A Morning Stroll in Haridwar and Religious Zeal

I boarded the Mussorie Express from Delhi a little before 9 pm. In the air-conditioned compartment of the train, I chatted with my fellow travellers and co-passengers until around midnight and then caught up on a few hours of sleep on the berth in the solace of pillows and blankets provided by the railways. Before long, I was in Haridwar, the place believed by every pious Hindu as the ‘Doorway to the House of the Lord.’

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I am in enchanting Haridwar. The scenes I come across captivate me. I am aware that Haridwar is a place of congregation of pilgrims, yet I did not expect as large a gathering. My fellow travellers who have passed through Haridwar on previous trips explain that such a large crowd is because of the Kanwarias season.

I have to be patient and need some skill to make way through the crowded and dismal streets lined with shops on both sides. I walk along with locals and pilgrims - both young and old - and in that pandemonium, I find a cow being given solemn attention.

On another road near the bridge, I come across people being transported on all types of vehicles, many in packed buses, more in tuk-tuks, a few on scooters, and some more on moving trucks filled with cargo, and through it all, I espy police mounted on horses. Many more cover the distance by foot, and I find some eating and relaxing at road side eateries.

When compared to pilgrims, the tourists are far and few and I can recognize them easily. My slightly jutting-out elbows and backpack help me a wee bit to get a little extra breathing space as I walk through the streets with the huge mass of moving bodies. It gets more crowded as I approach Hari-ki-Pauri.

Upon reaching the ghats, I am taken aback at what I see. The ghats are bursting with bare feet pilgrims. At the Hari-ki-Pauri, I am now a witness to the ghats being witness to the most number of dips in the Holy River. I get the feeling it is not the old temples but these people who contribute to the spiritual essence of the town. In the dream-like enchanting scene unfolding before me, I do not feel am a mere bystander, instead I become a part of it.

Some recently painted while other ancient towers line the banks. Through these, I view stupefied at the sheer mass of so many human bodies conglomerated together in one place early morning.

To witness the fervor of the pilgrims is amazing. To learn about Kanwarias and their aspirations itself is a surprise to me and then to think that some of them undertake the long arduous return journey home bare feet, sometimes travelling hundreds of miles, is another thing.

I watch in astonishment as a few pilgrims go through a continuous motion of prostrating on the ground, stretching their arms as much as they can, while their partners walk alongside assisting them by marking the point where their stretched fingers reach with a wooden stick. The pilgrim then starts from the marked point onwards for the next round in the same way. All this through the thronging crowded streets. What a painfully difficult and slow journey it is!

I am more surprised to learn that this slow motion journey repeats for days, sometimes weeks, until they cover several miles traversing this way right up to their homes. Because of the drizzle, I find the ground is mucky, yet they journey home horizontally, with exceptional perseverance and steadfastness. Their voluntary doggedness is unbelievable. Their actions speak volumes of their religious zeal and devotion.

I find pilgrims in every nook and corner moving from one holy site to another. It is drizzling now but I do not bother to take cover, nor do any of the pilgrims collected there. After all, they have travelled all the way for a dip in the Holy Ganges to seek absolution.

I notice the strong flowing current of diverted section of the holy river, Ganga. As they wade into the waters, most bathers hold on to sturdy chains bolted to the concrete walls. There are a few brave souls who dare to swim! Many undergo the rituals in reverence: praying, prostrating in obeisance, dipping themselves and drinking from the holy river.

A few people are there, who have come to perform last rites of their dearly departed. Then there are some, with saffron robes and long beards living there, having broken free from the bondage of a worldly life.

I can see many elderly pilgrims. In spite of their frail health, they have undertaken a journey to their holiest place – a place they consider as the most auspicious of all lands. After all, it is the place for them where they believe Vishnu first manifested in this world. For many pilgrims in Haridwar, just being present there is a fulfillment of one of their most cherished desires. They are there to carry out their last wish to visit this holy site. Some of them are not even sure if they are capable of a return journey home. At times, death at the ghats is taken in the right stride, as if dying at the banks of the holy river is as good as dying at the doorway of Hari, as the name implicates.

The vigor and enthusiasm that I discover in the pilgrims astounds me. I watch religious fervor infusing new energy into their fragile bodies and filling them up with a certain vitality. The spirit of devotion is so visible in most pilgrims and in some, it is in abundance!

Haridwar is enigmatic!

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Haridwar is accessible through air, rail and road. The nearest airport is the Jolly Grant in Dehradun, 35 kms away. It is well connected by trains to almost all major cities in India. The Mussorie Express and Jan Shatabdi train services run regularly from Delhi to Haridwar. National Highway 45 passes through Haridwar which is about 215 kms from Delhi.


Some recent related posts:

• Journey to Garhwal
• A Tryst with the Himalayas
• Garhwali Bears with Tiny Bells