Holy Waters—India's Varanasi

By Alli Sinclair

This week, I’m straying from the continent of my heart to another part of the world that is very special to me—India. When I first set foot in this wondrous land, I had no idea the profound effect it would have on me. Even though I faced numerous challenges with my patience and beliefs, the people of India allowed me a glimpse into their customs, religion, and love for family.

I had been traveling for three months by the time I arrived in the “Eternal City” of Varanasi (also known as Benares, Banaras, or Kashi). Situated in the northern Indian state of Uttar Pradesh, Varanasi is regarded as a holy city by many religions. At 3,000 years old, Varanasi is India’s oldest city and one of the oldest continuously habitated cities in the world.

The first time I visited Varanasi, I arrived by boat (yes, I’ve been more than once because this truly is an amazing place). For five days, I sailed down the Ganges from Allahabad using a traditional Indian sailboat. We camped on the riverbanks, met scores of villagers along the way, and were entertained endlessly by kids keen to show their latest dance moves.

Arrival day at Varanasi meant getting up in the dark to ensure we sailed into the city at dawn. Bleary-eyed, we travelled along calm waters as nervous chatter filled the night. Just as the black sky turned gray, we rounded a bend and saw Varanasi. A heavy mist hung above the water but faded quickly as the bright orange sun rose and shone on the magnificent red-brick buildings blackened by fires used for pyres. Countless ghats (steps that lead down to the river) lined the west bank of the Ganges.

According to Hindu legend, the deity Lord Shiva founded Varanasi and buried his trident under the city. As one of seven holy sites for Hindus in India, people flock to bathe in the fast-flowing waters of the Ganges and wash away their impurities. Hindus believe that if one dies in Varanasi, they will obtain a faster route to heaven and many make the journey to this beautiful city so they can spend their last moments in the holy waters of the Ganges.

 

It is common to see bodies wrapped in white sheaths and transported through narrow alleys that lead to one of the two ghats where bodies are cremated. For those who can’t afford to pay for the wood, bodies are placed in the Ganges and float along the river until they perish.

But it’s not all solemn in Varanasi. Sanskrit scholars flock here because of the important role Varanasi has had in the development of the Indian language, Hindi. And Tulsi Das, famous for writing the Hindi version of the epic Ramayana, lived in Varanasi for many years.

With more than 100 ghats along the river, the sight of thousands of people taking an early morning dip is fascinating. Along the steps are Brahmin priests offering blessings (for a price) and beggars who will convince you that giving them money will bring you good karma. Hindu pilgrims bathe at five ghats on the same day and, to bring good health and fortune, they need to bathe in the following order of ghats: Asi, Dasaswamedth, Barnasangam, Panchganga, and Manikarnika.

The Golden Temple is dedicated to Shiva, Lord of the Universe (also known as Vishveswara or Vishwanath). In the 1600s, the Moghul ruler Aurangzeb invaded Varanasi and destroyed the original temple then built a mosque over it. In 1776, a new Golden Temple was built by the Sikhs, and the towers are covered in three-quarters of a ton of gold plating. Non-Hindus aren’t allowed in the temple, but it is possible to view the beautiful building from a house across the street—for a fee, of course. I remember standing at a small window a few floors above, enjoying the peace and marveling at the beauty of this building. It truly was a memorable moment.

For Buddhists, Varanasi is one of four pilgrimage sites and, in the residential neighborhood (only 10 kilometers away from the Ganges), lies Sarnath. This is where Buddha preached his first message of enlightenment 25 centuries ago. The Chaukhandi Stupa stands on the spot where Buddha first met his disciples when travelling from Bodh Gaya to Sarnath.

The Jains (adherents of yet another religion born in ancient India) believe Varanasi is the birthplace of Parshvanatha, and is the site of the Dgambar Jain Temple. Parshva, or Parshvanatha, is one of the earliest Jain leaders to be accepted as a historical figure. He lived sometime between 877-777 BC and meditated for 84 days straight before attaining Kevala Jñāna—Absolute Knowledge—which is the highest a Jain soul can reach.

When winding through the narrow streets of Varanasi, it’s not unusual to hear the Muslim call to prayer five times a day. After the Muslim invasions from centuries ago, many Muslims remained in Varanasi and made this city their home. Muslim temples are dotted around Varanasi, and some of the most important mosques are Alamgiri Mosque, Ganj-e-Shaheedan Mosque and Chaukhamba Mosque. One of Varanasi’s greatest exports are the beautiful textiles made by the skilled Muslim weavers of Varansi. To possess a Varanasi silk sari is a dream for many Indian women, especially to wear on their day.

The Varanasi experience that stands out the most for me was when I gathered with the locals one warm evening at sunset. I’d purchased a clay dish filled with flower petals and a lit candle, and I slowly made my way with the men and women down the steps of the ghat to the edge of the Ganges. Gently placing my offering in the sacred waters, I sent a silent prayer and allowed the love and faith of the people wash over me. Nearly 20 years on, I still get shivers remembering this moment.

The Incan Triad Gods

By Alli Sinclair

Alli is taking a short break this week so we're running her post from November last year about the Incan gods and their relationship with the weather. 

