The bus dropped me in the middle of nowhere. This was not the promised land… where the hell was Rishikesh? Where was the Ganges? Dust blew in my face and blanketed my rucksacks, which were so full I had no room to squeeze my water or my newly bought copy of the Bhagavad Gita into them. I was at the mercy of the auto-rickshaw drivers and their unusually high prices…
As I slumped into the auto and let the driver take me up into the hills, I admired the abundance of greenery. Nowhere in India had I yet been where I had seen so much green. But there was something else different about this land too. The air held a breath it had not before. Spending the last week in the cities of Agra and Vrindavan I forgot what wind felt like. Agra and Vrindavan were both breathtaking cities; Agra with the renowned and beautiful Taj Mahal, and Vrindavan with awesome temples around every corner. However, as breathtaking as these cities were, they were breathtaking in a second way as well; a far less positive one.
Anyway, after being attacked by a monkey in Agra, surviving the even more viciously hostile monkeys of Vrindavan and finding myself overcome by the mounting chaos and heat, I threw out my plans, ditching the eastern cities of Varanasi and Lucknow to rush far north, all the way past Delhi to a city at the foothills of the Himalayas. Rishikesh.
My driver dropped me at M-jula and I dragged my luggage and myself across the narrow suspension bridge, which infuriatingly – while was clearly only built for pedestrians – was also the crossing point for scooters and the… (dwelling?) of some cows who simply stood on the bridge not moving but taking up space. What were they doing there? Who knows. The suspension bridge turned out to be the least weird place I saw cows hanging out in Rishikesh.
I feasted on paneer parantha near my new hostel. The Baba Poshtel whose staff are so friendly, they make a point of learning your name instantly and do not forget it, treating you as a friend as well as a guest.
Rishikesh is so different to the other places I have been to in India that it feels like I’m in a different country. For a start, there are white people here, quite a few white people. And that is very strange. To hear British and American and Australian accents… well… it’s just weird.
I think I shall stay here a long time. Being able to breathe air is something I can’t take for granted anymore. So breezy is the air that sometimes it feels like it’s only in the twenties. This place is peaceful. The only thing about it that threatens to destroy that peace is the cows and the monkeys. They are of course, up to no good.
The monkeys speak for themselves, but as I was walking along a narrow lane full of crowded people, a horned cow suddenly reared up, grunting and bucking its head. Before I knew it the cow was charging and everyone had to fling themselves out of the way. I can say now that I have been in a stampede. A stampede that lasted probably only 2-3 seconds, but it was a stampede nevertheless. I swear it.
So yes, apart from the stampede and the numerous cows – there are more cows than white people, and as I said earlier, there are a lot of white people – it is all very peaceful in Rishikesh. It is time to relax in the tranquility of the Ganga and respect the fact that these cows are good creatures minding their own business. Who am I to complain about them? They belong here more than I do.
