Much of the long train trip from Tirupati to Bhubaneshwar was spent drawing on my arm. I'd originally seen/felt Kali on my right forearm the year before in Kalcutta, and the sketch I'd done there with a ball-point pen was developed now into a fuller drawing, the placement, positioning and every aspect rubbed out and redrawn over and over to find Her perfect alignment with my form, muscleture, and the unfolding ink tapestry of surrounding images. Perhaps I would begin this tattoo in India- I had my kit in my suitcase.

Midnight is not a good time to arrive somewhere in India on a train. Generally it has a very diurnal (as opposed to nocturnal) culture. Knowing Bhubaneshwar was the capital of the State of Orissa, I thought it would have been big enough to still have some life at that time. Apparently not, it was (relievedly otherwise) a pretty small and quiet city for a capital, and riding around in the back of a rickshaw looking for a cheap hotel in the middle of the night proved difficult. Grumpy woken receptionists kept turning us away, and it was only after the fifth or so still had 'no rooms' that I began to get suspicious.
'What's going on?' I enquired, 'Some festival here?' They kept driving me around, now I came in to the lobbies to enquire myself rather than leaving it to the driver or his friend who may have been just trying to get extra fare money from me. But still no luck, and they began taking me to more expensive hotels. Finally after over an hour we found one within my price range- though more than I'd hoped to pay. It was mysteriously hidden behind and upstairs of a bank, with no signs or anything. The staff seemed genial and the room was spacious. The rickshaw man -whose vibe and attitude I'd disliked from the start- charged me too much, but it was too late at night to bother argueing...

It was only the next day, rising late much refreshed, that I opened the zipped inside pocket of my bag and discovered the $400 I'd had there in US notes was gone. I checked again, stunned; yes definitely gone.
It took a while for the whole ruse to dawn on me- the rickshaw men had glimpsed the folded cash when on a bank stop I'd taken out my ATM card from the same pocket. After that they stalled me and kept telling me hotels were full, waiting for me to tire and for some opportunity. Indeed it had only been on the second-last one that I'd let my scam-alert attention waver and left my bag untended in the rickshaw for a few scant minutes.
I hit myself, hard. Ranted, raged, wailed... that was a lot of money to me. For a while I kidded myself that something could still be done. I knew from past experience that the Indian police would be useless, but thought I could go to the train station where the scammers had whisked me into their rickshaw (fighting away other contenders), thinking they might be there waiting for fresh meat. As if!- I soon realized they'd be in another town by now if they had half a brain between them, as they wouldn't have to work for a good 5 months now.
How unfair! For once in my life I thought I wasn't going to return home from a world trip dead broke (or in debt) this time, and now this! I raged and vented for a while longer, also to the hotel owner who was sympathetic but confirmed there was really nothing I could do.
So I let go of it, accepted, surrendered. What else? I couldn't let the incident ruin the rest of my trip.
The hardest thing I think was that it had happened in the wake of my Lakshmi puja a few days before on Diwali. Had I done something dreadfully wrong in my ritual? Surely not, a Goddess of Abundance would forgive any slightly aberrant details if the intent was pure, and I felt mine was.
In time I began to view it as some kind of cosmic rebalancing. When I really considered it, relatively I was in the lap of luxury. Compared to the average Indian, I had it made: not really working that hard (well not all the time), mostly at things I enjoy doing, and being able to travel the world. Sure, sometimes it was rough, I did everything the 'economy' way, relied a lot on the hospitality of friends, and had learned how to live mobile and cheaply together. But my lifestyle verges on decadent at times and I could do all this, I didn't have to struggle for survival. I consoled myself that though the thief was an arsehole, the stolen money was now going out and about in India, where it was worth more in terms of resources and more needed than in the West. Sometimes India will do something harsh to a traveller, but it will wake them up to other levels of perception. I'd made more money on this trip (in Europe, UK, US) than before and it could have
started- perhaps had already started- to change my attitude. I'd never really cared much about making money, if I did as an aside to what I wanted to do or create, great but it was never a goal. A healthy attitude in a world ever more consumed with profit-seeking and greed. But now that I'd actually made a bit for a change, I'd started thinking more about money, what I could do with it and how I could make more. That tower now came crashing down before it really got past the foundations, and I was grateful for the wakeup call. I had real abundance- enough to eat, shelter, friends and clan, even beautiful talismans and the luxury of world travel.
It all came crashing home even louder a few days later when I received an email about the severe currency collapse in Iceland. Thousands had woken to find their savings reduced to almost nothing overnight. Money is all so illusory anyway, it can be gone suddenly at any time. Real wealth, real abundance, is beyond that game and the dance of entreprenuers- it comes down to resources. Hopefully the 'economic crisis' going on lately will wake a few people up to the ultimate connection between economy and ecology. What really has worth in the end?