Travelling through the lands where the Incas once lived, it’s hard not to marvel at their craftsmanship when it came to building fortresses and cities out of large blocks of stone. But what has intrigued me most about the Incas is the wonderful myths, legends, and beliefs that powered this captivating civilization.

My last book, Vestige, had a lot of Incan theology in it, and every time I did research, I would come across conflicting versions of gods, descriptions of their appearances, and purpose. Rarely were two descriptions ever the same, and this is to do with the Incas adapting their religion as their world expanded. Once the Spanish arrived, the Incas’ belief that they were the only people in existence had to change, and as a result, their beliefs were challenged. 

The Triad Gods were among the Incas’ most revered and they were worshipped at places like Qoricancha, Cuzco’s main temple. These multi faceted celestial beings had overlapping powers, and even though they were worshipped at the same time, some received more attention than others.

Wiraqocha – The Creator:

Sometimes known as Viracocha, the Incas held this god in the highest esteem. The Incas didn’t make sacrifices or tributes to Wiraqocha, creator of all things, as he had everything he wanted in his possession and needed nothing from men other than their worship. Wiraqocha created the sun and moon, and the people who populated the earth.

When Wiraqocha appeared in human form, he had rays above his head, snakes entwined around his arms, and puma heads projecting from his body. An excellent example of his image is the central figure on the Gate of the Sun at Tiwanaku, in Bolivia.

Inti – The Sun:

The Incas held numerous ceremonies dedicated to Inti, the patron saint of their empire, to ensure the emperor’s welfare as well as encourage bountiful harvests. Every province had land and herds dedicated to the Sun God, and the church had its own storehouses that kept supplies for the priests and priestesses and also for sacrifices.

By 1532, Inti had risen in popularity and by that point, Inti beat all the other gods combined hands down in terms of dedicated worship and monuments. Inca rulers claimed direct genealogical links to the Creator through the Sun, as the Creator fathered Inti, who in turn sired the king.

Inti was represented in a golden statue, depicting a small boy sitting down. Called Punchao (day), this effigy had solar rays projecting from his head and shoulders, ear spools, a chest plate, and royal headband. Serpents and lions also grew from his body. To the Incas, Punchao bridged the gap between humanity and the sun, and when rulers died, their organs were placed in the hollow stomach of the statue, which they then housed in the main temple and brought out onto the patio during the day before returning indoors at night.

Inti-llapa – The Thunder God:

This god of thunder, lightning, rainbows, and every other meteorological phenomena was depicted as a human man who wielded a war club in one hand and a sling in the other. When the people heard thunder, they believed it was Inti-llapa cracking his sling, and the lightning was a glittering flash off his metal garments as he moved through the heavens. Lightning bolts were the sling stones that he cast, and the Milky Way was the heavenly river from which he drew the rainfall. His image, Chucuylla, was kept in a temple called Pukamarka, in the Chinchaysuyu quarter of Cuzco, which also held an image of the Creator God. When the Incas needed rain, they prayed to Inti-llapa.

The belief system of the Incas is wide and varied, and even though they couldn’t see their gods in the flesh, their faith in their gods’ existence helped grow an expansive and fascinating empire across South America. 

Even though the great Incan civilization disappeared many, many years ago, the monuments they left behind and the writings of the Spanish Chronicles help us to understand what they believed in. Supernatural gods with amazing powers were the norm, and even though the Spanish conquerors tried to convert the Incas to Catholicism, they held on to their supernatural gods to help them through their changing world and challenging times.

Death and the Afterlife

By Alli Sinclair

Call me morbid, but I’ve always held a fascination for the way different cultures deal with death. It’s not uncommon for me to take a Sunday stroll with hubby through a cemetery and us spend time imagining what kind of lives the people now buried there used to lead. When I was in Bali, I was fascinated and honored to be included in a burial celebration for a distant relation of a tour guide I met and Varanasi in India had me entranced with the funeral pyres. And every year, while I lived in South America, I liked celebrating Dia de los Santos Difuntos--Day of the Deceased Saints, with my friends and their families.

When I first started writing VESTIGE, I researched Incan weddings and funerals for the historical component of my story. I was lucky enough to meet an anthropologist with a passion for all things Inca and we spent many afternoons discussing the various practices used throughout the Incan empire. His incredible knowledge could easily fill five hefty books, but alas I’m limited to one blog post, so here goes:

According to the Incas, when a person passed from this world, their thirsty spirit travelled the land in search of chicha (Incan fermented maize), and in need of food. The loved one’s dressed in black and grieved, and for five days mourners would be accompanied by musicians and sing songs of sorrow, drink alcohol and eat. The women closest to the deceased would cut off their long tresses or tear out their eyelashes as a sign of grief.

People would gather at the deceased’s most favorite place or where his or her greatest success had been achieved, and while there, the loved ones could recount significant events and fond memories.

When the commoner’s were buried, they would be accompanied by their tools of trade and perhaps some food or chicha, while the Lords would be dressed in their finery and buried with their wealth. Occasionally their wives and servants accompanied them.

