Awakening.

Dark is still upon this place,
Night creatures silent just before the dawn
Those of the day awaiting,
An expectant hush over all.
I am startled awake by the loud chant
Ringing across the water
The Hindu priest on his way to the temple
Calling awake the river.
Calling awake his people.
Morning is broken.

Sounds of this place.

I am listening to crickets or tree frogs, or both, the whirling fan overhead, night bird calls and the occasional splash as someone steps into the river outside for their evening bath.

This place has a rhythm which I am coming to recognize through sound, patterns of sound, and especially water sounds. The first noise though, and noise it is, for the speakers are scratchy, is the temple music which starts shortly after 5 am. As the light comes up, so do the songs of the day birds. The one I most recognize is the kingfisher, who is really quite raucous in the coconut palms over the water. Next I hear the scraping of footsteps on gravel, as the ayurvedic therapist arrives with my first morning dose of the day's herbal concoctions. At about the same time, men's voices waft in through the window, along with the sound of splashing that accompanies their washing under the foot bridge, before heading off to work. Boy's voices soon follow, the splashing intensifies as some one or two of them slap a few pre-school front crawl strokes to wash off the soap that they have lathered all over body parts exposed and on body parts under their innerwear. Quite amazing how they do it, really.

Women come next, with their laundry. Thwack, thwack as they hit it against the stone steps. Large vehicular traffic can now be heard in the distance. Bicycles and motorcycles move across the bridge in both directions. Pedestrians call down to those below at the water.

Each day, a man or a woman comes, with two cows and a calf. The animals are pushed in to the slow moving water for their daily swim and bath. As the calf gets ducked, he lows for his mother.

Throughout the day, the voices are constant, the bridge is a connector, thus steadily used. Unless it's raining, the drumming sound of which drowns out everything else.

Come evening, the sounds again become water based. At dusk, this day, I have witnessed two women undress in the water, yet remain fully covered, wash themselves, like the boys, everywhere covered and uncovered, wash their hair, wash the clothes they arrived in, including their bras, thwack, thwack thwack to remove the excess moisture, then gracefully get redressed in the now clean, albeit, wet, clothes. All this while maintaining absolute decorum, for they are full on in the public eye. I can't help but watch for it is fascinating.

After the women, at day's end, darkness falling, are men again, washing away the dust of day's labor and toil. The crickets strike up, the night birds call, a backup band to the river's cleansing song.

Falling in Love with Ayurveda

The rain beats on the tin roof, a rhythm not unlike the one being drummed onto my body by the two ayurvedic therapists. The table is hard, fibreglass, with no padding. I am naked, except for a thong. This is the second day of a healing retreat at Sreedhari Ayurvedic Resort, on the Peechi River, in Kerala, India. Except for the occassional interjections to turn over, I am allowing myself to drift, the therapists' gentle chatter washing over me, like the rain up above. I am receiving a treatment called Dhaniya Kizhi - dry, heated herbal poutices are being tapped/pounded, simultaneously by two therapists, from head to knees., all four sides of my body in rotation. A third therapist is in charge of heating the poultices in a well-used pan, over a kerosene burner. In a practiced cadence, the cool are switched for the warm, each time they reach my knees. After my initial surprise at the feeling, I have surrendered and am fully enjoying the sensations of warm heat moving downwards, of the aroma coming from the herbs, of the pounding contact with muscle and bone, the rain on the roof... In fact, this is lulling my into somnolence, not asleep, not awake, my mind is drifting. My mind, not able to keep track of all the sensations, too much information to process, lets go its' control, and I am relaxing more than I thought possible given the hard table, my nakedness and the chatter.
I will this experiene to go on longer, and, it does! Front, turn, left side, turn, back, turn, right side, turn, and back to the front once more, where they repeat. Bliss. But wait, there is even more! My lower legs have not yet been done. There is a momentary pause, the pounding stops, as has the rain. A small clatter, and I become aware of a new sensation on my shins: warm oil is being laddled in waves, from my knees to my toes. Again, both legs simultaneously. Wave after wave after wave. I breathe deeply. I sigh. I relax even more, my lips curving into a contented smile. I look inside for words to describe the experience. The best I can manage is a visual image of warm syrup sliding over hot pancakes. I leave the search for descriptive words and free float once more until the directive comes to turn comes once more and the same, sweet laddling of warm, medicated oil is administered to on my calves. Ekangadhara. This just could be my new favorite ayurvedice treatment.
After every session, I am led to the shower where a bucket of heated water awaits. A fresh paste is made from ground lentils or peas, I'm not sure which, and the therapist washes my back with it. I am then directed to wash the rest of me, and do, scrubbing all over with the gritty mixture. No soap, no shampoo, is the advisory for the duration of the treatment program. The oils and herbs are meant to penetrate. The paste takes away the excess. I am slooshed with the warm water, rinsed clean. After towelling dry, a powder, Rasnathi Choornam, is rubbed over my crown chakra, to ward off colds and flu.
Completed, I am sent back to my room for rest and relaxation. Time to let the treatment set.