Temples along the Ganges

Saturday Moumita and I took the long and bumpy bus ride to see the temples that line the Ganges River. At noon when we arrived, all the temples were closed. So we sat by the riverbank, drank cha and watched people bathing in, throwing flowers into, and worshipping the Ganges. 

 We took lunch at a house near the Kali temple. We sat on a long mat side by side other worshippers (all men) and were ladled food from large metal buckets. Moumita told me I had to finish everything on my plate as a sign of respect. I waddled out of the house ready for a nap—we hadn’t even begun. We packed onto a very simple wooden boat and went down the Ganges river toward a Ramakrishna mission. 

 All along the river, people climbed down steps leading directly into the water, bathed, and washed their clothes. Little boys dove down to catch the coins people threw for good luck. When we reached the mission, we were still too early so we sat on the steps and ate a very bitter fruit covered in Indian spices out of a newspaper cup. It started to storm and everyone crammed into this little atrium. But I stood out on the steps under an umbrella and watched the river be broken up by the rain. When it stopped, we walked to the gates and took off our shoes. All of the temples had large windows that looked out onto the Ganges. Monks and disciples walked around and families sat on the beautiful grounds in humble silence. It was the most beautiful place I’ve seen in Kolkata yet. We crossed the river once more and head to the Kali temple. Kali, or the destroyer, is the god most worshipped by Kolkata. It is said, one day when Kali was fighting with demons, she lost her pinky finger and it fell in Kolkata. Before we could enter the temple, Moumita had to buy a puja (worship) basket. It consisted of sweets, fresh flowers and incense. The Kali temple was packed and we pushed our way to the window. Inside a scary Kali (with decapitated heads in hand and blood dripping from tongue) was covered in flowers. Men would stick their head out the window and take the puja baskets. “My name’s Moumita,” she said over the crowd and a man roughly threw some flowers at the statue mumbled “Moumita,” handed the basket back to her and rushed her to move on. It was very spiritual and personal. :-p It reminded me of confession. Next to the temple a large hall of people sang worship songs accompanied by sitar. Back on the riverbank, we walked through a market and saw Monkeys just chilling. I almost hit my head when I lay down for the night I was so tired.