The funeral for a kuraka, a regional ruler entailed the mummified body placed in a pucullo, a burial chamber, along with various goods to accompany the deceased into the afterlife. The community would band together and offer llama sacrifices, textiles, cuy (guinea pig), and ceramics at the burial site.

The death of a royal was celebrated in much the same way as a commoner, but on a grander scale. Once the ruler died, his passing would be kept secret until a successor was named. The ruler would be embalmed and placed in Qorikancha Temple Qorikancha Temple. Of course everything was on a grander scale, including the sacrifices. Unfortunately, the Incas not only sacrificed llamas when their ruler died, but 1,000 children were sacrificed in pairs at mountain shrines throughout the region.

The mourning period for a ruler spread across ten days and a further couple of weeks were spent traveling to the ruler’s significant sites—battle victories, agricultural fields, and monuments—where people would speak of the emperor’s greatest acts and victories.

Royal mummies were dressed in a fine tunic and jewelry then wrapped in six layers of precious textiles woven with vicuña fur and feathers, shells, and threads of gold. A piece of silver or coca leaf was placed in his mouth and the emperor’s grave contained several changes of clothing, food, and weapons for the afterlife.

A group of relatives, known as panaqa, were charged with the care of the deceased emperor and they ensured the mummy was kept in food and water. Often, the mummy would be consulted in difficult matters and the people carried on as if the mummies were still living. They even went so far as to gather mummies together for celebrations.

Traveling through the regions that were once part of the Incan Empire, it’s easy to spot pucullos of both the commoners and royalty. Which type of pucullos people were buried in depended greatly on where the deceased person lived.

In the eastern quarter of the empire, in Antisuyu, the people in this rain forest buried their dead in hollowed out trees. The northern quarter, Chinchaysuysu, people held open-air burials where the mummified remains were left out in the elements for five days before being placed in the pucullo.

In the southern quarter of the empire, in Collasuyu, the people were placed in pucullos away from the towns of the living. The cluster of pucullos were commonly known as the “village of the dead.” And in Cuntisuyu, the south western corner of the Incan Empire, the people utilized the dry, mountain environment and placed their dead in natural nooks and crannies.

Some pucullos were made from the traditional method of fitting stones together without mortar (Cuzco is famous for this work), while other regions used adobe bricks. Along the coast, pucullos had numerous chambers and in the mountains, some pucullos towered over 30 feet in height.

I could go on, but I’ll stop here for now. Death, like life, has many facets and through exploring the different belief systems of cultures from around the world, we can learn so much.

How about you? Have you ever experienced or read about a burial from a culture you find fascinating?

From All Gods to One—The Roman Pantheon

By Patricia Winton

One of my favorite buildings in Rome is the Pantheon which happens to be the city’s oldest, intact one. An architectural marvel, the building’s vast dome spans 43 meters (142 feet) and rises 43 meters, the perfect sphere within a cylinder. I’m awed by this dome, the largest in the world for more than a thousand years until Brunelleschi built the one for the cathedral in Florence. Michelangelo studied it when planning the design for St. Peter's dome.

This area of Rome stood outside the city proper during ancient times. While horses and sheep grazed, the army trained there, giving it the name Campus Martius--dedicated to Mars, the Roman god of war. Legend suggests that a temple to Mars stood on the site at some point, but there’s no proof. Emperor Marcus Agrippa built the first Pantheon, a rectangular structure dedicated to pan theos, “all gods,” in 27 BC. The Great Fire of 80 AD consumed this temple along with many neighboring buildings. Emperor Domitian quickly rebuilt it, only to have it struck by lightning and burned again in 110 AD.

Emperor Hadrian (known for erecting Hadrian’s Wall, the northern border of Roman Britain) constructed the current temple in 125 AD. Apparently mindful of fire, Hadrian crafted this building from concrete.

A 22-meter (72-foot) circular wall supports the dome. Huge niches along the wall originally held statues of Roman gods, the round design ensuring that no god stood higher, and thus more important, than the others. Today, the niches display a motley collection of statues, frescoes and tombs. The building’s only light source is a 8.2-meter (27-foot) open oculus in the center of the cupola.

For its first couple of centuries, the building functioned as a pagan temple. Worshipers burned animal sacrifices at the center, where smoke escaped through the oculus, and they honored the statues in the niches.

During this period, Christianity began emerging as a religion that threatened the status quo. The early Christians refused to revere the Roman gods or recognize the emperor as divine. Nor did they pay the Ficus Judaicus, a tax Jews paid to gain exemption from pagan worship. As a result, anti-Christian sentiment grew, and mobs in Rome began stoning suspected Christians in the streets.

This persecution was mostly random, but by the mid-third century, it became codified; Emperor Decius ordered commissions seeking written certification that every citizen across the empire had burned a sacrifice to the gods. I have seen no suggestions that some Christians may have been forced to burn sacrifices in the Pantheon, but it wouldn’t surprise me.

And then the tables turned. In 312, Emperor Constantine the Great converted to Christianity after dreaming about the religion on the eve of a battle, which he subsequently won. He set about transforming the empire into a Christian state. By 346, law prohibited pagan worship, and ten years later, most pagan temples had closed.