So when the first temple I went to that day had a Laxshmi shrine, I still prayed to Her fervently, gave thanks, and a small donation. How was I to understand the mysterious patterns of the Gods?
Enough philosophy for now! I had arrived in Bhubaneshwar, the city of the Goddess of Love. It was a delightfully quiet (by Indian standards) city, and very green, small and surrounded by- even interwoven with- verdant forest. And this was a famous 'city of temples' also, with a rich cultural history...
The hotel owner had arranged for a rickshaw driver he knew to take me to 'all the major temples' in the city for a very reasonable price. The first was the 'Peace Pagoda' which was quite a way out through grassy fields and forest. A large white domed structure high atop steps up a hillside, where giant Buddha statues sat serenely in their alcoves. This was a gift from Japan to Orissa. Behind it there was a smaller temple with Hindu Gods- Shiva, Laxshmi, Vishnu and an unfamiliar black-skinned Goddess whose name I have forgotten. A good vibe there, but visually I was more impressed with the view from high of the lush surrounding landscapes than the simple temple or the lofty buddhist pagoda.
The next few temples- closer in to town- were more interesting. Much older, ancient shrines mostly still in use, with similar styles to some of the Kajuraho Temples but their own unique Orissa flavour too. I was particularly struck by the hues of the detailed old stonework, gorgeous deep rusty reds, with shades of amber and russet rock. One very detailed gateway, though small was exquisitely beautiful in its form and intricacy.
Our last visit of the day, as dusk drew in, was a temple I presumed must be the LingaRaj ('PenisKing' !) Temple I had heard about here, as it consisted of a gigantic Shivalingam inside several layers of large stone blocks, with some clothed Goddess statues on the periphery of the second level. A priest was sitting polishing his brass puja tools in an alcove leading into the central lingam, which could only be seen through windows from outside, and quite a few people were around, catching the sunset and perhaps awaiting the puja. Apart from the scale of the linga the temple was unimpressive, and for some reason I didn't feel like waiting around for the ceremony. I felt tired and hungry so I went to eat instead, thanking the rickshaw driver for the tour.
So I almost missed the main attraction of Bhubaneshwar, one of the greatest temples I have ever semi-seen. My feeling was that I had already seen everything important here now and should move on to Kalcutta and Tarapith at last. This town was green and pleasant but I was still reeling from the theft and wanting to move on to make the most of my remaining time. I booked a train ticket out for the following evening.
The next day I spent catching up on email, writing, organizational mundanities, and of course my pranayama, which I had now adapted to incorporate previous practises in with the routine the Kerala master had shown me. I began to feel he was right though -if properly practised and preceded by other sequences, Udan is indeed the 'best of all pranayamas'.
I still had some time before my train and at dusk on a whim decided to go back to the LingaRaj Temple to experience the puja. Online info about the temple had said how major and important it was so I thought perhaps I'd missed something.
Grabbing a cycle rickshaw pedd(al)ler I asked him to take me to LingaRaj Mandir and he pedalled away with me. Soon we were in new territory so I figured he must have gone a different route - I was glad as there were some wonderful little temples along the way and I asked the driver to stop and wait while I explored them. The first, at one end of a huge rectangular lake, had old columns and shrines which housed many beloved deities, including a black form of lion-headed Narasimha.
Then further along the side of the vast man-made lake was a spectacular old building that I marveled that the previous day's driver had not considered worthy of a visit. Large stone dragons gaped at either side of the entrance. As I entered I realized it wasn't a temple, though the spired domes and detailed figure-laden stonework suggested it once was. It didn't seem to be a public place at all, rather there were brahmins- the priest-caste with their threads over ears and their robes and lungis- busying themselves with all sorts of preparations, mostly gathering wood which was piled around the peripheries of the structure. They smiled at me and didn't seem to mind me wandering around marvelling at the statuary and other ornamentation in the ancient stone, however. I wondered if it was a preparation place for a nearby smashan.
Back in the rickshaw and finally he dropped me at Lingaraj. But this was not the simple temple I had seen the day before at all! Rather it was a huge complex of ornate domed temples all surrounded by a vast high wall. The largest rose mightily above two sister domes, obviously containing the lingam. I couldn't believe yesterday's driver had not brought me here! I was soon to realize why however...
As soon as I went towards the front gate several people informed me simultaneously that only Hindus were allowed in, even before I attempted to enter. Damn, not this again. Though determined to get in, I was distracted from any attempts by a charismatic young man who appeared and began to talk to me in very good English, asking me to come and have a chai with him around the corner and saying he would show me all the local sights. He was charming and I figured a local friend could help me get into the temple, so I went with him. Now dusk was falling and after a chai and a chat- it was good to speak to someone with good English again, it had been a while- he took me upstairs onto a platform at the side of the Lingaraj Temple to look into the complex over the wall. I was awestruck at the place- it was vast and intricate, its curvaceous structures and lavish ornamentation some of the most beautiful architecture I have seen anywhere.



