There was a pleasant nip in the autumn morning air of New Delhi, as I arrived from Bhopal in a distinguishably different train, one that was ISO certified, and was also charmingly right on time. Since I was not particularly in the mood of backpacking holiday, the absence of the booked car at the parking lot was a bit of a disappointment. It took me a couple of phone calls, few cups of tea, a reasonable portion of freshly cooked ‘anda bhujia’ to set me off. My first stop to a journey that would take me to the enchanting folds of the great Himalayas was the quintessential holy town of Haridwar.
Haridwar is on the west bank of the Ganges, at the foot of the great Himalayas. Haridwar means “the gateway to Hari” (Lord Vishnu). It is also called Ganga-dwara, because the holy Ganges enters the plains here. This is one of the seven main holy cities in India. Haridwar is about 225km northeast of Delhi. It is known as Mayapuri Kshetra in the ‘Puranas’ and is a very ancient town. It is also called Kapilasthan, because it is said that sage Kapila performed penance here. The great sacrifice of Daksha Prajapati took place near here, where Sati burned herself alive. Nearby, at Sapta Sarovara, the Ganges splits into seven streams to please the seven Rishis doing austerities there.
‘Dwar” it certainly is, gateway to the enchanting Himalayas, an all time favourite destination of the Bengali intrepid vacationer as well as the pilgrims. Today Haridwar, a part of Uttaranchal is a holy city with a somewhat discordant population who as I feel is almost at crossroad with the burgeoning Hi-tech India at one side and theirs at the other which is straining to retain the archetypical pilgrimage flavour with its old ‘mahals’, ‘ghats’ and the countless temples and holy shrines. I wander how it feels to have scores of pilgrims from all part of the country crowding your banks everyday, strangers flocking in thousands walking past your house from dawn to dusk and by the look of a sorry state of civic sense of most; one cannot but accept the sad reality of being a center of pilgrimage. As Shukla ji, a gentleman I met, pointed out to me with a wry smile, “Pilgrims return from Haridwar with gallons of holy water but wouldn’t use a drop to wash the mess they leave behind.” and added, “for ‘punnya’ they shower coins but would not spare a rupee for cleaning the ghats”. Although there is sufficient truth in what he said but one also needs to scrutinize the state of the infrastructure provided to the visitors. Usually the Pandas play the all-important role in the life of the city, arranging accommodation and pujas, besides arranging for the sightseeing facilities for their “Yajmans”.
Haridwar is scattered with ashrams and dharamshalas that have mostly been created by religious organizations to cater to the needs of the unending march of the pilgrims. According to the ancient legend and lore, it is here that the ‘yakshas’ and the ‘devas’ had their great darshan of Vishnu. It is here, at Haridwar, the magnificent Ganga after hurrying down from the lofty ridges of the Himalayas spreads out on the luxurious upper Gangetic plains. From early morning till late at night hundreds of pilgrims make their way to the mythical spot of the ‘Brahmakund’ to take a dip and offer their quite prayers. One of the chief attractions of Haridwar is to attend the grand ‘aarti’ on the flood-lit ghats of the Ganga, when charged with emotion the air resounds with the music and the chants.
One thing that seemed to me like a miracle, that there aren’t any separators on the ghats for the privileged and the ‘janta’. One reason could be that this ancient town with its numberless holy spots is still an adorable destination mostly for the faithful and the believer and not so much for the spa and healing seekers. Thank God, at Haridwar, there’s no sulphur spring or a healing spot, which in turn would have invariably taken a toll on the quaint character of this age-old halt. Albeit the ‘havelis’ of big time ‘Lalaji’ s do have their personal verandas leading to the river and are usually used by their family or the people who have access to their generosity. The five main bathing spots that are considered sacred in Haridwar are Gangadwara, Kankhal, Nila Parvata, Bilwa Theertha and Kusavarta. Hari-ki-Pairi, twisted to Har ki Pauri, is the main ghat at Haridwar, which is so named because it is believed that it sports a footprint of Vishnu on a stone in a wall.
I checked in at a hotel with its balcony overlooking the glorious Ganga - recently reduced to almost a fast rivulet. Every year after Diwali, the water of the Canal leading through the various sections of the bathing ghats are checked by dams to clean up the canal and for a couple of weeks Gangaji roars along the main stream parallel to the canal which is known as the ‘Neel Dhara’.
The sprawling ghat in front of the hotel was a busy area with line of shops selling a plethora of items that would attract every section of the visiting tourists. Walking down the paved ghats in the approaching twilight I felt a nice mystical and religious aura in the air. It was a jamboree of salvation seekers carrying on with their activities primarily centered on bathing, puja & the occasional pick and choose at the trinket shops. There was a group of ‘Sadhus’ clustered around their usual ‘dhuni’ the log fire kept alight for the warmth and maybe in pursuant of certain religious chores.