Christian Worship Area

The Pantheon sat empty and unused for two and a half centuries. Unlike many other pagan temples, it survived destruction. Its architectural grandeur probably protected it: it has no windows, it’s difficult to open because of its massive doors, and it was built almost entirely of concrete. Even vandals couldn’t storm the fortress.

In 609, ownership of the building shifted to Pope Boniface IV, who converted it into a Catholic church, consecrating it as the Church of Saint Mary and all the Martyrs. The Pope removed the pagan statues and installed an altar opposite the door. Mass is still celebrated there, and weddings occur regularly. While there is a small sign by the entrance naming the church, the massive carving on the portico, dating from Hadrian’s day, still proclaims it to be the Pantheon.

Raphael's Tomb

The painter Raphael and the composer Arcangelo Corelli are entombed in two of the Pantheon’s niches as are Italy’s first two kings following the country's unification. Like so many other facets of Italian life, the secular and the divine combine here with a military honor guard protecting the royal tombs, even within the walls of the church.

I am drawn to this building, awed by its architecture. Even when it’s full of tourists, it feels quiet and restful. Once, I encountered a church choir, from North Carolina I think, that had arranged themselves in a circle beneath the oculus. They had apparently sought permission to perform but had been denied. So they sang, standing under the dome, just for the joy of it. Worship, indeed.

I blog every Monday at Italian Intrigues  This week I blogged about the She-Wolf, the symbol of Rome and it's copy in Georgia.

The photo of the interior of the Pantheon comes from East Tennessee State University. 

Guess Their Religion—The Fire Worshippers of the Atashgah

The Ateshgah temple compound (photo by Nick Taylor)

By Supriya Savkoor

Here we are, in a fairly small, poor town, standing on a not-so-narrow peninsula jutting about 40 km into the Caspian Sea. Its population is only about 200,000. See those old oil rigs and industrial plants off in the distance? They’re mostly abandoned by the Soviets, though some are operational. Head a few hours north, we’d be in Russia itself. Directly west is Armenia. Wedged between the two is the former Soviet republic of Georgia, as well as a tiny border with Turkey. And over there, due east just across the sea, is that curious country of Turkmenistan. Wanna catch a 10-hour ferry ride just to get about 180 miles (roughly 300 km) across? Wait, no international banking in Turkmenistan, you say? Fine, shall we head south into Iran instead? Except what about our visas? Too bad, cause Tehran’s only 300 miles south of here, and we’d only be driving along one of the world’s most gorgeous coasts to get there. Next time. For now, let’s check out one of the more unusual sights around here, shall we?

We’re plop in the middle of little Surakhani, a small suburb outside Baku in Azerbaijan, yet another former Soviet republic. Had you already guessed this? I’m not sure I would have, my knowledge of the Caucasus being painfully limited. Thankfully, my blogmate, Edith McClintock, here at Novel Adventurers, is taking care of that for all of us. But it’s still embarrassing. Not only is Azerbaijain the largest country in the Caucasus, but like Turkey, it’s considered an important crossroads in which east (western Asia) meets west (eastern Europe). It was also the first democratic and secular Muslim country in the world and remains very secular and progressive to this day. And it’s one of the birthplaces of mankind, sitting right at the heart of several ancient civilizations. The earliest films, operas, and theater all hail from this fascinating country as well, and its unique folk traditions, music and dance, go back at least a thousand years.

If being a cultural hotspot weren’t enough, Surakhani—which means “the region of holes” or could refer to the red glow that once emanated from its natural gas reserves—is, quite literally, a geophysical hotspot as well. The Soviets sucked much natural gas and petroleum from the country, back when the rich, dark petroleum literally oozed from the ground, yet two-thirds of the country is still rich in these natural resources. If all its other milestones weren’t enough, natural oil fires once literally rose from the ground as if by magic.

Issued in 1919, an Azerbaijani postage stamp with an
image of the Fire Temple (Scott Cat. no. 9)

Which brings us to the Atashgah, also known as the fire temple of Baku. The area around Baku is filled with ancient mosques and cemeteries, not to mention the remnants of the many invasions this region has experienced. UNESCO has certified literally dozens of World Heritage sites in this area, and the Atashgah is a notable one. Some 15,000 tourists—pilgrims, really—visit the temple annually.

Of course, I didn’t bring you here just for the heck of it. This temple has an unusual pedigree. Not only because notables like Marco Polo and Alexander Dumas visited it or that the Russian czar, Alexander III, reportedly observed religious rituals there. But because of its dubious religious origin.

Many consider the Atashgah Zoroastrian, the ancient Persian religion Heidi and I both keep harping about in this space. Fire, a central element of the Zoroastrian faith, perpetually burns at the center of the temple, of course, and the name of the temple itself hails from the Persian  word for fire, “atash.” For years, an “eternal fire” burned at the Atashgah’s main altar. Turns out it sat right above a natural gas field, causing spontaneous bursts of fire through seven natural surface vents. An incredible natural phenomenon if you ever get to see one. In fact, Azerbaijan has some of the most concentrations of such “natural fires” that spring up around the country. The natural gas under Atashgah became exhausted in 1969, after about a hundred years of Soviet over-exploitation of the area’s natural resources, but ever since, the Baku municipality has piped in gas to keep the fire burning and keep the tourists and pilgrims happy.