He'd been asking me about my path when I'd told him I was a Hindu, and due to my devotion to Kali he wanted to show me the temple next door, that of ChitraKunda whom he said was a form of Kali, and suggested we could do a puja outside the temple. Chitra means beautiful to look at, Kunda is the root of kundalini- fiery energy, lifeforce.
First my new friend offered me more chai and a chillum. Having not smoked yet on this trip to India and enjoying his vibrant company, I accepted, then we made our way over to the temple. It was beautiful, the repetitive patterns and curves on the ancient domes creating a hypnotic effect on my stoned senses.

Of course I wanted to enter, but my friend said no, things were winding down for the evening in there and it wasn't an appropriate time for me to go in. Through the small doorway I could see a cluster of a dozen or so Indians sitting talking. Surely they wouldn't mind me just going in and saying a prayer to the Goddess I thought, but I went with my new friend and his friends out to the back of the building, admiring all the craftsmanship in the curving stone walls as we made our way around it through the lush gardens surrounding. I was thinking about canceling my midnight train ticket to check out these temples thoroughly the next day.

We did the puja with the flowers and incense he'd procured for me (for a small fee of course). Chanting Kali mantras strongly to the space outside behind the altar inside, it suddenly seemed absurd to me and I began to walk swiftly around the periphery of the temple, still chanting. As expected they followed me equally swiftly and told me not to go in, more urgently now, but I was somewhat possessed by now and strode right over the step. The priest shouted No you are not allowed in and several others also rose with frantic gestures for me to retreat. I stood stunned, but met their aggression with an amiable expression and said softly that I wished just to quickly offer my flower and incense to the Goddess. They became even more aggressive, and I stepped back out, not wanting to create a scene. Then I asked the priest, who now stood in the doorway, to give the flowers and incense to Her for me, and he softened, took them and thanked me. I stood out the
front doing more mantras and then turned to go.
At my heels, my new friend was angry, 'Why did you do that? I told you you couldn't go in!'
'You made out it was not the right time, but I can't go in tomorrow either can I?' I demanded, realizing he'd been trying to break it to me slowly after I'd expressed my frustration with the 'non-Hindus' thing in Madurai.
Sheepishly he admitted this was the case, and also with the Lingaraj Temple. I said how upset I was with all this, and that I would now go and walk around the outer wall of the great Lingaraj Temple complex, to be alone for a while.
He let me go, and at the front gate I conferred with a priest who was standing there now. I talked to him about my Hinduism, my devotion, my faith. He said entry is not allowed but go talk to the police and gestured to their station across the rode. His manner was officious but still stoned and suddenly seeing the funny side, I laughed and said yes but surely a priest knows more than a policeman about whether I am a Hindu or not? He couldn't help smiling back at that. I sarcastically thanked him for his hospitality and walked on, but he ran up after me and said actually he sees I am devoted and would like to let me in, but if he does the police can come and arrest him, because of the laws in Orissa! Again he said I should go talk to them, and his apologetic sincerity
convinced me. Feeling determined, I went across to the station.
