Ajmer - Dargah

As I walked down the road to the small city near the isolated RCDS center, I remembered the advice/challenge of the field officers: try to spend as little money as possible.

My first stop was a common convenience store to grab a few candies for the day. I've figured out that these guys know the area the best, and with a small purchase you can get indispensable local information-- language barring, naturally. He wrote down his location (i didn't even know where we were), told me to take the #4 bus and get down at the railway station, where i could grab a bike rikshaw since they are the only ones capable of navigating the narrow streets to this Dargah place. I still have no idea of the importance of this place.

After taking the 5rps ride (so good) with some kid on my lap (as usual), I reach the station, grab a bike rikshaw with a boy who is noticeably proportionally smaller than me. I feel guilty as he struggles up the neverending hill, sweating bullets and navigating past hordes of crowds. Soon I ask him to just stop, realizing my feet are a much better option, throwing him the full-fare and buying him a 5rps lime juice. Let this kid tote fat tourists, handicapped people, or seniors-- I can handle the walk.



Navigating the streets I'm noticing the Muslim population and starting to get a grip on what type of place they sent me to. And when I reach the Dargah, I realize-- this is a mosque. Great, Rajendraji is playing a cruel joke on me. I was telling him only two days ago about how I've never been to a mosque and that I actually got barred from entering one in the States (they said they could tell I wasn't Muslim-- they were a little overzealous at this specific place). Of course, he vaguely sends me to one by myself. I gather my wits: just play along, you can figure this out, and if it's bad just walk out. Muslims are accepting, peaceful people..

And, of course, looking around in curious disassociated amazement I'm immediately barked at (जूते निकाल!!!) by some guard to remove my shoes outside, then walk in. By now I know to buy some flowers and acoutremont for the religious part of it, so I grab a prayer shawl and some flowers, etc. and begin my confused walk into the main area. Suddenly, I'm jerked back by a pilgrim who loudly scolds me (माथा बाँध !!!) to cover my head. I have the option of buying a 20rp handkerchief or a 10rp hat. I opt for the skullcap. Walking through, continuing on my own pilgrimage of sorts, another order is screamed at me (हाथ पग धोने!!!)--I forgot to wash my hands and feet.

By this stage, I'm scared lifeless by this place. Everywhere I look everyone seems to know what to do, and no tourists in sight. I finally sit down in front of the main shrine, following suit with the others. Hands in front, palms open, facing me. The priest begins going around asking everyone their names at a rapid fire pace, and one by one they filter in: Mohammed Khan, Hafeez, Bismillah, Akbar Khan, Hassan, Syeed. It's my turn, and the priest with the giant stick is looming over me, "आपका नाम!?", I stumble, he barks again, "आपका नाम!?!?", I look around, look down, he barks again, louder: "आपका नाम!!!!?".

It was at this moment, the culmination of my experience, the previous scoldings, the crowds, the pushing and the shoving, my desire to adapt, the dark green skullcap on my head, the prayer shawl I'm tremblingly holding in my hand, poised to drop the flowers in nervousness, that I say the first thing that comes to my mind. He yells once more, the sounds all drop away, the instance felt like an eternity.

I look up, clear my throat, and say, "Salaudin".

He taps my shoulder thrice with his stick, I throw down 21rps and immediately I'm whisked into the inner sanctum. The crowd is tight enough that we all move like one sluggish organism around this shrine. Beautiful arabic carvings, gold, and marble. I throw 21more rps into the pot, a priest takes my shawl and puts it on my head, says some prayers, hands me some strings, and other things and I continue into the hub of the excitement. Pushed and shoved along the way, I'm thrown, like a sacrifcal lamb, in front of the main alter. A man grabs me, reduces me to my knees, I look up with just enough time to spot some gold stuff, flowers, money, and a marble thing of sorts. Another man pats me on the back, hard, three times, and someone promptly lifts me to my feet--and boom, I'm spit out of the machine like exhaust from a tailpipe. Dizzy and proud of myself for making it, I take my time to listen to some Qawwali and look around. I was happy.

Taking my time walking down the hill, I decide to treat myself with a lime soda-- full masala. And as I drink the cooling drink, I look down and notice an open gutter-- chicken parts, feathers, garbage floating by at a slow pace. I watch the glass of lime soda in my hand: cloudy, grey, particulate matter floating in it. Think about my stomach.... look up... and whisper "Insha'Allah"-- and swallow the whole delicious thing in one gulp.

To be continued...