As I sipped a cup of very sweet ‘chaye’ from one of the many mobile tea vendors I realized that it was getting late for the one most important ‘must do’ at Haridwar, checking out the evening “Ganga-Aarti” performed at the steps of main Har-Ki-Pauri Ghat. Priests from all the surrounding temples congregated at the ghat and with their large well-lit hand held aarti-stands perform the age-old ritual of invoking the Godess and singing her praise. Everyday the entire show goes on till the aarti-bhajan lasts.
Hundreds of pilgrims and tourists thronged the entire area to experience the wonderful ceremonious ritual. The waterfront wore a sparkling entourage of lights and ‘diyas’ and the earnest presence of so many devotees made the place come alive with a vibrant demonstration of life, faith and religion. It couldn’t have been any more picturesque with the twilight sky above, wearing shades of gold and vermilion, the silhouettes of blue mountains at a distance fading in the dusk and the rippling river wearing the reflection of a thousand lights that sparkled like diamonds as she jingled along the ‘ghats’. There was a large group of men and women who were evidently from villages of north and central India dressed in their usual lengths of cloth apart from the unmistakable long-shirts and the colorful blouses, were glued to the affair and transfixed in devotion, occasionally distracted by the money-grubbing intervention of the volunteers of the “Ganga Maia ji...Trust, who appeared to me like the ticket collectors in our rickety rural buses swooping down or climbing above through the windows to reach the nonchalant sleepy travelers. It was sights that set my thoughts in motion and appreciate the much bigger and the true characteristic part of my country – the larger nation far flung from the urban arc light. The Aarti came to an end with fervent applause of ‘Ganga Maia Ki Jai’ and the crowd bursting on the edge to either spray the holy water on their head or to take a swift late evening dip.
Garlands of tiny lamps brightly decorated almost all the shrines encircling the ‘Brahmakund’ and at the gates were ‘diyas’, which were specially lit, as it was the beginning of the month leading to the holy festival of ‘Kartik Purnima’. The water was resplendent with tiny flotillas made up of leaf-cups with small flames of camphor rested on flowers. As dusk set in rapidly, even the autumn mist had a part to play, it created very pretty halos around the sodium vapour lights that slowly engulfed the entire area with a dim orange glow only to add to the romance of a thousand years.
It was a glorious evening, the vibrant ‘aarti’, the flowery flotillas carrying small flames glistening like stars as they slowly flowed down the river; The aroma of sweet incense spread across by the ethereal evening air, the “bhajan” accompanied by the rich and deep resounding toll of temple bells pouring in from all direction; Occasional high bass sound of the conch shells and above all, the gathering, whose face wore an unmistakable glow of contentment of what I suppose, was a sense of achievement of being there, just there. As the “aarti” climaxed to a joyous applause, I couldn’t but spot a few damp eyes with their hands folded in prayer and their minds lost in deep wishes.
Once the ‘aarti’ was over the crowd started dissipating across the bridges connecting the banks and also through the narrow ‘gallis’ leading off the ‘ghats’. It was an hour before I started back and by that time the whole area looked quite empty and strangely wary with a few cops strolling around and one or two huddles of ‘sadhus’, although seemed more likely to be beggars, either pecking at their evening spoils or else getting on with the usual rounds of smoking pots. It was as if all the hustle & bustle have succumbed to the night fall and the only other thing left to do was to resign to ones bed and wake up to another joyous day of pilgrimage.
As I walked back, I could not but notice the pundits seated in front of their small shrines just as the ‘panwalas’ do in our cities, perched up on their small box like shops. They were amusingly fast in offering blessings that included a flick of a spoon of ‘charanamrit’ a pinch of Prasad and tying of a short length of sacred thread around the wrist of a devotee. The lightning quick ceremony would off-course end with handing over a few notes on a ‘thali’ in front. A slightly heavier sum prompted an additional minute of mantras along with a nice ‘tilak’ on the forehead. The shops in the ‘gallis’ remain open till about ‘9’ in the evening and the short gap between the two rows on both the sides of the narrow lanes help the place look always crowded and alive with the hum and din of God knows how many languages.
The shops are small but gorgeously designed and illuminated and are bound to attract the visitors or at the least evoke a sense of curiosity. It was an elaborate display of items one could only imagine, from the ‘sindoor’ to imported shampoo and from hi-tech electronic toys to rare (so as claimed) ‘Rudrakhsyas’. Parked between the shops were stalls selling fantastic and mouth watering chats and snacks. There’s no non-vegetarian food available within the city limits of Haridwar but that couldn’t dampen my usual carnivorous spirit as I gorged and thoroughly enjoyed the splendid north and the south Indian delights available at the ‘Chotiwala’, ‘Tewari” and many more.
