Pilgrim’s Progress
The Vaishno Devi shrine is one the most visited religious seats in the country. A.J. Philip finds the arduous 14-km climb from Katra to the temple both exhausting and exhilarating

MY friend and playwright Omcherri N.N. Pillai, who coined the slogan garibi hatao which Indira Gandhi used with telling effect in the 1971 election, shared an anecdote I remember whenever I visit a religious shrine.

He was in charge of the public relations department of the Food Corporation of India. The FCI chairman at that time was an eminent Gandhian, who became a minister in the Morarji Desai Cabinet. While on an official visit to Kochi in Kerala, he told Omcherri about his desire to visit the famous Guruvayur temple. Post-haste arrangements were made for the visit.

After his official function in Kochi, the chairman left for Guruvayur in a new Ambassador car. But on the way, the car broke down and it took quite some time for a local mechanic to repair it. The chairman could not continue the journey for long as traffic was blocked by a procession of Marxists shouting anti-imperialist slogans.

All the while, the chairman was fretting and fuming as he feared that he would not be able to reach Guruvayur before the sanctum sanctorum of the temple closed. That is exactly what happened when he reached there. The local FCI officials suggested two solutions: stay overnight to have darshan early in the morning or plead with the temple authorities to open the gate for a few minutes.

Both the suggestions were unacceptable to the chairman, who returned to Kochi the same night. On the way, he told Omcherri, "Guruvayurappan (Lord of Guruvayur) did not like the misuse of the FCI paraphernalia for my visit. That is why He did not give me darshan. I will come again at my own expense and have darshan". Later, he did precisely that and nobody in the FCI even knew that he made a trip to Guruvayur.

But I had no such compunctions when I combined an official trip to Jammu to visit the Vaishno Devi shrine. But I really wondered whether the Devi was doing a Guruvayurappan on us when the otherwise expert Tribune driver, who was not new to Katra, took the wrong road. By the time we realised the mistake, we had neared Udhampur. We could return, take the conventional route and reach Katra or take a short cut from there. We opted for the latter little knowing that the road would constantly remind us of Mikhail Sholokhov’s Virgin Soil Upturned.

It could have been because of the ardent prayers of a Devi devotee couple and their daughter who were with us that there was no breakdown of the car and we could reach Katra, though a bit late. Katra is a small town at the base of Trikuta hills. Few other towns have as many hotels as this one, all catering to the pilgrims who reach there by the thousands every day.

We had a booking in the commodious guesthouse of the Vaishno Devi Shrine Board. An air-conditioned double-bed room for Rs 500 was reasonable if the bedstead had no hair oil stains, the mattresses had not sunk and the water tap had not been irritatingly leaking. "No room service, no tip" said the boy who ushered us into the room.

"For dinner, walk across the parking area to our own restaurant where you get all kinds of food," he advised. It was a good choice with delicious, low priced dishes of Mandarin-to-Malabar origins. Next to the eating joint was the Shrine Board office from where we were to pick up our "VIP passes".

"If you receive the passes now, you will have to begin the trek this very evening," suggested the board official at the counter. Since we were in no state to begin the journey, we decided to pick up the passes the next morning. Soon the phone rang: "Please come to the police station at 6 a.m. I will get you the yatra parchi for all five," assured the SHO.

At six, there was no trace of either the SHO or the officer who was to give us the passes. Written over the walls of the station were quotes from Mahatma Gandhi to Swami Vivekananda. There was an ennobling passage about the duties of a policeman and how he should treat even a criminal, considered innocent until proved guilty.

I have no clue whether Nirad C. Chaudhari had seen this particular police station when he wrote that a police station in India resembled in many ways a Hindu temple. After wasting half an hour at the station, we wondered whether the SHO was playing hide and seek with us. We gave up and headed straight to the public booth like hoi polloi to get the "yatra parchi" that came free. The driver dropped us at the point from where one could only walk.

At the imposing gate at the foothill, hundreds of pilgrims milled around, some of them haggling with the mule owners and porters. The child with us was a temptation for a dozen or so porters who pestered us. "Please recommend me to the child’s father. After all I am the first to approach you," pleaded one.

Even without my recommendation, my friend settled for him but the moment he lifted the child, she began crying loudly. The porter realised it was a hopeless situation and he left us for another child. This upset the couple’s plan of traversing the distance by foot.

The child’s father, a horse enthusiast, was only too happy to hire a mule, "more a horse than a donkey", and the child settled with him comfortably on the horseback. We decided to walk. So did the child’s mother.

For the aged who can’t walk or climb a mule, there was the option of hiring a dholi. How could I even think of hiring a palanquin for my wife after listening to Assamese singer Bhupen Hazarika’s famous song that depicts the story of a set of palanquin carriers who are so tired that they throw it with the woman inside down the hill, rather than carry it further?