There a bizarre scenario awaited. Predictably they told me to wait, and as I sat there outside the building, several officers chatted casually. One of them, seated directly opposite me as if she were guarding the entrance, was a very dark-skinned uniformed woman who was for some unknown reason holding a large and very sharp-looking unsheathed knife. She held it straight outwards from her stomach, not a very safe way to hold such an implement, though she didn't seem to be doing anything with it or intending to be threatening, was merely holding it while chatting with the other policemen. Of course in my state she seemed to embody Kali as some kind of gate-keeper, and this ordeal took on added significance motivating me to continue waiting...

When I eventually saw the police chief, he was surprising amicable. After listening to my pleas he actually agreed that he also thought I should be allowed to enter the temple as I was obviously sincerely of Hindu religion; but that however it was beyond his jurisdiction to grant me permission as it was against the law.
'But what IS the law?' I demanded, 'That non-Hindus are not allowed in the Temple? Because if that is the law I am not breaking it: I AM a Hindu!'
After much insistence and investigation I eventually uncovered that there were two laws there, one that those of non-Hindu religion could not enter, but also one that foreigners could not enter- you have to be born in India!
Now that really sucked, it was blatant racial prejudice and I told him so. He agreed but said he can't change the law.
So I had to surrender to this idiocy. I walked around the complex but couldn't see much. How much worse this was than at Madurai -here I couldn't even go beyond the outer walls!

Returning to my friend I told him of my whole experience, and he nodded sadly, 'Yes I told you. It is not possible.'
We had more chai, I began to relax again. He asked if I had been to Puri and Konark, the other main temples in Orrissa. I said no, I'd thought about it but the early-morning tourist bus had been booked out. But when he told me they were as big and grand as Lingaraj, and that local buses went all day, I wanted to. He said I couldn't go inside the Puri Temple either, but Konark is not in use as a Temple and tourists can see it all. 'Kama sutra' he said, referring to the erotic nature of the statuary at Konark.
I decided to cancel my train that night, store my things at my hotel but give up the expensive room there, go out next day by local bus to Puri and Konark where he said I could easily find a cheap room, then return the following day to see Lingaraj (from the platform) and the Kali temple by daylight before heading off to Kalcutta. A good plan he said and agreed to meet me on my return.

There was nothing much to see for a foreigner at Puri- the height and distances of the walls and the tops of the domes sticking out indicated that the temple complex was indeed large and no doubt spectacular, but from the outside it wasn't very exciting. I walked around the outer wall and saw the decorations and little shrines there, including a Tara one where I prayed.
There were many images of the ten incarnations of Vishnu, except in the place of the Buddha was the local deity housed there, JagaNath. It seems He is a large log painted with a strange smiley face, and this edifice is brought out from the temple each July and paraded around in a huge cart with gigantic wheels (from which we get the word Juggernaut) which often crush devotees in their religious fervor. But when it wasn't July there wasn't much for a foreigner to see and I soon moved on from the throngs of pilgrims and beggars clustered outside, catching a bus towards Konark.

