Like, Misunderstood (excerpts)

[Guest guest]

CHAPTER 102: Jaipur & Karoli

 

If I had to sum up in one word the experience of collecting money and

materials to build the Nandagram school, that word would be ‘grind.’ It

is a friggen grind. Keeping that in mind I suggest you cue up

‘Earthquake’ by Jeff Beck. It’s the best music on earth to equate with

the overall experience of collecting construction materials in India.

 

The next morning Gopesh Prabhu and I depart the ashram. We travel on

foot, by bus, the on a steam-engine train, eventually arriving in the

coalmining town of Dhanbad, Bihar. There we walk barefoot down a long,

hot, dusty road to this rich dude’s pad. When we finally arrive at the

huge gilded gate, a guard shakes a club at us, and gestures for us to

go away. Jeez! Nice start. We leave and start walking to Dhunbad town

where we finaly get to meet with the rich guy at his office. Cool!

Afterwards he invites us to stay at his mansion. So we drive back into

the compound in a car with the boss and go right past the startled

guard. With my newfound spiritual compassion and forgiveness I smile

kindly at the poor guard. And in my merciful state of mind I think.

‘F**k you, asshole!’

 

The King of Coal, owner of 100 mines, listens, agrees, and then writes

us a check for a lakh, 100,000 rupies. Another lakh is promised once we

show progress in building the school. Next we’re back on a train, then

a bus, and finally we walk back to the ashram in victory. Gurudev is

overjoyed at our success. I’m still scratching my head in wonder.

 

Next stop: the Pink City of Jaipur – known as the 2nd Vrindavan because

the famous Deity of Lord Govinda resides there.

 

We’re back on a bus that’s driving across the wide-open desert, down a

path with no road. After a long, bumpy ride we finally arrive in

Jaipur. The two of us walk from the bus station all the way to Kotwali

– police headquarters – and we ask a policeman. Soon, out comes Kasi

Prasad, Chief of Police, sporting a big smile.

 

‘Jai Govinda!’ he greets us. ‘I knew you were coming. I'm very happy to

meet you. I have arranged your stay in the police guesthouse here.

After you get settled we will discuss your mission. Please follow my

man.’

 

I’m amazed. ‘Bahu-dhunyavad, Kasi Prasad Ji!’ (Kasi Prasad, sir! Thank

you very much), I say in perfect Hindi.

 

The police chief is surprised. ‘So you can speak Hindi? Yes, very good,

very good!’ We follow a uniformed policeman inside the precinct for the

night.

 

Early the next morning, at 5 am, we go in a police jeep with Kashi

Prasad to take darshan (visit) Lord Govindadev at His opulent temple

inside the royal palace. Together with Kashi Prasad we all bow, like a

stick, to the famous 500-year-old Deity of Krishna, here known as

Govinda. I notice the base of the Deity has a large gold plate set with

rubies, emeralds and diamonds that spell-out the name ‘Sri Govindadeva’

in Sanskrit. Whoa!

 

After we witness the stunningly beautiful morning arati (public

worship), we’re then invited to the small temple of Lord Narasimhadev

on the side of the palace garden. I give a short talk on Bhakti (divine

devotion) in Hindi, and then Kashi Prasad listens to me explain about

the school project. I show him the list of required materials, in this

case, red stone slabs. I tell the jolly Police Chief. ‘We have already

got one lakh of rupees from Bihar to start, but we need the red stone

slabs cut for the roof.’

 

Kashi Prasad guides us. ‘I know one man, he is difficult man, but he

owns most of the red stone mines. His name is Tewari. I will write

introduction and then you must go try to see him in the mountains of

Karoli. It is long and dangerous bus ride from here, about four hours.

Very dangerous.’

 

I’m cool. ‘Krishna has always protected us, so I'm not worried. When

should we go?’

 

‘Well, you can go tomorrow. I will give you busfare so you can ride

inside the bus.’

 

I bow my head to him. ‘Jai Govinda! You are so kind. But where will we

stay there?’

 

‘Yes, you shall have to seek shelter,’ he agrees. ‘It is very rough

place, Karoli, but you must go on your mission. I will prepare letter.’