Eternal flame in the Atashgah

The compound, compared to a castle in some descriptions, is shaped like a pentagon, with little cottages for the monks who stayed there and a fire altar at the center. The government has since turned the temple into a museum, and in addition to its UNESCO designation, the Azeri president declared it a state historical-architectural reserve in 2007. Zoroastrian symbols at the old temple abound. A Naskh inscription over the entrance to one of the cells uses a couplet to announce the visit of Zoroastrians from Isfahan in the 18^th century. (There's a 10th century atashgah in Isfahan, in fact, one of the few still in Iran, I'm guessing.) The trident sitting atop the Azeri temple structure is thought by some to be a symbol of the Zoroastrian concept of the “good thoughts, good words, and good deeds” Heidi wrote about on Monday. The compound may have been ravaged by Islamic armies during the conquest of Persia, and it’s thought that the “locals” may already have been worshipping around the “seven holes” even before the Hindus arrived.

Yes, not only have Zoroastrians worshipped here over the centuries, but so have Hindus, Sikhs, and Buddhists. That’s the real rub. The temple might not even be Zoroastrian originally, but Hindu. Sure, the temple’s right in the middle of Central Asia, not even South Asia, and sure, today there aren’t more than a few hundred Azeri residents of Indian descent. Modern scholars and old writings indicate Indian merchants did a lot of trade along this part of the Silk Road, settling down and forming a sizeable community in the late Middle Ages, possibly around the late 1700s. Many of the woodworkers building the trading ships at the time were Indian as well. The growing Indian population may have been responsible for building the temple or renovating an existing one into a Hindu one. Over the centuries, many have written of it primarily as a Hindu temple though. Even historians who are Parsi, that is descended from the Zoroastrians who’d migrated to India, believe it was always a Hindu temple.

Inscriptions from the Atashgah in Baku, with both a Hindu
invocation in Sanskrit as well as a Persian couplet.
From A. V. Williams Jackson’s 1911 book,
From Constantinople to the Home of Omar Khayyam. {PD-US}

And the physical evidence validates it as well. Fire is a common element of both faiths, as is the trident (known as a trishul, as in the one  Lord Shiva carries). But most telling are the Sanskrit and Punjabi inscriptions peppering the structures around the compound. The tribute to the Zoroastrians from Isfahan has its share of typos, and right above it, inscriptions pay tribute to Lord Ganesha and a Hindu goddess known as Jwala Ji—in Sanskrit. Both these inscriptions note the modern calendar year of 1745, the likely date the temple was erected. And get this. Followers of Jwala Ji have long paid tribute to the goddess by lighting either seven or nine fires, much like the fires coming through the seven “holes” under the altar.

There's another really curious little factoid, a side note, I have to share about this place too. If you've read some of my previous posts (such as this one), you may remember mention of the shared ancient history between the Indians and Persians (all Aryans). It turns out a 10th-century Persian geographer by the name of Estakhri wrote that fire worshippers lived not far from Baku. Another 10th-century scholar—Armenian historian, Movses Kaghankatvatsi—confirmed that information, referring to a province called (unbelievably) "Bhagavan." The translation of that word back in the medieval Albanian Caucasus was the "field of gods" or the "fire gods." But what makes this just so fascinating is that in India, regardless of whatever faith you practice, Bhagavan is pretty much the literal translation for God. Wow.


But back to the fire temple of Baku. 

One after another, Europeans visiting the area in the 17^th and 18^th centuries mention the “brahmins,” the “Indian ascetics,” or the worship of the Hindu fire god, Agni, they observed at Atashgah. Some noted distinctions such as the priests’ strict vegetarian diets or their wearing of tilaks on their foreheads. The fire ritual Czar Alexander III observed was, by all accounts, a Hindu one.

Around the time the Russians arrived to cash in on the oil, the Indian traders and merchants began migrating back to their homeland—mostly from the Sindh and Punjab regions of modern-day Pakistan. In their place came Zoroastrians of Persian origin who’d settled in India and came back to ancient Persia to help restore and maintain the temple. Among the many visitors to the temple each year are thousands of Zoroastrians who revere the sacred grounds regardless of which faith built it.

Iranian Zoroastrians at the fire temple in Baku

A Tale Of Two Religions

By Alli Sinclair

One of the most wonderful things about living in a culture different to your own is the opportunity to have new experiences every day. When I lived in Peru, the similarities we shared surprised me and many, many times the differences had me entranced. What I loved most, though, was the Peruvians ability to hold on to their Incan beliefs and blend it with the influences of the Spanish, creating a fascinating, ever-evolving culture.

The main cathedral in Cuzco, Peru, is a classic example. Situated on Plaza Independencia, the main plaza in Cuzco, this impressive structure houses the beliefs of two religions, albeit in a dramatic fashion.

Forming an annexe to the cathedral is the Iglesia de Triunfo, built on the foundations of Wiracocha, an Incan palace. During construction of the church that started in 1559, stones from Sacsayhuamán, an Incan fortress just outside Cuzco, were used—stones that had been painstakingly cut and placed in fortress walls made without mortar.

