Film Review
Naked in Ashes
Dir. Paula FouceScr. Paula Fouce, William Haugse
Official Site - www.paradisefilmworks.com
Wishing to protest a government plan to demolish ancient temples and turn holy sites into parking lots for luxury hotels, Shiv Raj Giri did what any Indian holy man would do, he showed up at the parliament building and pulled a jeep with eight passengers on board for a full kilometer, with his penis! This is just one of the remarkable scenes in Naked in Ashes, a new documentary on Indian yogis and gurus, directed by Paula Fouce.
The film centers on a fourteen year-old boy who is a disciple of the afore-mentioned Shiv Raj Giri a yogi who lives near the foot of the Himalayas on the banks of the Ganges River. Santoosh, the boy, left his family to become a disciple and it is largely through his eyes that we encounter the world of yogis. Shiv Raj is following a well-worn, six thousand year old spiritual path to enlightenment and has assembled a small group of followers who live with him. They really don't live anywhere, part of their way of combating worldly attachment is to keep moving up and down the Ganges visiting various holy sites and performing all kinds of religious rituals and service. Shiv Raj doesn't eat anything but the occasional piece of fruit and he only drinks water taken directly from the Ganges.
As we journey with Santosh towards his initiation ceremony, we meet all kinds of yogis, each of them with their own particular practices--Raman Giri--the Standing Baba, who has made a vow to stand upright for twelve years, another yogi who holds his right hand in the air at all times as an act of public penance. It is wild stuff. Shiv Raj takes his young disciple on a long journey high into the Himalayas where they walk barefoot through the snow.
Some of it seems so remote from Western spiritual practices, but the longer you stay with these people the more the journey starts to become familiar. They all speak about the primacy of loving God and neighbour, of the need to atone for our failings, of the need to express thanks to God for life etc.
One of the yogis said that "the world won't run without saints and yogis." Shiv Raj emerges as a deeply thoughtful and complex man. He considers himself a Kali Yogi--a guru for dark times essentially, and he has a very apocalyptic view of the world--not so far removed from some conservative Christians I have listened to. He speaks movingly of the way modern society has treated the environment; of pollution, particularly of the world's water supply; and the shift away from vibrant spirituality in his own country. "There are a billion people in India and thirteen million gurus, fifty years from now you will hardly be able to find one," were his words on the subject. The film culminates with Santosh's initiation ceremony and a visit to the Khumba Mela, perhaps the world's oldest and largest religious festival. It has been held every twelve years for thousands of years apparently, millions upon millions of Hindus descending upon a holy site near the Ganges to be cleansed of their sins and find redemption. The festival is mind-boggling (another documentary, Shortcut to Nirvana, which was released last year, dealt solely with this event), the sheer number of attendees is hard to imagine. Yogis and gurus from all over India descend on the site along with all their followers and the festival culminates with everyone washing themselves naked in the river at a time determined by the holy men. The site of millions of naked people wading into the water and performing rituals of cleansing was amazing to watch.
Hinduism, as we discover it in this documentary, is a religion of water, of the Ganges river. The water of this holy river is everything; life, spirit, it gives meaning to their spirituality and practice. It echoes the verse from the Book of Psalms, "There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God." As I said earlier, there are many similarities between what I saw onscreen and Christianity on some levels, and perhaps if Shiv Raj is to be believed it is just as threatened by the onset of postmodern times.
In one funny scene we enter one yogi's tent, which is little more than a couple of pieces of heavy-duty plastic slung over a piece of rope tied to a couple of branches, to see some of his followers watching a very fuzzy black and white tv, and later we hear a couple of gurus talking to each other by cell-phone, the familiar ring of a cell-phone breaking the silence and putting all the poverty and lack of material goods into a whole new light. Quite a few of them wore watches as well, although they seemed to be on no particular schedule but that which their religious devotion demanded of them. Shiv Raj covers himself in ashes--it is what keeps him warm, apart from that, he spends most of his life outside and naked but for a very, very small thong-like thing to protect that very strong penis of his!! "No penis control, no good holy man," was how Raj described his peculiar ritual--whatever floats your boat I guess. The ashes come from the fires these yogis keep burning, holy fires dedicated to Shiva and Ganesh, or whichever God they worship. Interestingly, most of them seemed to only worship one god, not the whole pantheon of Hindu gods, which challenges yet another of our preconceptions I think. The ashes are worn as a reminder of mortality and the transitory nature of life, and they grant these yogis a ghostly appearance which only accentuates how out of place they are, even in a country so steeped in spirituality as India.
