Our 4am alarm brought to an end a short night that was interrupted by a misplaced call from reception, the howls of stray dogs, and the roar of passing tuk-tuks. Feeling less than refreshed, we piled our luggage in our own tuk-tuk - whose sputtering engine doubtless woke our neighbours; sorry - and headed over to the station. The night was cold and the tuk-tuk was exposed to the elements, but we were very well wrapped up (chastened by our previous experience of an Indian train at night).
We arrived at the train station (which again seemed to double as a homeless shelter) to find that our train was delayed by a mere five hours. We cursed ourselves for the stupidity of not checking online (assuming in retrospect that you could) before we left the warmth of the hotel. Just then the loudspeaker announced the imminent arrival of another train to Gaya (presumably scheduled to arrive much earlier that night). We went to the ticket office (making the most of the "ladies only" queue) to try to change our ticket.
The man there was immensely unhelpful, but directed us to the "TC" office on platform 5. We plodded over the footbridge and along the platform, dodging rug-wrapped bodies on the floor and giant rats scurrying among them, but couldn't find the TC office. I was half-inclined just to jump on the train and take it from there, but we eventually decided to look again for the TC office. This time we were more successful; they told us we should buy a "general", unreserved ticket for that train, but there wasn't time to do so. Finally, after some Hindi chat with his supervisor, the guy told us just to jump on the train and, if the inspector arrived, to explain what had happened. As we trotted off he shouted, "S8" (sleeper carriage 8).
We hustled down the train but had only made it to S12 when the train started to pull out of the station. We jumped into the doorway of the moving train, apologised to those who had been standing where we landed, and made our way through the train. Our first sight was a toilet with a soiled seat, and past the next carriage was a guy relieving himself from the corridor through the doorway of the toilet (apparently because he couldn't bear to go all the way in). Passing by these delights, we arrived in S8 and were very relieved to find a couple of free bunks (apparently Mr. TC knew what he was on about). Rather sheepishly, under the suspicious eye of our new neighbours, we hauled our bags onto one bunk and huddled together on the other. The train chugged along and we crossed our fingers that we would not be displaced before arriving at Gaya station in around four hours' time. The stench was suffocating but we were at least not too cold.
Carriage S8
Reading by torchlight on the top bunk
After several false alarms, as I jumped down from the bunk and peered out at tiny stations in the middle of nowhere, we arrived at Gaya station. We had barely made it off the platform when we were accosted by a tuk-tuk driver offering us a lift to Bodhgaya. His initial price was about four times what we had been told was reasonable. After negotiating him down to double the fair price we decided that the difference meant more to him than to us, so off we went.
We careered through Gaya traffic and onto the bumpy road through the countryside to Bodhgaya, zigzagging between maroon-clad monks on motorbikes. The two sides of the road contrasted remarkably: on our right the land was well-tended, and green shoots poked out from the ploughed earth; on our left the land was arid and abandoned. No idea wherefore the difference.
We were arriving, entirely by accident, in the middle of a huge Buddhist gathering. It was in Bodhgaya that Prince Siddartha sat under the Bodhi tree and achieved enlightenment, becoming Buddha. It is therefore the most auspicious place in all of Buddhism. Welcoming us to this tiny village were 15,000 monks, a placid tide of yellow and red robes. They were here for two reasons: first, this was the last day of Kagyud Monlam, a prayer celebration led by the Karma-pa Lama, the 17th in a line older even than that of the Dalai Lama; second, the Dalai Lama himself would be in Bodhgaya between Christmas and early January to lead the Kalachakra initiation, surrounded by 300,000 visitors. We were told that hostel room rates would jump from around 500-800 rupees ($10-15) up to 5000 rupees ($100) per night, while most people would be accommodated in huge tents.
Kagyud Monlam, held at Mahabodhi Temple
Unlikely visitors to Bodhgaya, here to see the Dalai Lama I suppose
In short, the small village was crammed full. Dropped off by the tuk-tuk driver, we decided obstinately to try our miniscule chances of renting a room at the Bhutanese monastery. Unsurprisingly we were out of luck. Weighed down by our bags, we waded through traffic, touts, and a soul-crushing number of beggars, to find the other hotel we had identified as a possibility, the Shanti Guest House (no shanty town, we hoped). It turned out to be basic but tolerable, so we dropped off our bags and set off to address our next requirement: food.
We walked the short distance to the Tibetan Om Cafe, a delightful little place at the back of one of the monasteries. The monastery itself was full of Tibetan refugees who had travelled down from Nepal or northern India. Laundry was hanging out of every window. In the cafe we found some lovely noodles, and steeled ourselves to venture once more into the chaos.
The Tibetan monastery where we found a wonderful cafe
We were again staggered by the number of beggars, young and old. This was worse even than Varanasi. We supposed that Bodhgaya, since it attracted those in search of good karma, was considered a particularly fertile hunting ground. Around the beggars were dozens of street stalls, amongst which cows, goats, and dogs wandered freely. Cycles, motorbikes, rickshaws, and cars zipped among the animals, monks, and beggars. All of this created a choking smog of dust and pollution. Most of the monks were wearing rather delightful smog-masks that matched the colour of their robes.
Through this noxious atmosphere we wandered over to the heart of Bodhgaya, the Mahabodhi Temple. This complex is centred around a large tree, said to be a descendant of the Bodhi tree under which Buddha achieved enlightenment. The original tree was killed by the jealous wife of the Buddhist emperor Asoka. Before she could do so a cutting was taken off, which grew into a tree in Sri Lanka. From that tree another cutting was taken, which was planted in the very spot where the original tree had stood.
Mahabodhi Temple
The complex was filled with thousands of monks prostrating themselves in the direction of the Bodhi tree, while the deep chanting of Tibetan mantras reverberated from loudspeakers.
The Bodhi tree
We removed our shoes to descend to the central temple, and moved around with the crowd in the usual clockwise direction. At the other side of the temple, just under the Bodhi tree, we could see the Lama leading the prayers. Also around us were a surprising number of westerners, most of whom were not tourists like us but were actually taking part in the prostrations and chanting, dressed in maroon robes. We were clearly welcome but nevertheless felt a little like we were intruding.
Lots of monks
Karma-pa Lama
Kids in front of the Bodhi tree
After watching and listening from the side for a while, we ventured inside the temple to see the two metre high statue of Buddha. As we emerged, a monk in yellow robes came up to talk to us. He was Indian, from just north of Bodhgaya, and had taken up robes when he was a child as the only way to get an education. It had clearly worked well as he spoke excellent English. He showed us over to a pool where an image of Buddha sat meditating, watched over by a King Cobra. He then led us over to a miniature replica of the nearby mountain caves in which Buddha spent six years of penance before coming down to Bodhgaya.
Queuing to see the Buddha statue
Cave replica (and the Thai monastery in the background)
King Cobra protecting Buddha in the middle of the lake
We bade farewell and went for a last walk around the temple. On the way we witnessed a very surprising scrap between Buddhist monks and Bodhgaya street kids. Food was being distributed to the monks and Tibetan refugees, and the street kids were trying to muscle in. We were slightly taken aback to see a monk whacking kids with a cardboard box, but it was probably fair enough. Buddhism and India.
As we finished our walk around the temple Clem had lots of fun trying to photograph the beautiful clothes of the Tibetan women.
By this point our 4am start had caught up with us, so we retreated to the hotel for a quick nap. We reluctantly left the warmth of our blankets, wrapping up against the cold (which reached into our unheated little room), to find some dinner. Thankfully we didn't have to go far, as there was a decent restaurant just over the road. We had a warming curry and headed back to bed for an early night.
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