Shabarimala

Swami Ayyopa...this was quite possibly the most intense and grueling experience of my life. I thought it would be a fairly straight forward walk to the top of a mountain, a pleasant jaunt as Vaishno Devi had been. How completely, utterly and abysmally wrong can one man be? This wrong...

We started the Darshan with a pooja at a friend's house, fairly close to where we were starting - and by fairly close, I mean a four-hour drive.The pooja involved putting on the Mala - a rosary bead necklace that signifies you're a Yatri heading to Lord Ayyapa, the God-King resting atop the Shabri Hills. The Mala is also supposed to signify that you've started a Vrit - 41 days without alcohol, sex, meat and all that other badness. I'd 'officially' managed 21 days. But of course, the fella sitting in my heart (not in the sky) is the judge of that.


After we arrived at the base of Mount Pampa, we were greeted by 30,000 other cars and 20,000 buses clamouring for parking space. This was gonna be busy. And not pleasant at all - my malaria tablets had been having an adverse reaction with me for the past few days, and it came to a head just as we were about to set off. I threw up more than I've ever done in my entire life. After a token wash and mouthbrush we set off, with me exceptionally dehydrated.


The thing is, with this particular pilgrimage, you have to carry a load of stuff on your head up the hill - a coconut filled with ghee, along with 3 other coconuts, a bag of rice and some blessed coins for Lord Ayyappa. It seriously weighs down on your neck. But the worst was yet to come.

Crossing the Pampa River Bridge to start our ascent at 3AM, our fellow male yatris numbered in excess of 40,000 - thats a lot of rowdy, sweaty, brown men, filled with the euphoria of godhead. And the climb was steep. The steepest thing I've climbed without crampons, and everyone was doing it barefoot. Even though we were in the open air, it got exceptionally claustrophobic, being hemmed in, literally between several rocks and a hard place, 500ft off the edge of a mountain cliff. I don't remember much else of the climb other than I was totalled by the time we got to the top - where, at 5.30AM, we had to queue in a horrible crush for seven hours to climb the 18 Golden steps to see Ayyappa.

Like the Yatris at Vaishno, Shabarimala pilgrims had a series of chants to spur themselves on - a call and reply - Swami! Ayyappa! Swami! Ayyappa! The sound of 3,000 people in unison singing that is pretty energising, however, after 4 hours in the queue crush, even inspiring words couldn't heal my severe dehydration and fatigue. When we finally reached the golden steps, my back was ready to cave in, my feet were blistered and bruised and I thought my bowels were going to cave in. I literally got thrown up the 18 steps by the crush and the police at the side of the steps into another queue, 15 minsutes after which i finally got to see the statue of Lord Ayyappa, pale milky white, sitting on a massive golden throne....

Ten minutes later I collapsed in a small heap behind a Ganesha murti, before a policeman moved me on.

I can't really remember much else from the climb up Shabarimala. The walk back was fairly pleasant until once again, the massive crush of people heading down an amazingly steep hill sent me head spinning. By this time it was mid-afternoon and very hot. Stretcher bearers carrying people who'd passed out or had had cardiac episodes zoomed passed us - the only people that seemed capable of running up and down such a steep incline.

Again I was completely amazed by the strength and determination of the Indian working class. Automotive transport up the mountain is limited, so most6 loads have to be taken up by hand - or head in many cases. I saw hundreds of skinny men, bearing 200kg loads - supplies of all shapes and sizes - soley on their heads, bounding up the mountain. These people weren't motivated by God or anything divine, just the desire to make an earner and feed their kids and wives.

The only thing I can equate it with is the crush at Notting Hill Carnival - except you never really get to the Abashanti stage - you're just stuck behind a massive group of drunk rastas, sweating heavily - and your on a mountain - and the only music is a man shouting (perhaps a Gabba MC?)...the scenery was nice tho...