In 1654, the church was finally finished, despite weathering a devastating earthquake in 1650 that damaged or destroyed many other churches and Incan sites in the region. Within the walls of the church are examples of the Cusqueña School of Painting, including a painting of the last supper by artist Marcos Zapata.

What a brave man Marcos Zapata must have been to create the painting he did in 1753. If you take a close look, you’ll find the centrepiece of the supper is cuy, a guinea pig popular amongst Peruvians, even today. The little rodent is eaten during many religious celebrations and I have more than one story to tell about this, but I’ll leave that for one of our “foodie” posts.

Not only is cuy present but if you study hard you’ll see there are two platters of foods popular with the Incas, including purple, red, tan, and yellow potatoes, peppers, and corn. And what would a religious painting be without controversy? The cloudy, yellow-coloured liquid in the foreground is rumoured to be chicha, an alcoholic drink the Incas make out of maize and spit (yes, we need a post on this one, too!).

Local guides at the church are keen to point out that Judas, seated to the right of Christ, is clutching a moneybag beneath the table and appears to look directly at the viewer of the painting. For generations, locals have said the image of Judas in this painting bears strong resemblance to Francisco Pizarro, the Spaniard responsible for capturing and murdering the Inca Emperor Atahualpa.

When I first visited the church, a guide told me the Incas that had been “recruited” for the construction and had inserted a stone from one of their sacred sites. This way, when the Incas attended church under orders from the Spaniards, they could brush their fingers on the sacred stone near the entrance of the church as a way to ask forgiveness from their gods for entering the Catholic church.

Carved on the wooden doors of the church are pumas, the Incan symbol for the earth, yet another indication of the Incan influence on this Catholic church.

Even though Catholicism is popular throughout South America, there are many references to local beliefs and cultures influencing “imported” religions, such as Catholicism and Protestantism. I love how people have put their own spin on religion, sometimes melding the two effortlessly. Of course, many battles were fought when the Spanish arrived in South America, and this adaption of Catholicism wasn’t without suffering, but today, the people appear to have found a way to balance their beliefs and ancestry.

Behind The Mask – Paucartambo, Peru

By Alli Sinclair

When I lived in Cuzco, Peru, I got to experience a festival every other week. People are always celebrating something – festivals for the living, festivals for the dead, for Incan gods, summer solstice, winter solstice… the list goes on. Many of these events are held on a grand scale and streets are crowded with tourists and locals drinking and dancing until the wee hours of the morning, only to wake up the next day and do it over again. One of my favourite festivals, however, isn’t as well known as the others, but boy, it is impressive.

The rural town of Paucartambo is situated four hours north-east from Cuzco. The trip isn’t for the faint-hearted as the narrow, windy roads and steep canyons make even the most adventurous travellers a tad nervous. Most of the year, Paucartambo is a lunch stop for tourists on their way to Manu Jungle, but when July 15 rolls around, this sleepy town comes alive with colour, music, and fireworks.

For three days, locals and a handful of tourists gather to celebrate El Virgin del Carmen. Not only does this festival embrace Christian beliefs but the Virgin embodies Pachamama (Mother Earth), a sacred deity of the Incas. During celebrations, the town’s population swells from 1,500 to 12,000 and accommodations can be scarce. It’s definitely a matter of who you know, and the best way to find a place to stay to contact a local tour operator in Cuzco and book your stay ahead of time.

What sets this festival apart from many others is the masks the dancers wear during the festivities. Pointed chins, arched eyebrows, and large eyes are only some of their features, and among the most popular are the white masks that represent the conquistadors. Whenever these make an appearance, there’s a lot of hissing and booing from onlookers.

Around twenty dance groups take part in the fiesta, and the dances represent the stories of their people. The Capac Q’olla is a religious dance that honours the merchants who brought their wares to Paucartambo.

On the first day of the Virgen del Carmen Festival, people gather in front of the town's main church which lies on the largest plaza. The dancers surround the church, wearing their masks and colourful costumes, and two dancers march inside the back of the church to salute the Virgen del Carmen statue. These two dancers depict Capaq Qolla (the people of the region), and Capaq Negro, who wears a black mask and represents the African slaves who once worked in the silver mines nearby.

Throughout the celebrations Maqtas, impish tricksters, run among the crowds and ensure people behave as the Virgin is paraded by. They demand people take off their hats and stop drinking in the Virgin's presence.

The church holds a spiritual mass and the townsfolk follow the dancers and wend their way between shops and houses, bearing candles, flowers, and other offerings to the Virgin. In the evening, the town square explodes with fireworks and music, and dancers jump over bonfires. At midnight, everyone calms down and says a prayer for the Virgin in front of the church's closed doors.

And the next morning, the heads of each dance group pass out gifts of fruit and handicrafts to the people attending the mass. By that afternoon, the Virgin is adorned in exquisite fabric and is escorted through the streets by Capaq Cunchos (guardians of the Virgin). They form the head of the procession and the dancers follow behind, decked out in their colourful costumes and masks, musicians playing accompanying tunes.

