After our mammoth day yesterday, we were both very tired, + slept in until late. And then, even after we got up, we did very little, + lounged around the Lodge for most of the day. Today was the big festival, we were told, when all the brightly painted Gods who had been adorning the various holiday temples around town were carried down to the river for their ritual annual dip in the Holy Ganges. We were later to discover it was not so much a dip as a dump – hardly surprising, as the things are massively heavy. We went out to see what was going on at the appropriate time. Annoying, as this meant leaving half-way through “Dad’s Army” on the radio. Doubly annoying, since when we arrived at the ghat we discovered we were early. Gradually people began to arrive however, + by the time we left that stream had turned into a flood. We didn’t stay so very long; as with last night, it seemed that there was to be a long, long preamble to nothing very much, so having gotten some sort of feel for the atmosphere, + seeing what was involved – carrying the gods on litters down to the water, some dancing, whirling-dervish style, + rapidly increasing crowds. We escaped back to the Lodge, the crowds becoming already aggressive + unpleasant. Too much high spirits, too much spirits of another sort, I don’t know. And then spent the rest of the evening on the patio outside in the company of the BBC, along with a traveller or 2.
Indian celebrations seem to require an awful lot of stamina, to endure the inevitable long waits, so not too surprising that we, who seem to have lost a fair bit of energy and enthusiasm, should have cut our own experience of it all short.
