As King Kuru ploughed his land, Indra the king of gods visited him and asked him what he was doing. He replied “I am ploughing the land for growing the eight-fold virtues of religious austerity.” After sowing his left arm into the field with the chakra of Vishnu, the legend tells that he was visited again by God Indra who granted that whoever died at Kurukshetra would always go to Heaven despite sin or virtue.

Kurukshetra is curiously forgotten on the tourist maps yet it shines at the centre of Hinduism where the Great War of the sacred Mahabharat was fought. Surrounding Kurukshetra, Lord Khrishna preached his doctrine of Karma at nearby Jyotisar and took bath during a solar eclipse. To this day Kurukshetra is revered throughout India and up to a million pilgrims have been known to take bath during an eclipse. So why is it left off all the tourist maps (even the Lonely Planet only gives it 2 lines?)

The day’s ride to Kurukshetra was the hardest day so far, but it began as one of the most curious. I’ve met many people zooming past me honking their horns, but never one honking its horn, waving out the window and shouting “Steve” in a distinctly British accent. It just happened that a friend I had made in Bangladesh, Ben, was returning from Amritsar to Delhi and had the idea to say “hi”! The last time I had met him was when I was planning this trip, so it was a rather surreal encounter indeed. We had a rather extended lunch at a local dhaba and it wasn’t until 2pm that I mournfully jumped on my horse again and continued onto Kurukshetra,

The long road seemed to never end as Rosie and I trudged slowly on. At nine pm we finally reached the outskirts and met our contact. Dr AK Sharma had arranged for one of his former students in town to look after us, but the distance from where we were, to where we were staying was another 12 kms. Rosie was clearly tired, so after dismounting and walking, we pushed on and reached Gurukul School at 2am. The highlight of the evening though was being greeted by Kurukshetra’s Youth Congress Party (and the usual press photographer) who had learnt about by ride from a fellow I had spoken to on the GT road earlier. I must have had a dozen wreaths around my neck by the time I left and they personally escorted me to Gurukul!

This ride was also the longest distance we had covered so far (46kms) and the next day Rosie was staggering. After consulting the local vets, we decided to take another days rest. The strain of carrying me and all my luggage had taken its toll so it suited her as she could live in her own private stable at Gurukul, (which even had its own private herd of cows for student’s milk!). It also suited Rommel since we could film together at Bhram Sarover.

And so it was, that armed with a multitude of cameras plus tripods we set off for the ancient bathing place of Brahma Sarovar, again rather important since Hindus believe that Supreme Bhrama conceived the universe here! This place is truly an undiscovered treasure. If you take a bath here you are absolved of all your sins and in 1948 some of Mahatma Gandhi’s ashes were sprinkled in the tank after he died. Teeming with pilgrims and beggars alike this place is said to have been excavated before Hindu civilisation even began. I also sat for a while with a wandering sadu who was ensconced in his prayers to the divine.

Horse experts?

The next morning, Rosie still wasn’t well. The head of the stables at Gurukul was coming and I was assured “he would know what to do.” To my surprise he told me that my limping horse was fit for another day’s journey. Although time wasn’t on our side I was skeptical about leaving. She also still had that injury from when she was stolen. Under his insistence we left slowly but made virtually no progress and it wasn’t long before I had stopped again.Everybody has their own opinion regarding horses. If one person says something is black, another will say it is white! I often have to go for grey.

We had travelled only 7 kms in 2.5 hours at a painstakingly slow walk and Rosie was clearly still upset from the previous journey. I gave her some analgesic tablets from the medical kit that Brooke had previously prepared for me in Delhi. Crushing them with some Gur (molasses) I fed them to Rosie in a chapatti which she quickly ate. I also rang Dr. Jay Narayan Sharma from Kurukshetra who arrived within twenty minutes and gave her an injection of Dicolofin, which she thanked me for with a hard stamp on my right foot.

Within an hour she had sufficiently recovered and we slowly walked to the sleepy hamlet of Jhangsa 15 kms further ahead. We must have left at around 4pm and it wasn’t until 9pm that we eventually arrived. The approach into town was beautiful. Sunlight danced among the trees, reflecting off the domed haystacks that marched down the highway. The air was lazy and quiet as I walked with my ‘pack horse’ behind me and the long road ahead. Ancient travellers may have once felt like I did, that lazy night, all alone and happy to be on the road.

The amount of Punjabi influence has increased as I head out of Haryana. More people are wearing turbans and the countryside seems neater and worked harder. A hyperactive Sikh farmer insisted on ferrying his relatives to come and meet me all the way to Jhangsa. He would zoom up and down the highway in his supercharged tractor taxi telling all his neighbours about the Angreji on the horse.

As we approached Jhangsa some local kids rode out to escort me into town asking what present I was going to gift them for their trouble. “My deepest appreciation,” I replied. As usual, thanks to the kind heartedness of Dr. Sharma in Hisar, I had another contact waiting for me in Jhangsa. Mr. Rana, who had a suitably sized house at the end of town, was waiting for me when I arrived. He quickly bustled me in and got Rosie settled, who was more than glad of the break.

Camera Stolen

The next day dawned with the mist seeping over the walls of the compound we had slept in. Aridamon Singh, a friend of mine, had arrived last night from Delhi and was excited about the coming day ahead as we packed up to leave towards Ambala. However, I couldn’t find my camera.The last picture had been taken at 1130 pm whilst we were all present and I’d put the camera under my chair, secure in the knowledge that all present were friends. As the old adage goes though, ‘you can’t trust anybody!’ None of us could clearly remember if there had been anybody else, outside of our company, present around that time and I could hardly blame my host who had done so much. I was at a loss! We debated getting the police involved but that would have meant the police shaking up Mr. Rana, extorting money from him and a lengthy investigation which I really didn’t need at this point in time. Luckily the camera wasn’t worth that much, but it was the thought that somebody had the audacity to steal from right under my nose that really made me angry.

So it was on a rather unhappy note that I set off again for Ambala and the border with Punjab. I rode slowly, following two twin canals that ran parallel to each other as we travelled towards Thol. Last night I had been joined by Pradip, a fellow who was riding a bicycle from the South of India to the North. He was also riding for education and had grown up in the small town of Thol some 9 kms away. He suggested doing a talk at Thol secondary school on the importance of education, which I thought was a great idea. We made quite a convoy as we padded along the road to Thol. There was Ari and his Brother-in-law in one car, Rommel and Tiat in another car and then Pradip who was travelling on the back of a horse and cart just in front of me.

We arrived at the school at 11am to a waiting audience of 200 or so students whispering amongst themselves. After securing Rosie I rather nervously mounted the stage not quite sure what they expected but intent on them leaving with the knowledge that they were the lucky ones and that many other students in India weren’t so lucky even to have a school building. The students responded well for students and gave their points of views on the problems of their school. Initially the teachers were telling the students what to say, but eventually I convinced them not to and we got 5 girls and 5 boys to show us the school’s facilities and to tell us there thoughts. With the cameras rolling they told:

These were minor problems compared to other schools in India though (say for example in Orissa), where students don’t even have an school to attend or teachers to teach them. There is nobody to say to them, “what do you want to be when you are older?” since they won’t know the answer!