 

Whoa! Now the grind really starts. Before long we’re sitting inside a

dilapidated old bus with bald tires going up a steep mountain road. The

bus winds around then stops, gets into reverse, and backs up to allow a

truck loaded with red stone slabs to pass on the narrow road coming

from the opposite direction. Then the bus grinds gears and lurches

forward, climbing up the curvy narrow road. The bus seat is just a

plank of wood.

 

We’re really tired by the time we reach the mining town. We walk

barefoot into an open dharmashalla (free shelter with no facilities

except a roof). This will be our home for a week. Like, Funky, with a

capital “F”. All night I fight off swarms of bugs as I fitfully try to

sleep on the stone floor.

 

Early the next morning I need to ‘ease nature’ – or, in surf speak,

‘pinch a loaf.’ So I’m squatting in a dirty field, surrounded by

anxious hogs. I hold a lota (pot) in my right hand, and with my left

hand I hold a rock, which I threaten to throw. I’m squatting and

twisting left and right to ward off the hungry hogs. Jeez! I’m

thinking. What a friggen life. As soon as I stand up, immediately all

the hogs charge in knocking me over. Yuck! They’re not interested in

me. I guess that’s good.

 

Gopesh and I walk up a mountain path to the home of Tewari. Now we’re

in a sumptuous villa sitting at the feet of a huge, fat Indian

businessman. He sits above us on a raised platform. Mr. Tewari weighs

at least 1,000 pounds. I speak to him and show the list of stone

requirements. After treating us like sh*t, he finally agrees. He’ll cut

the stones and send to Nandagram. Cool!

 

Gopesh and I ride a bouncy bus back to Vrindavan. We present the paper

from Tewari to Gurudev. He’s stoked. But the stones don’t arrive and

soon Gurudev points at the calendar on the wall and orders us back to

Karoli. Oh no, not Karoli again!

 

After the usual luxury bus rides we’re back sitting at the feet of

Jabba-the-Tewari. He explains the delay: no trucks to transport the

stones. He tells us to approach the local trucking association. At the

Trucking Association shack I talk sincerely with a Sikh trucking

association president, he shakes his head and agrees. Jeez! Go figger?

 

Before long, the trucks are loaded with the heavy stone slabs. Gopesh

and I sit in the lead truck of a convoy of five vehicles, all loaded

down with red stones. The convoy departs Karoli at dusk, and after

driving all night we finally arrive at the school grounds with all the

Nandagram villagers cheering and helping to off load the stones. I

wonder how they knew we were coming today?

 

 

CHAPTER 103: Delhi

 

With that portion of the grind completed, Gopesh and I heave a sigh of

relief and sit on Gurudev's porch.

 

‘Very good!’ Gurudev tells us. ‘So now you must go to Delhi. Bricks

have already been purchased, but construction waits for cement. This

may be the hardest to acquire as it is strictly controlled by

Government. But please try. Here is letter of introduction to Delhi

mayor, Hans Raj Gupta. Please go with my blessings.’

 

Back to the grind. Once we’re back in Delhi I go meet with the mayor.

Mayor Gupta is a white-haired and very high-class man of about 60 years

of age. He listens patiently to our concerns about obtaining the cement

we need and suggests we try to meet Seth Dalmia, the biggest cement

producer in India and one of the country’s richest men.

 

We have to meet the richest man in India? Barefoot? Yikes! But

whatever! I figure as long as I’m on the grind, I’ll be one step ahead

of the US Embassy. So off we go.

 

The building on Connaught Circus, in the heart of Delhi, has a huge

sign: Dalmia House. Whoa! Heavy duty! The richest dude in the whole

country. Somehow we enter the building, partly due to the novelty of my

being a foreign Hindu monk. After climbing the pecking order we finally

meet Seth Dalmia’s male secretary, Sharma. He is dressed in white

cotton dhoti and kurta. After hearing our mission, he smiles and leads

us into a huge office to meet frail, 65-year-old Jai Dayal Dalmia.

Dalmia is so humble and pious that he gets up and touches our feet. I

object, nicely.

 

He listens to our plan and shakes his head yes. ‘So now you have got

your cement, I will arrange delivery. Now are you happy?’

