The whole of India is a crowd. You arrive alone and then are swallowed up in the belly of the beast to become another digit to the millions of other digits . The individual disappears into the mass of humanity to become one with everything. Death, life , pain, happiness . You become another cry of yes to the unfolding universe , a part of a patchwork quilt , another brick in the wall to quote Floyd. At Arunachala you hear the drumbeat of God through the ancient Vedas chanted by boys as young as ten ; Sanskrit poured out into the sacred ether around the tomb of Sri Ramana. Who am I said the great sage . I could not grasp that thought or follow the I back to it’s to home I was constantly distracted. The monkeys sitting on my room not so benevolent and great peacocks in their crowds of choice . The sun was beginning its descent to the moon . An old man swayed hypnotically like a great cobra chanting shiva Arunachala. Lord God resides on the hill of the holy beacon. A crowd of women sat round him swaying chanting . The moon had reached its zenith and the crowded ashram stopped and looked toward the great mountain. On top of the mountain more Sanskrit prayers given by the Brahmin priests . The great cauldron of fire was lit from a thousand litres of ghee. The crowd below in the ashram went Ooh and Ahh then prostrated to the great mountain. I alone stood standing tall under the moonlight unable to prostrate because of moonboot from an accident in Pondicherry. I used my crutches to walk to the highway where you could see an ocean of people beginning their walk around the mountain chanting Shiva Arunachala . I stepped into the middle of the crowd as it surged forward in a spiritual frenzy and I nearly fell in the crush to be saved by someone living at the ashram . These things aren’t isolated across India it is everywhere. Delhi , Varansai , Bodhgaya, the crowd is King .