Another few hours of hot sweaty crowded travelling (it had taken three to reach Puri) and I was at Konark, a small tourism-based town near the ocean. The air was fresh and I headed towards the great Temple of Surya -the Sun-God- with some excitement.
Foreigners had to pay a lot more and be accompanied by an official guide (who also cost) but it was well worth it. Definitely one of the most spectacular temples I have seen despite being half-collapsed. The story of this collapse as told by my eager guide is an interesting one:
The structure of the Temple was based around the force of a central giant magnet which kept all the metal pins within the walls and statuary together, as suggested by the twelve-year- old son of the chief architect. Apparently because he had come up with this simple solution when thousands of workers had failed to, they were all to be executed for their ignorance. Feeling responsible for this calamity, the child threw himself from the top of the temple, a sacrifice in their stead, and the Temple thus became cursed and was not opened for worship. Years later Portugese sailors had their navigational instruments thrown out by the huge magnet in the coastal temple, and came and removed it, causing the whole building to collapse inwards.


The inside is thus all blocked off and inaccessible, but the outside of the temple is incredible to survey in its intricacy: figures in every manner of sexual position and combination (orgiastic and bisexual) are depicted in the detailed carvings, with some exaggerated relish, and human-height great stone wheels line the bottoms of the walls, 12 on each side, while the remnants of the six horses that pulled this mighty stone 'chariot' of the Sun-God are still at its front.
 
The whole structure is also like a great calendar and clock, its architectural devices relating to the rhythms of days, months, years, even hours. On each great wheel are small and fine carvings of daily activities in circular reliefs on each spoke: arising and stretching in the morning hours, eating breakfast, working, lunch, on into the night where more carnal scenes are depicted on the nocturnal spokes.

Apparently the rampant sexual imagery all over the temple was an intentional ploy to regain the peoples' interest in such activity, as celibate religious views had become so dominant at that time in history that it had caused a population depletion. So building a temple replete with sexual carvings was intended to both educate and inspire, and according to my guide historical records prove it to have been effective!
Nevertheless the majestic building has never been used as an operative temple. After twelve thousand workers labouring over its construction for twelve years, curse was followed by collapse and the ruins remain a tourist attraction only.

The smaller building behind the main Temple piqued my interest, and I was informed it is the Temple of Surya's wife. This was not Chandra the Moon-Goddess as I had expected (as in the classical alchemical marriage in the western mystery traditions), but a perhaps even more potently sublime metaphor. For the wife of the Hindu Sun God is the Goddess of Shade!

My guide befriended me and after the temple was closed took me to the beach on his motorbike. My interest in the sexual imagery of the building had I suspected from his vibe aroused lascivious intentions towards me, but soon realizing I wasn't interested he was still nice enough and I helped him collect small fish that strangely jumped out onto the beach in kamikaze schools.


Returning to Bhubaneshwar next day I marveled at Lingaraj by daylight from the platform, explored the Kali Temple and others nearby dotted around the great lake, absorbing the beauty of each detail with relish. I met my new friend there again and we had whiskey and chillums with others at a special place which he later revealed to be the great swing of Lord Shiva and Lady Parvati, when once a year they were brought out from the Temple and placed in this structure to be swung by the priests to and fro.
He told me about his French girlfriend and how frustrating it was that their child was not allowed in the temple because his mother was not of Hindu origin. We got on well and he was sad to see me go, but though appreciating the first real connection I'd had since Kerala, I was eager to move on to Kalcutta and Tarapith with less than a week remaining in India.

I caught the midnight train and felt both joy and apprehension that at last- after so many delays and (albeit fruitful) meanderings- I was returning to the territory where I had experienced such dire ordeals the year before...

 
(to be concluded)...