I took the night train from New Jalpaiguri to Kolkata, so that I could take the next night train to Bhubaneswar in Orissa. My concern about the trip to Kolkata turned out to be justified. No-one at NJP seemed familiar with my Indrail Pass, and the universal advice was to see the Chief Ticket Inspector at 6:00 p.m. when the seating chart would be available. It actually became available at 7:00 p.m., when the train also arrived. I wasn't on the chart. I finally got myself assigned to a berth in 2AC instead of the 1AC for which I had a reservation. Indian trains are laid out differently to the Chinese -- in 2AC there are four bunks to a curtained compartment, and another tier of two against the opposite wall. There is actually more privacy behind the curtain in a side bunk in 2AC than in a 1AC compartment with a door and four bunks. The first thing I did in Kolkata was to confirm all my train reservations through to Delhi. (I had bought my Indrail Pass from S. D. Enterprises Ltd. in Britain, as Indian Railways had no General Services Agent in the U.S., and planned my journey using the schedules from Indian Railway's web site.)
Sometimes it pays to advertise. I picked my Bhubaneswar hotel on the basis of an ad stuck on the cover of a free sample issue of Business Week handed out on the train. It was a little more than I wanted to pay, but right next to the station with AC and a good-looking bathroom. By then I just wanted to get cleaned up.
I went to Orissa to see temples, and I wasn't disappointed. But because of the hotel I chose I got an unexpected bonus. I was handing in my key on the way out to visit the museum and the tourist bureau, when a woman stopped me to ask if I would like to come to lunch at 1:00 p.m. to celebrate her son's wedding. Naturally I said I'd love to, and asked about the ceremony. That got me a pressing invitation to the wedding itself, which was about to start -- apparently it was an honor to have a foreigner present. She and her husband were delighted that I attended, and I was delighted to be there.
The ceremony, I was told later, was abbreviated -- it lasted only two and a half hours. The groom, employed by Oracle, was from Bangalore -- his parents were friends of the hotel owners -- and the ceremony was South Indian in form but performed by a North Indian brahmin. The three young girls I had taken for bridesmaids or witnesses turned out to be translators -- the brahmin spoke no English and the groom no Orisay (a language written with wonderful curved letters -- some look like stylized sheep or trees).
A verandah off one of the hotel's conference rooms had been draped with vivid fabric, and a canopied platform, decorated with white and orange garlands, set up. When I arrived the groom was alone with the Brahmin and his father, performing puja -- worship. The bride arrived wearing stiff red and gold, with a lot of gold jewelry and hennaed hands. A little later she left, to return wearing the purple wedding sari given by the groom's parents. The groom marked the part in her hair with the vermilion streak that indicated that she was married, as did the toe ring she received. She did puja to Durga, often considered the mother goddess. Both bride and groom anointed the feet of their parents -- to thank them for bringing them up and for arranging the marriage. It was an arranged marriage, the bridge and groom had met only 10 days before the engagement ceremony, held in Bangalore. The bride never smiled, but I was told later that it would have been incorrect for her to do so. Still, I wondered about her position -- married to a man she barely knew, and moving the next day across the country to Bangalore to live with his family.
It was hot in the main room, where the guests sat, but there was a fan. On the verandah -- I went up to take photos -- it was much hotter, especially when the light for the video camera was on, as it was most of the time. The bride and groom, wearing wedding finery, were clearly feeling the heat -- the brahmin was working harder but wearing fewer clothes. It got a lot hotter at the end of the ceremony. The brahmin laid sticks in a square pattern in a brazier, and lit a fire that reached considerable proportions. The bride and groom did puja to the fire god, and then walked round the pavilion (and therefore the fire) seven times -- three times with the bride leading and four times with the groom. Afterward they walked down the aisle to sit in a pair of red and silver chairs at the back of the room. As I sat and talked with the hotel owner's family, waiting for lunch to be announced, I was amused to notice that the drink being served was Coca Cola.
