I sat quietly as my mind turned over leaves of the past!
That morning, decades ago, in the distant Tirumala town, I trudged along the
lanes, clueless & lost, finally asking my small daughters with a sense of
guilt if they would like to stand in the serpentine queue or prefer going
downhill to the Tirupati station, without a glimpse of the deity. Today, the
scene was being re-enacted. After a tortuous climb, with minutes ticking by, I
told my spouse not to worry about me & to pay her obeisance at the shrine
alone.
My first visit to Vaishnodevi shrine, nearly 20 years ago,
was instinctive. On a visit to Jammu to attend a wedding, I had a couple of
days to spare so just boarded a bus going to Katra, barely 50 kms away. Alone
& ill-prepared for the wintry night ahead, I had trekked the 13 odd kms
from the base, Bamganga to the shrine called the Bhawan in about four hours.
The climb gave me picturesque views all around, as the rays of setting sun set
the sky afire & drew, as if by a pen, the course of the river below. As I
lay shivering badly in the open that night, my thoughts were anything but
spiritual. I had, during the late evening darshan, sought to be forgiven if I
could never come again. But that was not
to be.
The Met office had predicted heavy rain the day on March 11,
the day we reached Katra town. I realized that we can no longer dismiss its
forecasts with contempt. People were selling cheap white raincoats for 15-20
rupees that barely last the journey. Shamed by the faith of pilgrims, who
looked like nuns in them & even carrying small children, we too decided to
take the plunge. It was an ordeal with intermittent heavy showers slowing us
down to a crawl. The route is dotted by small shops whose owners did not mind
if we stepped in or sat on their benches, without buying anything. I was
reminded of Delhi where shopkeepers use all means, even ramshackle bikes &
scooters, to ensure open access to their shops.
We reached Himkoti,
the point where one turns left for a shorter route uphill & found the white
gate closed. The announcements over the public address system explained that
there had been landslides above. So the guards waved to us to turn right towards
Ardhkwari. The milestone revealed we were doing a pathetic 1 km an hour with
our backpacks pulling us backwards & wondered whether we would reach the
Bhawan even around midnight. It is curious how your spirits are lifted whenever
you feel very low. As we turned a corner, a swanky Coffee Café Day greeted us.
We looked at each other & decided to take yet another break. A cup of
coffee is always welcome!
A heavy shower pushed even the unwilling ones inside. These
included lanky & tough Kashmiri porters who carry toddlers & baggage all
the way up. I liked the way they were brought in & fed by the pilgrims they
were escorting. A group occupied a corner & beamed smiles over the tiny
cups of cappuccino.
I clicked them together & got his walking stick as a return gift. When I
showed reluctance, he reassuringly said, “We’re going downhill & don’t need
it but it will help you climb.” By the time, we came out, it was dark. We
decided to use the room we had booked as an abundant caution where the staff
advised us to resume our journey in the early hours. ‘Your mind & body
shall have rested by then’! A stormy night lay ahead. We skipped the dinner, gulping a
few biscuits & a painkiller each to relax our strained calf-muscles. The
elements flashed, thundered, whistled & howled outside. The 4 o’clock
deadline to resume the pilgrimage came & went.
When we stepped out in the
morning, the peaks in the distance were all covered in snow while hailstones
covered the ground all around. A few monkeys jumped around looking for food
& when threatened, took refuge in an abandoned room close by. Some fellow
pilgrims told us that they were returning to Katra since weather was very bad
& all access roads above closed due to landslides. It was disheartening but
I echoed the same opinion over cup of very sweet tea & pakodas spattered with red chilies. We looked in the direction of the
shrine & took a U-turn. A few steps
later, she complainingly asked one of the security guards if there was no way
we could carry on with the pilgrimage. To her utter surprise, he revealed that
we surely could since the landslides had been cleared. I recollected that Met
office had predicted that the weather would clear the next morning so we decided
to go ahead.
Covering the first mile was a bit unnerving as we wandered
ahead like two lost souls on that stretch covered with heaps of hailstones that
had begun to melt. The clouds overhead began to scatter. The first rays of sun
lit up the blue sky. The view on the ground was disturbing. Plastic sheets & tin scaffolding supporting
it had blown off during the night & hung precariously at places. We saw embers of bonfires around which the
poor porters must have taken shelter while the storm raged on. A few of them now accosted us and offered to
carry our bag packs. ‘They are empty’, I argued but gave in when one of them
pleaded that he had not earned a penny since last evening. Soon the paths
merged and we could see the first brave souls coming up amid cries of ‘Jai Mata
Di’!
The going was quite tough. I needed to take frequent breaks
during one of which the porter massaged my legs and back. I tried to stop him
since I don’t like anyone handling my body but it was so relaxing. For the rest
of the climb, he pushed my back gently with the palm of his hand. Rejuvenated,
we trudged along as workers of the shrine board descended clearing the path of
debris & hailstones. Sounds of prayers wafted down the slopes into the
valleys. We kept on discarding layers of warm clothing as the Sun rose in the
distance and revealed a breathtaking view of Katra town below &
snow-covered peaks above. At the entrance to the shrine, the porter told us
that he could go no further. ‘Compensate me like a father does his son’, he
pleaded. I hope he was not disappointed.
‘You have fifteen minutes to finish the obeisance’, I explained
to my wife who looked bewildered & then ran forward. I sat outside with the
back packs & closed my eyes in prayer. When I looked around, I couldn’t see
another soul who had come that far & was returning without a glimpse of the
Goddess. ‘To each, his own’, I told myself wistfully & sipped the rest of
tea that was going cold. We rushed as directed to the pony stand where I rode
one for the first time. ‘Sit erect’, its burly Sikh owner shouted at me as I
tilted dangerously over the short animal. For the next half an hour, it kept
tossing me while I clung to it as the proverbial last straw.
We reached the Sanjhi Chat helipad just in time for our
maiden journey. I could see another helipad in the distance, which I learnt
belongs to the armed forces. ‘You two sit in front & stay away from the controls
’, the staff told us. I glanced at the pilot who ran the shuttle mechanically &
didn’t even look towards the passengers. The chopper rose vertically, swayed, dipped
and went round avoiding several cliffs to touch down after a ten-minute flight
at Katra.
Thus ended a pilgrimage for me that was not to be!
