well in these parts it is). That single stretch of sand which provides both the water bodies with space to merge their waters, is entirely uninhabited, and because of that, the place is naturally clean, the waters clear, unpolluted and totally untouched. Beautiful… and yet not famous. Or maybe because Chilka is not so well known, it still remains beautiful. After about an hour of walking, collecting sea shells, we headed back to our boat for the long trip to the other end of the lake. A lunch at a ‘restaurant’ on the first floor of an unfinished building, and the return journey back to Puri ended the trip to Chilka. Worth it, but only after one has already seen the other historical treasures of the state of Orissa. For us, the experience was something new and hence totally worth it.

Anyway, after that, another evening at the beach, with the glory of the full moon, another night of watching the single thread of white breaking from east to west, another day of sea bathing, and finally it was time to return back – to the hurry of the metro city, Kolkata. As we left the beach for the final time, I looked back at the roaring waves, and sighed – a sign of reluctant farewell.

One last thing I forgot to mention was the bizarre spectacle that had disturbed me for days after the trip. While we were there, there had floated into the beach, four live huge tortoises, at different stretches of the beach, on different days, struggling for life, trying to return to the comfort of the ocean. In all the instances, despite half hearted efforts by some fishermen, they had failed in their struggles and succumbed to whatever forces that had brought them to the unconquerable shore. There lifeless bodies lay there on the beach, a somewhat uncomfortable reminder of the fact that all was not this rosy in this place called Earth. Was this a sign of environmental disharmony or a sign of something else beyond our comprehension…who knows? I still wonder…