The height was indeed intimidating. But the experience of visiting Sabarimala in Kerala, the Shankaracharya temple in Srinagar and the Monkey Point in Kasauli encouraged me to choose the pilgrim’s path. Our friend, Commander Sharma, a veteran of the sea and the shrine, had advised us not to carry any luggage. "Even a newspaper will be a burden", he had cautioned.

Soon, I realised how burdensome my Nikon was. I had heard about former J&K Governor Jagmohan doing wonders to the shrine. The path was well laid with benches and resting places all along. There were dozens of eating joints from Caf`E9 Coffee Day outlets to utterly butterly Amul icecream parlours.

Within minutes of our journey, we realised we could not keep pace with the young lady. We allowed her to go on her own. The moment she got the green signal, she darted like an arrow. We took a conscious decision, not to strain ourselves. Translated into simple English, this meant that we would rest for 10 minutes after every 10 minutes of climb.

My wife suddenly felt the need for a staff available aplenty on hire. "You pay Rs 10 and get back Rs 5 when you return it," promised the shopkeeper. As a measure of reassurance, he added, "Every shopkeeper will honour this promise".

Not long afterwards, she wanted me to hold the staff, which was more a nuisance than a support. A boisterous group of young pilgrims passed by shouting, "Pyar se bolo Jai Mata Di, aage bolo Jai Mata Di, peeche bolo Jai Mata Di". But most people were too tired to shout such slogans. Devi seemed to be a favourite of honeymooners, who could be spotted by their bangles and sense of abandon even on a religious pursuit.

As we sat down on a bench after having been nearly knocked down by a group of mules carrying gas cylinders, a porter with a little girl on his shoulder stopped to have a chat with me, "Sir, do you remember me? I am Mohammed Jehangir. Your friend had hired me but his daughter did not like me".

"How could I forget you?" I told him as he promised to catch up with my friend and tell him that he met me on the way. Most of the pittus as the porters are called, are Muslims. Jehangir has been a pittu for about 10 years. He considered himself lucky if he was able to climb the hill twice a day.

"Actually, my luck depends on how good my hirer is. Some are so kind that they give us more money than promised. Some are so stingy that they don’t even offer a cup of tea even when they eat and drink". My wife suddenly dipped her hand into her bag and took out some biscuits for Jehangir.

We had a sense of relief when we reached the midpoint where the stench of horse dung ended. From there the horses took a different path. We had the option of getting into a battery-operated vehicle to continue the journey. After some deliberation, we decided to walk and save Rs 200 in the process.

More important, we wanted to claim to the young couple that we too could walk all the way. Our legs started aching and we began to sit longer. But we always got up remembering the paraphrased lines of Robert Frost, "Benches are lovely, green and comforting but we have miles to go before we reach Vaishno Devi".

Finally when we sighted the cluster of buildings known as Bhawan behind which was a small cave where the pindis were worshipped, we felt we had reached the destination. We passed through an area where landslide had caused damage to the path. "A careless walker could go down the precipice", I thought bemoaning the lack of adequate danger signal.

Our friends already had their darshan and were waiting for us. We took the whole of five and half hours to reach Bhawan. The sprightly lady took the opportunity to visit the Bhairon shrine, further up the hill, which completes the pilgrimage for a traditional visitor, as we headed towards the shrine.

The VIP passes were useful as we could avoid the long queue. Suddenly, a young, fashionable woman sought our permission to do kanya puja to the child with us. Even before we could give the permission, she touched her feet, did pranam and gave her two packets of biscuits.

Since no eatables were allowed inside the shrine, the father found an ingenious way to hide the biscuits. Not far from there was a prominently displayed Shrine Board Notice warning against kanya puja in the temple premises. But who cares?

Sudhir, a CRPF constable from Thiruvananthapuram guarding the entrance to the cave was happy to meet me. He pointed to another jawan, who held a gun, and introduced him as a Malayalee. He was so businesslike that he could only smile at us.

Fortunately, my friend had advised me to look for the natural formation under the golden crown, which were the pindis. Otherwise, I could have missed having darshan of the Devi even after visiting the shrine. Vaishno Devi is revered because she is considered an all-in-one deity of wealth, health and education.

The descent was faster. Our plan to hire the electric car came a cropper as the "cars had gone out of power". On the way, we found three girls in colourful attire begging in the name of kanya puja. The moment I began focussing them, they got up and ran away. No, they were not scared of the camera. They ran away because they had sighted a police constable.

Begging in all forms is fortunately prohibited. Further down, I found a little girl in garish clothes lying in the middle of the road asking for alms. A stray dog gave her company.

It took less than two and a half hours to reach the base. When we decided to return the staff, the shopkeeper would give us only Rs 2, and not Rs 5. Feeling cheated, we decided to carry the stick as a souvenir.

Many of our friends in Chandigarh asked us how and why we went to Vaishno Devi. We had a standard reply, "The call came and we went".

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