By day three, each dance group performs a routine through the cemetery and onlookers sing about ancestry and their own mortality. The Virgin is taken through the streets again and is brought to a bridge. Once there, people bow their heads and Capaq Negro and Capaq Qolla sing a farewell prayer.

The Virgin is then retired to the church until the following year, and the main plaza fires up with a party to end all parties.

Of all the festivals I’ve attended around the world, Paucartambo is very dear to my heart. Even now, years later, remembering the wonderful people who welcomed and encouraged me to join the celebrations brings a smile to my face.

How about you? What festival has left you with fond memories?

The Symbolic World Of The Maya

As a kid, Egyptian hieroglyphics captured my imagination. I spent hours poring over books, trying to recreate the symbols and create messages only me and my friends would understand. At high school, the Mayans caught my attention for the exact same reason as the Egyptians – they had a written language that not only looked beautiful, but each symbol held a story of its own.

One of the features that distinguishes the Maya from other cultures in Mesoamerica is their development of a written language, often called Maya Hieroglyphic Writing, or Glyphs. This complex system of symbols has baffled scientists for years, and it wasn’t until the mid-twentieth century when Mayanist, Tatiani Proskouriakoff, had a major breakthrough that finally had people agreeing that the glyphs were a fully functional system based on phonetic signs.

While English is simple and comprised of only 26 letters (signs), the Maya symbols are made from various combinations of nearly 800 signs. Each one represents a full syllable, and so the system is called a syllabary, not an alphabet like we use.

Mayan writers had a vast selection when it came to choosing a symbol to represent one sound. For example, there might be five different signs that all sound the same. Sounds confusing? Yes. Fascinating? Absolutely, yes! Imagine having artistic licence to create your own writing style. No wonder the experts have had so much trouble deciphering the meaning behind each of the Mayan symbols.

Scientists believe the codices and other important texts of the Mayans were written by scribes who were usually members of the Mayan priesthood. The glyphs themselves were painted on ceramics and walls, carved in wood, and moulded in stucco or on bark-paper codices.

With all the advances in technology and the countless hours scientists have put into studying the Maya Glyphs, 90% of Mayan writing can now be read with accuracy. The glyphs are written in blocks that consist of two columns and are read from left to right, top to bottom.

In Mexico, during the era of the Spanish Conquistadors, the Bishop Diego de Landa ordered the collection and destruction of all written Maya works, including codices. His bright idea came back and bit him in the butt later when he tried to convert the Mayans from their own religion to Christianity. Because he’d destroyed most of their written works, he had to develop a new way of communicating with them. The de Landa Alphabet was invented to help with his “teachings.” Although it wasn’t a true representation of the Mayan’s written language, it became an important key for scientists years later when they started to decipher the Maya script. The biggest problem was there wasn’t a direct relation between de Landa’s Alphabet and the Mayan Glyphs. No doubt, the Mayan scientists probably invented a few choice words of their own during the process.

Unfortunately, only four Maya codices survived the destruction of the conquistadors but other text has been found on pottery found in Mayan tombs or on monuments that had been buried long before the Spanish arrived.

These days, Mayan writing is taught in public schools and universities in the Mayan speaking regions in Mexico and is supported and promoted by the Mexican government. It’s encouraging to see that we have finally realised how precious our history, and culture, is and how important it is to preserve it not only for now, but for future generations. Mistakes are only worthwhile if we learn from them.

What a Beautiful Noise

An average day in La Paz, Bolivia is filled with color and culture along the city’s steep, cobblestoned streets. Indigenous women wear bowler hats, long black plaits and ankle length skirts. Their shawls radiate a kaleidoscope of colors and the magical smiles of the locals make a visit to La Paz hard to forget. I’ve been fortunate enough to spend a lot of time in Bolivia, and the event that stands out most for me is the Festividad del Señor del Gran Poder (Festival of the Gentleman with Great Power), which is primarily celebrated in La Paz every June. 
 
As with most of Latin America, Bolivian culture is strongly tied to the Catholic faith. After the Spanish arrived, many indigenous people were converted to Catholicism and over the years, Latin Americans have melded their pre-Colombian beliefs with various religions. 

The Festividad del Señor del Gran Poder is linked to a cult that grew out of a connection with a 17^th century painting of the Holy Trinity. The French Bishop Augusto Siefertt, stationed in Bolivia, hired two local artists to paint the Holy Trinity in a small chapel. The artists painted the three entities with indigenous features and late at night one of the artists snuck back in to retouch the eyes on the figure representing Christ. When he did so, the figure in the painting moved its head and the artist fled. A devoted group of followers arose and in 1939 the chapel was officially named Iglesia Parroquial del Gran Poder (Parochial Church of the Grand Power).

Originally, the chapel began holding a candlelight festival in the late 1930s, with the Fiesta del Gran Poder mainly a religious affair in which participants carried around a large an image of Christ. Nowadays, the festival still celebrates religion but runs for about eight hours, has thousands of dancers and musicians parading down the streets, and the festivity pretty much shuts down the city for the day. Food and drink are an important factor, as well as sponsorship by large South American companies. Inca Kola and the top beer brands feature prominently in the signage along the parade route through the old streets of La Paz.

