Now, I know why the name of the place has a thorn in it. Every time I start writing about it, there is some sort of hindrance and I am not able to complete the post. But today, I am determined to pull the thorn out of my way.
The way from Bandhavgarh to Amarkantak on Shahdol Road was one of the most scenic ways that I came across in my entire Madhya Pradesh tour. The road was smooth and shady, flanked by tall trees on either side which made an arch overhead, which our driver Manu Bhaiyya showed us enthusiastically, “Dekho, pedho ki gufa!” The landscape was strewn with hills and hillocks, small yellow wildflowers bloomed around. As we neared Amarkantak, the terrain became mountainous, adorned by sal forests.
On the way, we visited Jwaleshwar Mahadeva temple, located off the Shahdol Road. There were two small but very old temples with shivalingas and a new one with a huge shivalinga, bigger than the one we saw at Khajuraho.
Amarkantak is geographically located in a unique place, at the meeting point of the Vindhyas, Satpuras and the Maikal ranges — the mountain ranges that are millions of years older than the Himalayas and the birthplace of the Narmada and the Son. It is also the confluence of two states — Madhya Pradesh and Chhattisgarh, and three districts — Anuppur and Dindori of Madhya Pradesh and Bilaspur of Chhattisgarh. But like all other pilgrimage sites, it wasn’t very clean and there were too many red-faced monkeys here.
We reached Amarkantak at midday, and it was time for searching hotels. Being a pilgrimage site, there were many dharamshalas. However, we found a relatively good hotel without much trouble. We had lunch at a shack near the hotel, which had announced in the Bengali script about the availability of Bengali food, though being run by locals. A local lady, besides keeping an eye on her grandson who was playing in the street, cooked for us in the open-air kitchen exactly according to our instructions, and I relished the simple, vegetarian lunch more than any other meal of the tour. More so, because the lady serving us wasn’t treating us like customers, but rather like guests. We met an elderly gentleman in the shack, who had come from Kolkata and was travelling all by himself. He had no fixed plans, he had just set out on a journey for an indefinite period and when we told him that we were coming from Bandhavgarh, he asked us about the details of the place and decided to visit it. He seemed to be a character of out of Bibhutibhushan’s books.
Meanwhile, our driver had found a guide, and it was probably because he was guilty after he had failed to find the way to the fort at Jabalpur. The guide spoke in an amusing tone and told us most likely some made-up stories about the mythology of the place. What he said was that Narmada and Son or Sonbhadra were lovers, and they flowed in the same direction. However, Son betrayed Narmada and she became so angry that she kicked him, changing his course, that’s the reason why Son flows in the opposite direction. Narmada then prayed to Shiva and did penance. The guide also told us about places where the water would heal all stomach troubles for the rest of our lives.
Our first stop was Kapildhara, named after the sage Kapil, who was supposed to have his ashram here. It was a steep descent but not very difficult. Because of many religious shrines near it, one needs to take off one’s shoes very often. There were monkeys around on the way, and our guide was trying to keep them away from us. I thought rather than describing the places, the guide was useful in two ways: showing the short routes to the spots and keeping monkeys away. Our guide told us that the monkeys could even snatch away our spectacles and cameras, so I had to tuck my spectacles into my pocket whenever I saw monkeys, thus blurring the views in front of me. (I am extremely scared of them, especially because of the experiences of a previous tour in Rajasthan. It was Chittorgarh, and since I wasn’t feeling well, I had been sitting at a quiet place amid the ruins, while others were away sightseeing. It was then that one of our primal ancestors decided to come and sit just beside me and some others were leaping towards the same spot. I ran with all my might to where the car was parked and later, when I had to narrate what had happened, I became the laughing stock of all.)
Kapildhara was a narrow waterfall, beautiful all the more because of its surroundings. The lively brook dancing over a bed of boulders with greenery all around. Near it was a sadhu selling medicinal herbs. He gave us some prasad. From Kapildhara, a bouldered path (which Ma couldn’t tread) takes you to Doodhdhara, a smaller waterfall. The frothy white Narmada is a sprightly little girl here dancing over the pebbles, unlike the calm, grown-up maiden we saw at Jabalpur (the imagery sounds too clichéd, but I can’t think of a better one at this moment). At the end of the path was a shrine, and though I was grumbling at having to take off my shoes and socks so often, I was thankful that I had to, because to dip my bare feet into the cool, crystal clear stream soothed me immensely. I felt like sitting there for a long time, but unfortunately, there were more places to see, and too little time. On the way back, I stepped on a mossy green boulder which was loose and slipped. For a moment I felt that I would fall into the stream below, but somehow grasped a muddy boulder with my right hand and a shrub with my left, and prevented the fall. I got up, with my hand bruised and muddy, but the waters of the Narmada washed away the mud and most of the pain. For the rest of the way, I stepped on exactly those boulders that Baba did in front of me.
