My Visit to Brindavan

Tarun Nongthombam *

Tomb of Manipuri King in Radha Kund at Brindavan :: Pix by Tarun Nongthombam

In my gypsy's life for nearly a decade in north Indian plains, getting a day off from work and spending some time in my bathroom size rented room; in the outskirt of Delhi was bliss. At times, my relatives would visit me from Manipur and I could see their face filled with disbelief.

To them living in bigger cities means, bigger houses, bit similar to the ones in Maharani Bagh or New friends Colony. My only defense was "In those houses Priyanka Gandhi live, I am not Priyanka Gandhi". I could see them still confused even minutes before boarding a flight back home.

One of those off days, a friend called up with a query, "Do you want to visit Brindavan? Don't you want to see where the pilgrims from Manipur go and do there?"I immediately said "yes" and we booked a taxi from Delhi to Brindavan. On the way, he told, 'Manipuris don't stay in Brindavan but in Radhakund, it is far off from the main Brindavan'. We decided to go Brindavan first.

My first impression of Brindavan was that of a crowded north Indian town; only difference was all rickshaw drivers said "radhe radhe" instead of honking. We then visited the famous "Bankae Bihari temple". The sheer size of crowd chanting and singing during the aarti was a treat to watch.

Next stop was in an ashram where destitute woman were kept, many of them from Bengal and Orissa. They were all dressed in white drapes, did kritans the whole day and lived on donations from pilgrims. With little sanitation and poor living condition, hundreds of them, packed like sardines, I could sense the possibility of a disease outbreak.

It was noon, sun was beating down hard; we took a break for lunch in one of the road side Dhabhas. I was carving for tandori chicken and asked for one; suddenly the dhabha owner got furious and murmured "ram, ram, ram!!" I had to do away with the idea of non-vegetarian lunch and had a dosa.

We reached Govardhan Chaurah, our journey towards Radhakund commenced by travelling along a nice winding road passing through sugarcane and mustard plant fields. On the roads were Jugar vehicle carrying school children among swanky Toyotas showing the different strata in Indian society.

Jugar is a homemade vehicle which has water pump set converted as vehicle engine on an old worn out jeep chassis. One could only watch with amazement. After reaching Radhakund main market, we started looking for Manipuri mandir and nobody knew! We looked like fools and I felt myself like a non-Manipuri trying to find address, only with the word "leikai".

Finally, word of wisdom came from an old man "Beta, here all the houses are mandirs, there are thousands of them. Find people associated with ISKCON, you might find Manipuri there". We started our frantic search for someone associated with ISKCON and finally found one who also knew where Manipuris were. After travelling for a while on those narrow alleys, we started seeing women dressed in phaneks; Phew!! Finally Home.

One of the by lanes of in Brindavan :: Pix by Tarun Nongthombam

In the midst, one could see a horde doing parikarma. Parikarma is the act of connecting to almighty by walking miles bare foot. Here, everything seemed to be related to God, be it keychain or latest bollywood song converted to bhajans.

One Manipuri ima was kind enough to take us to her home. It was spacious with a mandir and she offered tea and snacks like we do in every Manipuri household. It lighten me up as I was bit depressed after seeing those destitute Bengali women in Brindavan. Our ima was miles ahead! Her home had cooking gas, clean toilet and bathroom and would rent away top floors to the locals.

Only thing which made me tizzy was the red sandstone plank kept on top of the steel channel and making that as a roof slab. In northern India one would find many brick houses without beams and pillar and roof slab directly resting on the wall. We in Manipur have got a good habit of always building houses with beams and pillar having steel reinforcement knowingly or unknowingly. Our ima later took us to all the nearby Manipuri houses and finally to the tomb of Manipuri kings.

Typical house (in white) with an old Manipuri lady in Radha Kund. :: Pix by Tarun Nongthombam

I started chatting to an old lady "Abok'ti_kadai'da'gi_no? mi'ram'da_lei'ba_ si'bu_nugai'bro?" Immediately came the reply that she was from keishampat and very happy living there, wouldn't return home but die there. They all seemed to have found a solace among themselves. The entire set up was operating like one big old age home, far away from home! Our ima had a local helper, she talked to him in Manipuri and he replied back in Hindi and to my amusement, understood each other.

One local pujari came to do aarti that evening. We were told not put any money or offerings for the mandir as long as pujari was there as he would take it away. He wore a silk dhoti which looked like not washed for days. It was an awful sight as we are used to clean looking bamons back home. Having spent a day, we thought of heading back to Delhi, our ima took out her mobile phone and gave her number and said "see, we can talk to our relatives in Manipur and ask for help if we require".

Her constant worry was of loosing the fight in preserving Manipuri's property there. Her frail body could give way anytime, but she was fighting for herself and her people. It was spirit of Manipuri women at its best. With number of people staying there dwindling, Manipuris are selling off their houses to locals. Even the site which has the Manipuri king's tomb is caught in litigation with the locals.

Inscription on marble slabs in Radha Kund :: Pix by Tarun Nongthombam

On my way back to Delhi, I couldn't stop thinking how people traveled with those old Tata and Chevrolet buses, all the way from Manipur to Brindavan. Take many decades back, people were travelling on bullock carts along NH-39 and tong'zil maril which were dirt track. They found a way with whatever they had during those days.

Today's Pizza and Burger generation seem to cry for everything! I would suggest them to take a day off from their date with multiplexes and shopping malls and visit Brindavan and see Manipuri's imas there, they wouldn't regret.

In old Manipuri play, the father would say "Icha'sa__I'pa _Lamboi'ragae_he!" after getting frustrated with his uncaring children. What was the father trying to do? Find an old age home, and in his mind was brindavan!