The film centers on a fourteen year-old boy who is a disciple of the afore-mentioned Shiv Raj Giri a yogi who lives near the foot of the Himalayas on the banks of the Ganges River. Santoosh, the boy, left his family to become a disciple and it is largely through his eyes that we encounter the world of yogis. Shiv Raj is following a well-worn, six thousand year old spiritual path to enlightenment and has assembled a small group of followers who live with him. They really don't live anywhere, part of their way of combating worldly attachment is to keep moving up and down the Ganges visiting various holy sites and performing all kinds of religious rituals and service. Shiv Raj doesn't eat anything but the occasional piece of fruit and he only drinks water taken directly from the Ganges.
As we journey with Santosh towards his initiation ceremony, we meet all kinds of yogis, each of them with their own particular practices--Raman Giri--the Standing Baba, who has made a vow to stand upright for twelve years, another yogi who holds his right hand in the air at all times as an act of public penance. It is wild stuff. Shiv Raj takes his young disciple on a long journey high into the Himalayas where they walk barefoot through the snow.
Some of it seems so remote from Western spiritual practices, but the longer you stay with these people the more the journey starts to become familiar. They all speak about the primacy of loving God and neighbour, of the need to atone for our failings, of the need to express thanks to God for life etc.
One of the yogis said that "the world won't run without saints and yogis." Shiv Raj emerges as a deeply thoughtful and complex man. He considers himself a Kali Yogi--a guru for dark times essentially, and he has a very apocalyptic view of the world--not so far removed from some conservative Christians I have listened to. He speaks movingly of the way modern society has treated the environment; of pollution, particularly of the world's water supply; and the shift away from vibrant spirituality in his own country. "There are a billion people in India and thirteen million gurus, fifty years from now you will hardly be able to find one," were his words on the subject. The film culminates with Santosh's initiation ceremony and a visit to the Khumba Mela, perhaps the world's oldest and largest religious festival. It has been held every twelve years for thousands of years apparently, millions upon millions of Hindus descending upon a holy site near the Ganges to be cleansed of their sins and find redemption. The festival is mind-boggling (another documentary, Shortcut to Nirvana, which was released last year, dealt solely with this event), the sheer number of attendees is hard to imagine. Yogis and gurus from all over India descend on the site along with all their followers and the festival culminates with everyone washing themselves naked in the river at a time determined by the holy men. The site of millions of naked people wading into the water and performing rituals of cleansing was amazing to watch.
Hinduism, as we discover it in this documentary, is a religion of water, of the Ganges river. The water of this holy river is everything; life, spirit, it gives meaning to their spirituality and practice. It echoes the verse from the Book of Psalms, "There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God." As I said earlier, there are many similarities between what I saw onscreen and Christianity on some levels, and perhaps if Shiv Raj is to be believed it is just as threatened by the onset of postmodern times.
In one funny scene we enter one yogi's tent, which is little more than a couple of pieces of heavy-duty plastic slung over a piece of rope tied to a couple of branches, to see some of his followers watching a very fuzzy black and white tv, and later we hear a couple of gurus talking to each other by cell-phone, the familiar ring of a cell-phone breaking the silence and putting all the poverty and lack of material goods into a whole new light. Quite a few of them wore watches as well, although they seemed to be on no particular schedule but that which their religious devotion demanded of them. Shiv Raj covers himself in ashes--it is what keeps him warm, apart from that, he spends most of his life outside and naked but for a very, very small thong-like thing to protect that very strong penis of his!! "No penis control, no good holy man," was how Raj described his peculiar ritual--whatever floats your boat I guess. The ashes come from the fires these yogis keep burning, holy fires dedicated to Shiva and Ganesh, or whichever God they worship. Interestingly, most of them seemed to only worship one god, not the whole pantheon of Hindu gods, which challenges yet another of our preconceptions I think. The ashes are worn as a reminder of mortality and the transitory nature of life, and they grant these yogis a ghostly appearance which only accentuates how out of place they are, even in a country so steeped in spirituality as India.