At the bottom of the hill we worked our way through a couple of other temples in the village. One of them was more of a shrine around a holy pond, the other was a temple/orphanage/hostel run by gurus. We decided to check out the pond, and while we took in the scenery, our driver befriended a local businessman whose mother lives in the village. He informed us that there would be a goat sacrifice in about half an hour, and we decided that we should probably stick around, how many times in my life would that offer be extended? To "kill the time," we walked across the street to the vegetarian guru compound, and got a tour of the grounds. After pictures and some conversation with the head guru, we were invited to lunch. We accepted, but explained that we had a date with a couple goats, and had to get back for the sacrifice. The gurus seemed a little off put by our interest in the gruesome practice, but said they would have lunch ready when we returned.
The sacrifice was very formalized, and I was able to witness the blessing of the goats inside the shrine, the skillful sharpening of the giant blade painted to look like a rhino, the dirt being piled underneath the wooden trap that held the goats neck (to absorb the blood and give the blade something to hit besides concrete on the other side of the goat) the gathering of the villagers, and of course the beheading itself. I was standing about 12 feet away for the whole process.
The first goat bleeted loudly, recalling the Silence of the Lambs, and I focused my camera for it's execution. The severed head fell about a foot from the body, both writhed violently for almost a full minute. Without removing the first goat's head, they brought in the second one, which had been witness for the first sacrifice.
Again: screaming, the head locked in legs together huge blade up-down (gravity) phumph! sand the body tongue out red red flower next to slaughter brains slumping out from the neck, red and white. At the end of the second sacrifice, the assembled villagers let out a high-pitched "looloolooloo," which was perhaps the most unnerving part of the whole scene. Then the bodies were strung up in a tree to be carved up for the poor. We were finally told that the sacrifice had been from a man who had recently become well and wanted to give thanks.
We then tried to come back to "reality" and went to get some lunch, a strange immediateness all over the surface of our skin. The lunch was quite tasty, we had Dahl (lentils), rice and a shredded potatoe dish. We ate with our right hands and discussed topics from America to religion, to the head guru's impression that we had far more power than we really process in the American embassy. There is also a lot of confusion regarding our social network in America... "you've been to New York? Do you know my cousin Saleem?"
The gurus passed out pamphlets of their teaching, containing almost nursery rhyme style hymns about being a good person and establishing good Karma. They even had a small library that was the pride of the town. The temple sustained itself on donations and some sale of local honey and renting rooms in its hostel. As we left I had the sense that they hoped we could help, but we had little to give, only promising to bring the school to the attention of my school's charitable organizations. From here, it was onward to Chittagong City.
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