Day 167 – Agra, India – 10:09 AM

After three sensory overloaded days in Varanasi, I traveled 250 miles west to the town of Khajuraho. Khajuraho is home to three sets of temples belonging to the Hindu and Jain religions. These temples, twenty of which survived of the original 85 were declared UNESCO World Heritage Sites in 1986. The temples are divided into three groups: East, South and West.  Each group corresponds to its location in relation to the center of Khajuraho.

I arrived In Khajuraho on Saturday morning and found an air-conditioned room at Yogi Lodge for $10.53 USD per night.  I grabbed breakfast at the attached restaurant and then returned to the comfort of my room for a quick nap.  I agreed to meet a rickshaw driver at 9am who offered to transport me to the East and South temples for a minimal fee.  Ten minutes before nine I grabbed my camera and descended to the lobby.  My driver was waiting.

We exited the lobby and walked across a small parking lot to his green rickshaw adorned with a yellow roof.  I jumped in the backseat and he saddled up behind the v-shaped handlebars.  The sun slowly ascended in the sky as he started the engine and turned the throttle.  We puttered through the lot to a narrow, pot holed covered dirt road.  Rickshaws drove in both directions and maneuvered with motorbikes, bicycles and pedestrians.  Miraculously in my thirteen days in India I have yet to see an accident.  Knock on wood.

We drove south past the newly opened airport and pulled up to Chaturbhuja Temple, constructed around 1100 AD. Yasovarman, a member of the Chandela Dynasty that ruled from the 10^th to 13^th centuries, built the temple in honor of Lord Vishnu, one of the most revered deities in Hindu scripture. The name “Chaturbhuja” can be translated from Sanskrit meaning “four-arms”, the number of arms that Vishnu is depicted with. I also learned during my visit that Chaturbhuja is the last remaining temple that does not face the sunrise.

I slowly walked around the exterior of the temple, examining its fine detail and intricate sculptures.  Next, I slipped off my shoes and walked inside.  The technicality I observed around the perimeter was not lost internally. Hand crafted symbols of the Hindu religion lined the doorways that led visitors through the Mandapa, an entryway-like section of the temple that connects to the innermost sanctuary, referred to as a Garbhagriha. A large sculpture of Vishu stood against the back wall of the Garbhagriha and peered down upon those who entered.

I returned to my driver who waited patiently under the shade of a tree.  He fired up the engine and we continued to the remaining temples in the eastern group.  As we motored through a small village, he slowed and a man jumped in the front seat.  He appeared to be about my age.  He turned around, smiled, pushed out his hand and introduced himself as B.  I returned the smile and finished off the handshake.  It was not long until we arrived at the temples. B and I jumped out to explore.  We walked shoulder to shoulder towards the structures as he began to explain a bit about each.  Apparently, he was my guide for the afternoon.

We spent the late morning exploring four or five additional temples. B provided insight on each and filled me in on the main tenants of Hinduism.  Following our temple tour, we stopped at a local restaurant for lunch.  The air-conditioned room provided a welcomed relief from the early afternoon heat.  I ordered a traditional Indian meal along with a cold drink.  As we ate, B informed me that the brother of a friend was getting married that night and he invited me to come along.  I hemmed and hawed over the invitation during lunch.  I have heard in the past that if you are invited to a traditional Indian wedding you must attend.  To decline would be to lose out on an opportunity to see a piece of Indian and Hindu culture.  But, I did not sleep spectacularly the evening before and hoped to call it an early night.  They dropped me off at Yogi Lodge and we agreed to meet at 7pm for a coffee.  I had the afternoon to decide on the night’s festivities.

I returned to my room and laid down in bed to nap and make up my mind.  Yes, it would be nice to get a wonderful nights rest.  But, when would I have the opportunity to attend a traditional Hindu wedding in India.  It would be a miscarriage of my motivation for embarking on this journey if I did not attend.  It was settled; I was going. A shirt and tie, I did not have. But, grey khakis, a classy t-shirt and Sperry’s would do. It would have to. I set my alarm for 5pm and closed my eyes.

The buzz from my alarm jostled me awake hours later. I rolled over and delayed the inevitable for a few minutes. I eventually pulled myself out of the comfort of my bed.  I walked across the tiled floor to my large backpack and retrieved my wedding apparel. I laid the pants and shirt out on the bed, hoping the few wrinkles would magically disappear before the ceremony. I grabbed my towel and walked into the shower. The cool water from the faucet felt glorious after a day out in the Indian sun. After my shower, I slipped into a t-shirt and shorts, hoping to avoid the long pants for as long as possible. I knew I would sweat as the night progressed; that was unavoidable. My only hope was to delay its onset.

When my watch read 6:30pm, I changed from my shorts and t-shirt into my wedding attire. I grabbed my wallet, phone, camera and room key.  I locked the door behind me, walked across the outdoor patio and descended to the lobby. The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon and with it came a delightful breeze. The night manager insisted I walk to the corner and witness the final portion of a parade to mark the end of a long celebration in Khajuraho. I was on the corner for a matter of minutes when B pulled up on his motorbike and I hopped on. As we pulled away from the curb, memories from the last time I sat on the back of a motorbike flooded my mind.