 

‘Dalmiaji,’ I reply. ‘It is not for my happiness. It is only for the

Nandagram people. Already there are about 500 students ready to study.’

 

 

But inside I can’t help thinking, sure dude! Why wouldn’t I be happy

with my own friggen cement. Jeez! I’ve been dreaming about cement all

my life. Ha! But of course I didn’t say that. I don’t want to insult

his lovely cement.

 

Seth Dalmia also invites us to stay at his mansion during this and

future visits to Delhi. He even offers to put his car and driver at our

disposal. Man, what a great guy! I guess he likes me. Jeez! I think,

the richest dude in all India is like, my bud.

 

The locals are really stoked when a truck convoy full of cement bags

arrives at the village. Again the Nandagram villagers are cheering and

excitedly helping to offload the big bags. Gurudev is really happy

because now actual construction can proceed.

 

But for Gopesh and I the grind, the real grind, is still ahead. The

final piece of the school puzzle, viz., iron girders. Jeez! What the

heck is one of those? Sounds like something that women wore in the

Middle Ages.

 

So off we go again, riding on a train back to Delhi, clutching a paper

with specifications for the required girders. Sh*t, I still don’t know

who’s going to wear these damn things. Once in Delhi we stay at

Dalmia’s mansion. The next morning we meet and speak again with Mayor

Gupta, showing him the iron requirements.

 

‘Yes, I understand,’ he says. ‘I am also in iron business. So I shall

write a pledge letter for six girders and you can carry around Loha

Bazaar, the iron market. I will also arrange talk at Lion's Club, yes,

everyone will be so happy to meet a foreign monk.’

 

I’m thinking, wow! This is way too easy! Too easy usually means we’re

walking into an ambush. Little did I know Loha Bazaar: a real walk in

the park – Hell’s Park.

 

Gopesh and I walk through the muddy, potholed, ragged, iron market,

dodging big bulls and human slaves carrying and dragging long, heavy

iron girders. Hey, now I know what a girder looks like! Exactly like a

friggen girder. In the sweltering heat and rain we walk from one funky,

ramshackle, tin-roofed office to the next. The open air shacks line

both sides of the muddy road that is the main-vein of Loha Bazaar.

 

In each office we show Mayor Gupta’s now tattered pledge letter. Some

fat cats are happy to match the Mayor’s pledge, and sign their names;

but others take rudeness to a new level, found only in Loha Bazaar.

Turning away their heads they would shake their hands as if to say:

F**k off! But we persisted, day after day, until we had all our girders

pledged. Whew! What a friggen hellhole. Glad that’s over.

 

In order to raise money for transporting the girders to Nandagram,

Mayor Gupta makes arrangement for me to speak to the Lion’s Club and

Rotary Club. No sweat! We get the money. After paying the truckers and

giving them our pledge letter, we return to holy Vrindavan. The grind

is almost over. With all the parts collected the only remaining task is

to visit Bihar, the king of coal mines, to show a photo of construction

and collect the balance of one more lakh rupees. The cash will be used

to buy desks, blackboards, furniture and other items for the

schoolrooms.

 

Nine months later the new school is born. There are eight classrooms

and a large auditorium in the center. Outside in the school courtyard

there’s a huge pit-fire burning with a two-meter wide cooking wok.

Inside the huge pot is about 100 gallons of milk being cooked with rice

and sugar. Four men stir the cooking mix with long wooden paddles the

size of boat oars. The corridors of the school are lined with village

kids who are stuffing themselves with sweet rice served to them on

banana leaf plates.

 

‘It makes me feel so good to see the Nandagram people really happy,’ I

tell Gurudev, as we stand around with some of the village leaders

looking over the festive scene.

 

Gurudev smiles kindly. ‘Yes, you have done a great service to this Holy

Land. Surely you have served Krishna!’

 

What can I say? ‘You have done all this, Gurudev. I'm just your helper.

This is your great service.’

 

Well, maybe I deserve a little bit of credit. I’ll take all the

blessings I can get.

 

Ref. http://www.themisunderstood.com/like-novel.html

 

 

 

 

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