Bombs in Mumbai

We met Edu and Mire for early breakfast on Nov 26th, and they told us their parents had been in touch about bombings that day in Mumbai. No one had specific information -- it was 8:30 AM and we were in tranquil Udaipur preparing for a long day trip into the countryside. A mountain top fort in Kumbulgargh and the major Jain temple (an offshoot of Hinduism ... circa 500 BC) in Ranakpur.

After breakfast we loaded into our hired taxi and took off. I fumbled with the cell phone we bought in Mumbai, trying to figure out how to call home. It was Wed night in NYC still. I reached Ken at approx. 11:30 PM his time to let him know we were safe, just to check in. That's when we found out the full extent of what was going on: machine guns and grenades at a major train depot, terrorists taking over the Taj Mahal Hotel (3 blocks from where we had been staying at Bentley's Hotel) and a few other sites. They were Muslim separaists targeting British and American tourists.

Our phone was running out of minutes so we asked him to spread the word that we were safe and headed into the hills in the very tranquil province of Rajasthan. Edu and Mirie joked with us about how bombs had been following them through their whole trip. 2 bombs went off in Dehli shortly after they flew in (they arrived in Dehli), then more in the province of Bihar when they visited Varanasi by the Naxilites -- a (non-Muslim) rebel separatist group operating in Bihar and Jarkhand. Now it was the bombings in Mumbai a few days after they left. They were bad luck.

All the news, all the chatter now is about Mumbai so it's difficult to write this in retrospect. It's not just the tourists: the Indians are talking non-stop to us about it. They're more scared then we are. It's not just their lives at risk, it's also their livelihood. Tourism is 50% of the economy here in Rajasthan. After 9/11 it took the economy 2 years to recover. Imagine the effect now, after a 9/11-level event in Mumbai.

But it's also taken in stride. A typical conversation ends with a shrug. "But what can we do? We all go sometime. We must make the best of today."

Back to Nov 26th:
It was a long drive through the countryside and we chatted, watched monkeys hopping around, drove through towns and farms. Thought about family. Passed caravans of camels, swerved around hairpin turns along cliffs as large trucks barrelled towards us. Chatted with each other and the driver.

The fort was amazing -- the second largest in Asia after the Great Wall of China (so the locals assured us, and it's easy to believe). Built to withstand the Mongol (Mughal) invasions of the 16th century, it was only captured once and even then it was only held for two days. It was a good place to feel safe.

Laura and I followed the long flight of stairs -- not stairs, actually, but a long incline -- stopping now and then for sightseeing and water. Absolutely breathtaking, I have never seen anything like it. I was reminded of eastern Oregon, only with tens of thousands of years of castles and villages and networks of shrines. Imagine if we hadn't driven the Native Americans into reservations but instead had built large forts and incorporated them into our daily lives. A conquest of incorporation (much like the Chinese occupation of Tibet) instead of displacement.

Half-way up we ran into a shrine and were invited in. It was a small side-building in the shade with a camel-idol sitting facing the door. We removed our shoes and walked inside into blackness.

"Namaste."

"Namaste," an old woman replied.

A single flame was burning and she mumbled to us in broken English, pointing out the various idols.

"Kali. Krishna. Shiva."

Kali, goddess of destruction. The eyes flickered in the lamplight. I paid my repescts -- literally, I dropped a handful of rupees on a devotional tray -- and received a blessing -- literally, a smudge of paint between the eyes. Laura and I stepped out into the sunlight. I felt slightly dizzy.

As we continued our climb we passed more shrines to Kali. A silver mountain with two eyes, surrounded with red and orange paints. I bowed at each one, Mumbai on my mind. Kali, Kali, Kali; Kali following us. Kali following our friends. Watching us.

We reached the top, enjoyed the views, and descended. We stepped into a shrine to Shiva, the protector (and phallus, among other things). I paid respects there and felt better upon receiving his blessing.

Another long drive to the Jain temple and Ranakpur and when we were there I was tired, thinking too much of Kali. The Jain temple didn't help. A beautiful work of sculpture, built of sandstone and buried deep in a desert jungle (it's like a jungle ... only without constant rains). We removed our shoes and wandered through the intricately-carved stonework, columns upon columns supporting roofs upon roofs. Built in the 10th or 11th century to guard the idols against the invading Muslims who had the habit of destroying all idols in foreign lands. "Thou shalt make no graven image ..."

Among the many images built into the columns and ceilings, the many gods and goddesses, Kali dominated the scene. Kali as the dragon (I may have that reference wrong, but it resonated at the time) repeated endlessly on every column. A Jain guide approached me.

"Where from?" he asked.

"America," I said.

"Kali," he nodded.

I shivered in the heat.

He gave a brief tour and asked for a donation. I gave the few coins remaining in my pocket. (Ironically the Jain temple doesn't allow any leather inside, so my wallet was in the car.)

Idols upon idols, eyes upon eyes.

Listen up Christians, Muslims, Jews: peoples of the book(s) whose god has no image. These idols are very real, psychologically entrancing and intoxicating. Their worship is equally profound, and we will not understand our many-in-one God until we understand this long history of eyes upon eyes watching us through the veil of the past. Until we understand Kali laughing, dancing, flickering in the light of a single flame.

Laura came and found me as I sat lost among the columns.

"You need to relax," she smiled.

"I'm trying," I said.

We talked about the image of Shiva to the north, about the statues of a goddess giving birth on the back of an elephant to the east, west and south. She guided me around the temple, giving me a frame of reference, diverting my mind away from Kali. We returned to the car, waited for Edu and Mire, and drove home chatting and learning snippets of Hindi from the driver. Laura needed to use the bathroom so the driver pulled over on the side of the road.

"Um ... where exactly?" Laura said.

The driver pointed to the edge of the road. Someone's field.

"And that's ok?"

"Yes, yes, is no problem."

When we returned to Udaipur that night Mumbai was in flames. We went nearby for dinner and they played CNN-India in the lobby. It appeared to be all over (as of this writing, 36 hrs later, it still isn't). Tourists and Indians alike paused to watch, talk, react. Kali, Kali, Kali. Laura was tired and left me for the rooftop restaurant. I joined her a few minutes later.

"What are you think about?" I asked.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she said, upset.

"This?"

"The terrorists."

"Me too, let's talk about something else. What are you thinking about?"

"The terrorists," Laura repeated with a frown.