Kapildhara Falls
Sonemuda
Next, we visited a Jain temple. It was still being constructed and there was nothing noteworthy except for a huge statue of a tirthankar, made of eight metals including gold. Our next stop was Sonemuda, the place from where Son originates. I don’t know why Ma has the knack of collecting waters of all rivers, even Son, especially when he betrayed Narmada! But we were awed by the view of the misty mountains in Sonemuda. It was almost the end of the day, lights dimmed and the mist was so thick that it seemed to be a sea. A sea of mist!
We were just in time to visit some ancient temples of Amarkantak. The guard was about to lock it when we reached the place, and he decided to wait for us to see the temple complex. Built by the Kalachuri king Karnadeva, these temples were almost a thousand years old, and although they didn’t have intricate carvings or detailed panels, they had an aura about them, just by being there, basking in the twilight, speaking silently about bygone times. I guessed this must be the same Karnadeva that Saradindu Bandopadhyay wrote about in Tumi Sandhyar Megh, one of his famous historical romances, where the daughter of this foolhardy king married the Pala prince Vigrahapala. (I guess the king being so impulsive was a figment of the author’s imagination). And since I had checked that the chief characters were true in a genealogical table of the Pala dynasty in my history book, I shared this piece of information with the guide that the prince of my land (I think Magadha was large enough that time to include the Bardhaman district of Bengal) had long ago married the princess of your land.
It was already evening when we reached Mai ki Bagiya. I had thought this was some sort of a garden, but it was nothing but a shrine of Narmada Mata on a chabutara (that’s the word for a flat raised area, which we call chatal in Bengali). There were groves of nature-bred trees around and mango trees were present aplenty. Some of us didn’t believe it when the guide said that the mango trees grew naturally, but after I said that he might be true, since Kalidas had mentioned this place as Amrakoot in Meghadutam, they seemed to be convinced. And it was clear that Moonie, Baba and I were the only ones who had cared to read about the place before visiting.
Our final destination was the most important of all, the Narmadakund and the temples around it. Although the temples were as old as the ones I mentioned above, they had been painted in white, and reconstructed, thus that ancient aura was absent in them. An interesting thing that I saw in one of the temples was an idol of Shiva, where Kartik was perched on his father’s lap, Parvati sitting beside the two. I had always seen Ganesh being sitting cosily between Shiva and Parvati, but never Kartik.
The Narmadakund was a pool of murky water and the original point where the Narmada originated was lost somewhere below. A snake glided from the banks to the water. The guide said that it was Shiva’s snake, most probably a cobra, but my father identified it as a venom-less snake often found in water bodies of the villages. If you compare the lively cascade of Doodhdhara and the murky stagnant waters here, you might be able to feel how man’s veneration for a river destroys its beauty. Wouldn’t it be a better way to show our reverence for Narmada Mata by pledging not to pollute the river?
Now, the guide had promised us ever since he accompanied us that he is going to show us an elephant that will catch the sinners with its pillar-like legs. I was foolish to think that it would indeed be a real elephant. He showed us a statue of a stone elephant, and told us to slide our bodies beneath the elephant’s body through its legs. If one is a sinner, one would get stuck and won’t be able to come out. For the sake of amusement, we persuaded Moonie, the thinnest of all, to try. She easily slid through. Next it was my turn. And I understood that the trick was to stretch the hands in the front, and the rest of the body will follow. Everyone started trying, and even Baba did! But the ones who were plump, resisted from doing it. I guess it means that all fat people are sinners. Many people even gave coins to the elephant, which to our dismay, our guide collected in his pocket. My sejomama humorously said that he would sit in front of a temple with one of those terracotta horses made at Bishnupur (my maternal uncle’s place) to detect sinners.
After I had filled up two bottles of the water of Narmada for Ma, it was time for the arati in Narmadakund. I was disappointed because I had expected at least a part of the grand affair that is held every evening at Har-ki-paori Ghat in Haridwar or Dashaswamedh Ghat in Varanasi. It was a small ceremony with only two priests chanting a song. Nevertheless, when I gathered with the crowd to take in the warmth of the glowing flame, it didn’t feel any less pure.
The next day, we had set out for Kanha early morning. On the way we came across a lake with some trees standing inside the lake, but without a trace of green on them. Manu bhaiyya quipped jokingly that though the trees were getting the best of the facilities, yet they couldn’t utilise them. Our last stop at Amarkantak was Kabir Chabutara, a clean, green secluded place every ascetic would like to live at.
