Quite frankly amazing. I used another adnoun in my diary, but one should never use profanity when describing divine beauty. Don’t panic, I’m not getting all born-again. This was a true journey, in every sense of the word.
The start of the Yatra is like some crazy market place, with literally hundreds of Wallas pushing their services onto you, trying to convince you that you need a donkey to ride up the mountain, that you need someone to carry your bag up the mountain, that you need a guide. But of course, we need these things like an iPod or Strawberry Cheesecake Haagendaas.
The first thing you notice is the fairly sizeable military presence. But to be honest, that’s Jammu Kashmir all over. On the way from the airport to Katra, I passed around twenty military garrisons – 1 for 2.5 kms. They’re lined up protecting many other holy sites, both Hindu and Muslim, but most importantly, sites of commercial interest – i.e. mines. But that’s another story.
At the gates of the Vaishno mountain , I went through more frisks than Abu Hamza at Ben Gurion airport – okay, that analogy doesn’t work but you get the picture. After we shook off the last of the Godia Wallas, we began our ascent at around 12 pm. Anyhow, Vaishno Devi is one of the holiest places in India for Hindus. Thousands visit this place weekly. Tonnes of people in one place, which happens to be on the Indo-Pak border makes for a tantalising target for the-collective-noun-beginning-with-T-whose-name-we-shall-not-mention. In Amarnath, another site a few hundred kilometres away, pilgrims are regularly killed by insurgents on their route up the hill to see the glacial-ice Shivalingum.
Bit of background – back in the mists of time, Mata Devi the Goddess Queen, aka the Holy Mother/Sister aka the embodiment of Lakshmi, Saraswati and Kali jumped on her white tiger (that’s not a euphemism) rode up the mountain and meditated in a cave for six months. Her meditations and sacrifices were so powerful that they shook the heavens. Bhairo, another God-king ascended the mountain to challenge her and in the ensuing battle got his head cut off, which landed in another cave on the mountain. In the first cave – which is the one everyone goes to - Mata Devi has manifest herself in the form of three ‘pindhies’, or small stalagmites that represent the holy trinity. In the second cave which is a little further up the mountain is another temple to Bhairo, the embodiment of Shiva, which not as many people go to – even though it’s said that your pilgrimage isn’t complete unless you do.
The scenery was utterly gorgeous. Glacial waters, crashing over granite shards erupting from the earth at improbable angles, forming natural showers for the pilgrims, colonies of monkeys leaping from tree to tree mugging tourists (more on that later) and shrines and temples dotting the mountain side like stars in the sky. A sensory overload to say the least and we’re only ten minutes up the hill.
Now’s a good time to let you know that the path to the Mata Devi shrine was over 15 kilometres, and an extra 2.5 kilometres to the Bhairo shrine, ascending over 2,500 feet. So, in a word, missions. But pilgrimages ain’t supposed to be easy.
If the feat of endurance is a culture shock, then the culture shock is a kidney punch from Lennox. The first two kilometres are shops, selling all kinds of nik naks and offerings to god – bandanas inscribed with mantras, scarves, gold plated coins and a sheet with three holes in it, meant to dress the formations in the cave. The colours are vibrant, the sell is hard and loud and this winding cobbled mountain path is like a middle eastern market.
Whilst the temple brings in millions of rupees worth of income, the running costs are very high. This is a 24 hour operation, offering free accommodation and food to all pilgrims, electricity, water supply and even etc! Yatris start their journey at all hours (even at 3 am when we finally got back down, there were some folks just starting.
In my thermals and snowboard pants, I felt quite overdressed considering that many do this bare footed. They may have D&G on their jacket or even not enough tinder to even strike up a conversation, in walking up the hill, everyone is equal. Unless you’re wealthy enough for a pony all the way up...or a palanquin...or if you’re really rich a helicopter. Of course, these are really meant for those who can’t walk up the hill, i.e. the old and the disabled. But I was always taught that Hinduism is an exceptionally open way of life, and no one’s checking to see what you’ve done and where you’ve been, etc.
Mum and I are united in taking the full experience. We took the longest and the steepest routes up the mountain, sweating bucket loads in the autumn sun.
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