Imagine a pristine, holy city situated on a clear lake. Imagine that tranquil spot filled with serene followers gathered together to worship and pray at one of 400 temples. Imagine how relaxing, pretty and peaceful such a place would be. Go on. Keep imagining for the sacred Hindu city of Pushkar is nothing like what you’d expect it to be.
After a jaw-clenching, 3-hour drive from Jaipur we arrived in the dusty, trash-strewn town of Pushkar, population 15,000. Here the streets are paved not with gold or even macadam but with tourists and peddlers. The beautiful lake? Thanks to a dry monsoon season, it is muddy and filled with garbage.
Upon our arrival we quickly caught on to the overall tone of Pushkar. Visiting a temple? Buy some marigolds or puffed rice to throw as an offering. Looking for a trinket to sum up your pilgrimage to this hallowed land? Buy my wool pashmina, semi-precious stone bracelet, brass Ganesha, leather sandals or mirrored pillowcase. Just feeling generous? Then buy me a chapati for lunch.
Although surprising to see in such a spiritual site, the constant commerce on the streets did not rile us. Rather, it was the blatant shake-down for money by Pushkar’s brahman priests that left me, in particular, feeling snarky.
Against our polite protestations Sean and I were unwittingly pushed into receiving blessings from two brahman priests. Each of us paired off with a priest, we sat on opposite ends of the same marble steps and listened while the two young men presented highly different versions of their religion. Sean’s priest offered prayers to Sean’s ancestors and tributes to those loved ones recently deceased. My priest discussed how Pushkar’s temples were the result of generous donations from the “English” like me; although I had stated that we were from NY, he repeatedly referred to me as a “Londoner.”
While Sean thought positive thoughts about his family and the planet, I echoed my assigned priest in chants of “Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva, Ganesha, I pray to you to give me good job, good fortune, good money so that I can give money to the temple . . ..” When the priest asked me to chant how much money I was donating — all Londoners give between 3000 to 5000 rupees (roughly $60 to $100) — I explained that I did not know the amount for I had no money on me.
I do not lie to holy men, extorting ones or not. I had handed my cash to Sean for safekeeping before arriving in Pushkar. This information did not, however, go over well with my priest.
Rather than play out the ugliness, let’s go back to imagination land. Let’s imagine that you’ve invited two visiting friends of another faith to attend Catholic mass. At the end of mass your friends spend a few minutes chatting with Father O’Leary. After several minutes Father O’Leary turns to your friends and says, “You are both rich. You must each give me $50 for the privilege of speaking with me about Catholicism. You cannot give me less than that or else God will curse you for eternity. Give me the money now and you can go with good will. $50 each.”
Yes, folks. I was threatened with bad karma for not donating at least $50 to this priest. Who knows? Perhaps this is why, two days later, I came down with Delhi belly. Then again, maybe not.
Sean likewise was pressed for a generous donation. He also gave far less than what was demanded. At least, though, he had a more authentic blessing than I. As for a customary cursing, well, I trumped him on that one. Hence, my snarkiness about our time in Pushkar.
I realize that those who have experienced a more heartfelt and sincere time in Pushkar will disagree and perhaps even be outraged by my story. To them, I offer my apologies. Unfortunately, we experienced the commercialized side of this sacred city, one that did not leave a very positive impression.