The delight for the Bengali traveler at Haridwar culminates at the dining pleasure at ‘pice-hotels’ like ‘Dada Boudi’ or ‘Masir Hotel’. The only trouble is to identify the original; I am told that they all serve food as good as the other. It almost stands either as the last reminder of home-food for the ‘Bangali paribar’ setting off to a ‘Char Dham’ pilgrimage or as a welcome delight for the eastern palate while retuning from the hills with an over dose of ‘alu-paratha’ and ‘puri-sabzi’.
It was close to midnight as I ambled back, I spotted a ‘pan-shop’, which was still open and delivered the last innocuous surprise for the day - a pan sweeter than any famed ‘misti’ and called ‘Kalkattai’. By that time I had started feeling sorry that I was leaving Haridwar the next day with a short visit to the Chandi Devi Temple on the top of a hill called the Neel Parvat which is on the other side of the river Ganga and to the Mansa Devi temple located on top of a hill called the Bilwa Parvat. The thought of leaving this dirty & dusty yet enchanting city that completely overwhelmed me left me with a sense of a strange discontentment and a promise to come back and absorb its life and the spiritual vitality that literally hung in the air
No matter what aspect of Haridwar a person sees or participates in, it is a holy spot in this country that has no comparison. There is nothing else in any other pilgrim spot quite like it. You have to be there to believe it or understand the charm and the very Indian heart it represents. Some people may not like it; others may love it. That is typical of India no matter where you go. Yet being in Haridwar is an incredibly varied experience that changes with each day that goes by. For most, a dip in the river, a quite moment at a temple, being lost in the milieu of people and a walk through the ancient ‘gallis’ increases one's faith and connection with the Divine, the Infinite. For some, it helps to establish a stronger connection with one’s root and country. In any case, there is something for everyone at Haridwar. This place offers the advantage of being able to look closely at other doctrines and paths, some of which may foster new ways of thinking, or for others, like me, reassure one of the journeys he or she is already taking.
Penned by Sujit Sen
Kolkata:02/11/2006
Haridwar is on the west bank of the Ganges, at the foot of the great Himalayas. Haridwar means “the gateway to Hari” (Lord Vishnu). It is also called Ganga-dwara, because the holy Ganges enters the plains here. This is one of the seven main holy cities in India. Haridwar is about 225km northeast of Delhi. It is known as Mayapuri Kshetra in the ‘Puranas’ and is a very ancient town. It is also called Kapilasthan, because it is said that sage Kapila performed penance here. The great sacrifice of Daksha Prajapati took place near here, where Sati burned herself alive. Nearby, at Sapta Sarovara, the Ganges splits into seven streams to please the seven Rishis doing austerities there.
‘Dwar” it certainly is, gateway to the enchanting Himalayas, an all time favourite destination of the Bengali intrepid vacationer as well as the pilgrims. Today Haridwar, a part of Uttaranchal is a holy city with a somewhat discordant population who as I feel is almost at crossroad with the burgeoning Hi-tech India at one side and theirs at the other which is straining to retain the archetypical pilgrimage flavour with its old ‘mahals’, ‘ghats’ and the countless temples and holy shrines. I wander how it feels to have scores of pilgrims from all part of the country crowding your banks everyday, strangers flocking in thousands walking past your house from dawn to dusk and by the look of a sorry state of civic sense of most; one cannot but accept the sad reality of being a center of pilgrimage. As Shukla ji, a gentleman I met, pointed out to me with a wry smile, “Pilgrims return from Haridwar with gallons of holy water but wouldn’t use a drop to wash the mess they leave behind.” and added, “for ‘punnya’ they shower coins but would not spare a rupee for cleaning the ghats”. Although there is sufficient truth in what he said but one also needs to scrutinize the state of the infrastructure provided to the visitors. Usually the Pandas play the all-important role in the life of the city, arranging accommodation and pujas, besides arranging for the sightseeing facilities for their “Yajmans”.
Haridwar is scattered with ashrams and dharamshalas that have mostly been created by religious organizations to cater to the needs of the unending march of the pilgrims. According to the ancient legend and lore, it is here that the ‘yakshas’ and the ‘devas’ had their great darshan of Vishnu. It is here, at Haridwar, the magnificent Ganga after hurrying down from the lofty ridges of the Himalayas spreads out on the luxurious upper Gangetic plains. From early morning till late at night hundreds of pilgrims make their way to the mythical spot of the ‘Brahmakund’ to take a dip and offer their quite prayers. One of the chief attractions of Haridwar is to attend the grand ‘aarti’ on the flood-lit ghats of the Ganga, when charged with emotion the air resounds with the music and the chants.
