Gudwara Visit

Our friend dear Sikh friend, Kusum called on Friday morning to say that she was attending an event at the local Gudwara (Sikh Temple) just down the road. She had brought hot porridge for me and Ross went to fetch it from Nuncu, the driver. She said she had no time to visit as her cousin was arriving, but happy surprise, she came, curious to see our room and to say hello. She told us that it was the 10th Guru’s birthday. The night before from our hotel balcony we could see the Gudwara all lit up with coloured lights. She encouraged us to visit the Gudwara in the afternoon as they were serving lunch to the community and would be very pleased if we came shared their food. So after doing some internet we walked the short distance to the Gudwara. There were many people in the lane outside the entrance, some obviously Sikh and some maybe or maybe not. We were shy about just walking into the compound but one young man said, “Yes, yes, go in.” Up the path we walked and into the gate. Ross took off his shoes as others were doing and put them on a shelf. A young woman came up to us; I know we looked confused as to where to go and what to do. “You must cover your heads with a handkerchief.” I had a scarf, Ross had nothing but someone produced a somewhat grubby, once white handkerchief and tied it around his head. Our friend said if we could, we should go upstairs.

I got on Ross’s back and some young men carried the chair up the rough gray concrete stairs. At the top the girl instructed me to remove my shoes and we followed our new friend along the walkway at the edge of the open courtyard to a room packed full with women on one side, men on the other and children everywhere, about two or three hundred, the air hot with bodies. The girl made a way for us through the women’s side to the edge of the men’s side. At the front of the room on the left side were three Sardhars (Sikhs). One was singing devotional songs, one was playing harmonium and one tabla. In the center was a raised alter, brightly lit and decorated with strings of marigold garlands and other holy items. As I don’t know a lot about the Sikh religion so I cannot say what was on the alter but there was another Sardar, I assume he was a priest, waving a tassley fan back and forth. Our friend encouraged Ross to go up to the alter as others were doing. He bowed down with his head to the floor, arms outstretched, following the example of the person in front of him. He came back to our spot and we listened to the music until it finished. A man came up to the front and made some speeches and after listening politely for a time we decided to leave the room.

Our friend had taken us under her wing and came along with us back downstairs. She asked if we wanted to stay for lunch. (That, of course, had been our main purpose in coming!) We went into a large room where women and children were sitting around the edges of the room and in three or so rows, sitting on narrow burlap floor coverings laid out on the floor. The girl assured us that it was fine for Ross to be there. We settled into a corner and now our friend was joined by one of her friends. They asked what ever we were doing in Mirzapur as there was nothing to do. I told my story. They said that for them Mirzapur was like a prison. Our friend, the older girl, said she would like to go to university in another city but her father wouldn’t let her travel away. They were amazed that my daughters weren’t married. “Aren’t you going to make them?” “There is no way I can make my daughters do anything. That is their choice.” They were thrilled by that. “Oh, please can you adopt us and take us back to Canada with you?” They were bright fun girls with terrific senses of humour. They were in grades 12 and 10, or as it is said here, Class 12 & 10.

Some young serving boys came into the ladies lunch room and handed out tali trays with formed depressions for food made from pressed leaves held together with tiny bits of stick like toothpicks. Other boys and men came with stainless steel buckets and ladled out dal, subje, salad and halva and another passed out chapattis. It was a great meal and they kept coming round to give more and more. We finished our meal and left immediately as there was another group ready to come for their meal.

We said our farewells to the girls and went to find our shoes. They had closed the gate and were only letting in a few at a time. A large crowd had formed outside the iron gate, many who were very poor, disabled or a bit mad or perhaps drunk. One fellow tried to bow down to my feet, the second time this has happened in Mirzapur and I think both times they were intoxicated. Ross left his borrowed handkerchief tied to the wire of lights along to walkway as we left the compound and headed back down the road to our hotel—Hotel Resort Deluxe.