After so much color and action, the museum was a hot and dark anticlimax, outshone by the one at the Scheduled Tribes Research Center I visited the next day. I was shown round the collection there by the director -- when I signed the guest book I discovered that I was the first visitor in almost two weeks. (I saw only two other foreigners in Orissa, but the "season" is December and January.) The museum currently had a termite problem, and the gallery containing musical instruments was dismantled. The director told me about some of the tribal customs -- one tribe requires women to marry all the brothers in a family, in another the women shave their heads because of a legend that they insulted a goddess -- and I particularly admired a raincoat beautifully made from woven leaves.
The other highlight of my trip to Orissa, as I expected, was the sun temple at Kornak. Although the central tower is gone, and the interior of the main halls bricked up by the British in 1903 to keep the structure from collapsing further, it is still impressive, and literally covered with intricate carving. It represents the chariot of the sun god, with seven horses and 24 wheels -- 12 on each side. The seven horses represent the seven colors of the sun and the days of the week; the wheels the 24 fortnights in a year. The wheels are also sundials -- my guide used one to tell the time with considerable accuracy. As originally designed, the rising sun lit the image of the sun god in the inner temple.
You could spend hours -- I spent two, in blazing sunshine -- examining the detailed and well-preserved carvings. Dancers in profusion. Elephants everywhere. Social scenes, sexual scenes, a record of life in 13th century India. Similar in function although not in form to the great medieval cathedrals in Europe, it is just as remarkable an achievement -- and took only 12 years to build.
The main statue of the sun god had been moved to Puri, to the Jagannath Mandir, one the four holiest Hindu pilgrimage sites. Unfortunately, that temple is off limits to non-Hindus, and the view from outside is not particularly interesting. I did visit the beach in Puri -- flat and sandy, like North Carolina without the dunes -- and noticed that the water in the Bay of Bengal appeared to have a brown tinge. I got my feet wet, but wasn't tempted to do more.
Bhubaneswar itself has no shortage of historic temples, and although only a few allow non-Hindus inside the main sanctuary, all allow visitors to examine the carvings outside -- for a price. Someone will appear with a "guest book" to record the expected donation. It was in Orissa that I really became aware of the two-tier pricing now in effect at many sites. Raja Rani Mandir and the Udayagiri caves (forgettable) charged Indian nationals 5/- and others 100/-. It's not that I mind paying somewhat more but 20 times more is ridiculous. There are, after all, rich Indians and poor tourists.
There was a second instance of serendipity during my stay in Bhubaneswar. I bought toothpaste, and asked if the vendor knew of a good place to buy shalwar suits. The travel agent next door took me round the corner and pointed out a shop, Utsav, that had opened only two days earlier. Having established that I didn't fit standard suits -- I couldn't even get my feet into the tight trouser legs coming into fashion -- I arranged to have one made. At less than 400/- it was considerably cheaper than Karimabad, but there was no guide's commission involved. It was also styled differently -- the tunic slit almost to the waist at the sides, and the trousers made with a yoke that cuts the bulk. The woman who had been helping, perhaps sensing my interest, then proceeded to show me an array of beautiful fabrics, although she knew that I was buying nothing else at the time. Cottons, muslins, chiffons, some heavily embroidered, some with the mirrors that signified they came from Gujarat were flung casually across the counter. There was a black chiffon with silver embroidery... If anyone wants a source for good Indian fabric (she had cloth from all over) I have just the contact for you.
I had been somewhat concerned about visiting Orissa because of the recent floods. There seemed to be somewhat more water than one might expect near the roads -- much of it overgrown with water hyacinth -- and I saw one row of palms blown down by a cyclone. Otherwise, I saw no signs of damage. However, I was told that the composition of the soil inland had been changed by the floods, and now would not grow the crops it used to support. That doesn't sound good.
Sent from Kolkata, West Bengal, India, Oct. 24, about Orissa, India, Oct. 18 - 22
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