Groups of people from the neighbourhoods and villages outside La Paz get together and practice dancing and playing music for an entire year leading up to this event. The costumes range from traditional peasant dresses to elaborate, sequined, mini-skirted affairs. It doesn’t matter if you can play a musical instrument or have the rhythm of a drunken accountant at an office party -- anyone who wants to can participate. In fact, it’s the people who can’t play a tune or dance a step that are the most entertaining and seem to have the most fun. 

The beginning of the parade starts out with the dancers and musicians moving in time with each other. Women twirl in their long skirts as the men in the band play along. As the procession continues and helpful by-standers offer salteñas, empanadas and beer, the spinning-top women slow down and veer off course, and no one in the band seems to agree which song they should be playing. 

I finished up my first fiesta in La Paz in the early hours of the morning, with sore cheeks from smiling, tired and slightly inebriated (okay, a lot!). My feet hurt from standing and dancing for so long, and my brain couldn’t rid itself of the out-of-tune brass sections and drummers who liked to make it all up as they went along. 

The mountains surrounding La Paz make for a spectacular back-drop to one of the most colourful and noisy festivals I’ve ever experienced. If you can manage to pin down the correct date to see the Fiesta del Gran Poder, then it’s well and truly worth planning your other travels around this major event. The dates for the fiesta change most years, and can be held on any date from late May until the end of June. I’ve yet to figure out why the date changes, but I have an inkling it might have something to do with Lent. Fortunately for me, I happened to be in the right place at the right time – for once! 

And here's some dancing and musicians in action. Enjoy! 

Catholic Kali

A 1940s poster of the goddess Kali
standing over Lord Shiva

I mean for you to scratch your head with that headline. Kali is a powerful, demon-killing goddess from the Hindu pantheon. Nothing to do with Catholicism, right? Turns out, there’s a pretty interesting connection.

When the Spanish colonizers began importing indentured Indian laborers from India to the Caribbean in the mid-1800s, the newcomers were only allowed to observe parts of their culture, regardless of religion. North Indian Hindus worshipped the usual deities—Ram, Sita, and Krishna, for instance—as well as the deity known as Kali. The minority Tamil speakers from South India, however, worshipped Kali almost exclusively, forming Madras temples, also known as Kali temples, mostly in Guyana.

But in other areas, because of the limitations put on them by their colonizers, some Hindus in the Caribbean began worshipping the Virgin Mary as a representation of Kali Mai, or Mother Kali. As well, in those days when Indians first began leaving their homeland, they called the foreign oceans they had to cross “black waters,” because mysterious and often dangerous things happened to them when they traveled afar. Many Caribbean Hindus came to believe that the black deity, Kali Mai, traveled with them across these waters and took on the form of the Virgin Mary when they arrived.

Kali in a 17th century mural
(credit Balajiviswanathan)

In some areas, such as the former French colony of Guadeloupe, Hindus began observing both faiths. They modified their observances to accommodate both – for example, they didn't perform pujas, Hindu prayer ceremonies, during Lent.

Among Hindu goddesses, Kali is one of the most hardcore. I grew up a little ambivalent of her (read: afraid) and not entirely convinced she was one of the good guys (gals). That’s because she’s usually depicted as a woman with a murderous temper. She wears a garland of *human heads* around her neck, always hangs her long tongue out of her mouth, carries a sword dripping in blood, has wild hair and four arms. One of her arms carries a severed head; another holds a bowl that catches the blood dripping from this head. Sometimes she’s shown standing atop the inert body of her husband, Lord Shiva. This goddess means business. I would say don’t make her mad, but she was born mad.

Kali’s name comes from the word kala, which means black, and she’s depicted as either dark skinned or even jet black. (The blue skin in the poster up top is meant to suggest dark skin, as in popular mythological renderings.) Hindu interpretations vary on the meaning of Kali's darkness. Some associate it with death or time, others as beyond color, even as a manifestation of pure energy.

Either way, some Africans in the Caribbean have also adopted a belief in Kali Mai in part because she is—get this—the goddess of healing. (Don’t ask. I’m not entirely sure myself how this part of her story reconciles with the scary stuff, but I’ll leave that topic for another day.) Caribbean Africans brought their own healing practices, such as Obeah, to the area, and so the idea of a healing deity was one both oppressed groups in the region could embrace. Not only did a belief in Kali entail the healing of the sick, but it also helped empower these disenfranchised groups to believe in healing from suffering and oppression.

The matriarch of La Divina Pastora in Trinidad
(credit to Jason X)

Beginning in 1871 and continuing on until now, Hindus at the Roman Catholic church of La Divina Pastora in Trinidad began worshipping Virgin Mary as the embodiment of Kali. The dark statue of La Divina Pastora or the Divine Shepherdess is also known as Soparee Mai, another name for Kali, at the church. Each year on Good Friday, Hindus fill the church to worship Soparee Mai. Catholics join them as well as local Muslims, Buddhists, and indigenous Waraoa Indians. Offerings of gold, flowers, and fruit are left at the feet of the deity, and healing miracles are said to have occurred.

It’s unconfirmed, but some believe this is the only church in the world where such a phenomenon takes place. Pretty cool meeting of cultures, no?