We drove the short distance to a local fabric shop, managed by a friend of B’s. We strolled inside and sat down to share some tea and coffee before heading over to the wedding. I assumed we would have one cup each and then join the wedding. It was after 7pm at this point. An hour passed and we remained at the shop discussing all things India and America. Politics, crime, marriage and various other customs were points of conversation. What time was this wedding going to start? Time continued to pass and B portrayed no urgency to leave. Around 9pm, B suggested we head over to the ceremony. I nodded and thanked the shop manager for the coffee and tea. I climbed onto the back of B’s bike and he started the engine. We maneuvered through the evening traffic that steadily increased since our ride to the fabric shop. I later learned that as evening descends on Khajuraho and temperatures decrease, locals leave the comfort of their homes and complete chores and errands.

A short time later we pulled up outside a large white structure that was lit by pink and blue lights, the customary wedding colors seen throughout India. We stepped off the bike and B explained this residence was for the groom and his family to prepare for the wedding. Friends of B slowly arrived and we congregated at a nearby storefront. There were murmurings of locating beer to consume prior to the ceremony. I was onboard with that idea; after all we were going to a wedding. Alcohol is not a common beverage throughout India and thus requires some strategy to acquire. Four of us divided between two motorbikes and we departed. After stops at three storefronts, and a handshake here and there, four beers were procured and we motored to a secluded street nearby to finish them off.   I was in India. If this is the pre-wedding protocol, I’m all for it. I’ll drink a beer sitting cross-legged on a quiet street. However, doubts began to creep into my mind about whether there was going to be a wedding that night or not.

After our beers, we climbed back aboard the motorbikes and drove back to the groom’s staging area. By this point, a horse arrived along with a full brass band. In addition, a pickup truck loaded down with speakers sat parked at the nearby corner. By speakers, I do not mean your normal car stereo speakers; I mean speakers that line the stage at a rock concert. What had I gotten myself into? Minutes later the groom appeared from the building. He wore a white sherwani, which consisted of a white jacket adorned with buttons and jewels along with red pants. On his head rested a red sehra, a type of headdress worn during Hindu weddings. A female relative stepped forward and applied a ceremonial tilak to his forehead. After a series of photographs, the groom stepped aboard the horse and we all proceeded to the nearby street.

The trucks engine started and techno music pulsed from its ample sound system. Neon strobe lights attached to the roof of the truck rained down on the crowd. Little children danced with abandoned behind the truck as it slowly inched from the curb. Next in line was the brass band, completely drowned out by the truck.  A large, white carriage fell in line behind the band and finally the groom on his horse. B and his friends joined the group dancing behind the truck. I stayed in the periphery at first snapping photographs along the way. B motioned for me to join them. I was hesitant at first but eventually joined in the fun. All in attendance quickly gathered around the tall, bearded American with the spectacular dance moves. It was truly unlike anything I ever experienced.

The procession eventually arrived outside the venue for the ceremony. A red carpet was rolled out and guests meandered in all directions. It is not uncommon for 800-1000 guests to attend an Indian wedding. It is truly a massive undertaking and no detail is overlooked. B and I walked along the red carpet, under large, pink arches. We entered a large, open area occupied by tables lined with food. We stepped forward, grabbed plates and layered them with food. B’s friends joined us and we stood around taking in the sights. A large, white stage stood off to our right. It was where the actual wedding ceremony would take place.

Unfortunately, that was the extent of my Indian wedding experience. As I stood eating dinner with B and his friends, my nose started to bleed profusely. I do not know what caused it, but nothing was getting it to stop. I decided to return to Yogi Lodge before it grew worse. B agreed to drive me back to my accommodation. I walked to my room, disappointed how the night ended.   I stuffed my nose with tissues and the bleeding gradually subsided.  It sure was poor timing to have a nosebleed.

The next morning I walked to the western group of temples. This is the largest of the three groups, encompassing eight structures dating back to 950 AD. I strolled around these structures in awe at their size and detail. I could not help but stand back and wonder how these buildings were constructed so long ago without the assistance of machines. The hand-sculpted detail was simply astonishing. The late morning heat bore down as I strolled the finely manicured grounds. It took a little over two hours to cover all the temples. By that point I was beyond thirsty. I bought two water bottles and found a quiet, shady spot to empty them.

I returned to Yogi Lodge and sat under the air-conditioner after a morning in the sun. I had plans to meet B around noon. He wanted to show me his family’s farm and a local school that was recently renovated in Khajuraho’s old village. I met B outside my accommodation a few minutes before noon and we spent a couple of hours riding around town. He informed me that he returned to the wedding after dropping me off and remained in attendance until 3am. Darn nosebleed!

B dropped me back off later that afternoon and wished me farewell on the rest of my travels. I thanked him for guiding me through the temples, showing me around the rest of Khajuraho and of course, for inviting me to a true Indian wedding. He asked me to contact him if I return to Khajuraho in the future and I told him to do the same if he gets to the States. I retreaded to my room and began packing for my train the following morning. Stop number three in India was concluding and Agra awaited my arrival. While I did not see an Indian wedding in its entirety, I still came away with a pretty good idea of what the ceremonies entail. The number of people invited to these occasions make the importance of family and friends in Indian culture very evident. That is one of the many aspects of Indian life that I have come to appreciate during the previous thirteen days of making my way west through this massive, multi-layered country.

 

* Photographs from my time in Varanasi, India are viewable within the India Portfolio section found on the Perpetual Footsteps homepage.  Pictures from Khajuraho, Agra, Delhi and Manali are slowly being compiled.  I’m trying to get caught up; it’s hard when there is so much to explore and experience throughout India.