One thing that seemed to me like a miracle, that there aren’t any separators on the ghats for the privileged and the ‘janta’. One reason could be that this ancient town with its numberless holy spots is still an adorable destination mostly for the faithful and the believer and not so much for the spa and healing seekers. Thank God, at Haridwar, there’s no sulphur spring or a healing spot, which in turn would have invariably taken a toll on the quaint character of this age-old halt. Albeit the ‘havelis’ of big time ‘Lalaji’ s do have their personal verandas leading to the river and are usually used by their family or the people who have access to their generosity. The five main bathing spots that are considered sacred in Haridwar are Gangadwara, Kankhal, Nila Parvata, Bilwa Theertha and Kusavarta. Hari-ki-Pairi, twisted to Har ki Pauri, is the main ghat at Haridwar, which is so named because it is believed that it sports a footprint of Vishnu on a stone in a wall.
I checked in at a hotel with its balcony overlooking the glorious Ganga - recently reduced to almost a fast rivulet. Every year after Diwali, the water of the Canal leading through the various sections of the bathing ghats are checked by dams to clean up the canal and for a couple of weeks Gangaji roars along the main stream parallel to the canal which is known as the ‘Neel Dhara’.
The sprawling ghat in front of the hotel was a busy area with line of shops selling a plethora of items that would attract every section of the visiting tourists. Walking down the paved ghats in the approaching twilight I felt a nice mystical and religious aura in the air. It was a jamboree of salvation seekers carrying on with their activities primarily centered on bathing, puja & the occasional pick and choose at the trinket shops. There was a group of ‘Sadhus’ clustered around their usual ‘dhuni’ the log fire kept alight for the warmth and maybe in pursuant of certain religious chores.
As I sipped a cup of very sweet ‘chaye’ from one of the many mobile tea vendors I realized that it was getting late for the one most important ‘must do’ at Haridwar, checking out the evening “Ganga-Aarti” performed at the steps of main Har-Ki-Pauri Ghat. Priests from all the surrounding temples congregated at the ghat and with their large well-lit hand held aarti-stands perform the age-old ritual of invoking the Godess and singing her praise. Everyday the entire show goes on till the aarti-bhajan lasts.
Hundreds of pilgrims and tourists thronged the entire area to experience the wonderful ceremonious ritual. The waterfront wore a sparkling entourage of lights and ‘diyas’ and the earnest presence of so many devotees made the place come alive with a vibrant demonstration of life, faith and religion. It couldn’t have been any more picturesque with the twilight sky above, wearing shades of gold and vermilion, the silhouettes of blue mountains at a distance fading in the dusk and the rippling river wearing the reflection of a thousand lights that sparkled like diamonds as she jingled along the ‘ghats’. There was a large group of men and women who were evidently from villages of north and central India dressed in their usual lengths of cloth apart from the unmistakable long-shirts and the colorful blouses, were glued to the affair and transfixed in devotion, occasionally distracted by the money-grubbing intervention of the volunteers of the “Ganga Maia ji...Trust, who appeared to me like the ticket collectors in our rickety rural buses swooping down or climbing above through the windows to reach the nonchalant sleepy travelers. It was sights that set my thoughts in motion and appreciate the much bigger and the true characteristic part of my country – the larger nation far flung from the urban arc light. The Aarti came to an end with fervent applause of ‘Ganga Maia Ki Jai’ and the crowd bursting on the edge to either spray the holy water on their head or to take a swift late evening dip.
Garlands of tiny lamps brightly decorated almost all the shrines encircling the ‘Brahmakund’ and at the gates were ‘diyas’, which were specially lit, as it was the beginning of the month leading to the holy festival of ‘Kartik Purnima’. The water was resplendent with tiny flotillas made up of leaf-cups with small flames of camphor rested on flowers. As dusk set in rapidly, even the autumn mist had a part to play, it created very pretty halos around the sodium vapour lights that slowly engulfed the entire area with a dim orange glow only to add to the romance of a thousand years.
It was a glorious evening, the vibrant ‘aarti’, the flowery flotillas carrying small flames glistening like stars as they slowly flowed down the river; The aroma of sweet incense spread across by the ethereal evening air, the “bhajan” accompanied by the rich and deep resounding toll of temple bells pouring in from all direction; Occasional high bass sound of the conch shells and above all, the gathering, whose face wore an unmistakable glow of contentment of what I suppose, was a sense of achievement of being there, just there. As the “aarti” climaxed to a joyous applause, I couldn’t but spot a few damp eyes with their hands folded in prayer and their minds lost in deep wishes.
Once the ‘aarti’ was over the crowd started dissipating across the bridges connecting the banks and also through the narrow ‘gallis’ leading off the ‘ghats’. It was an hour before I started back and by that time the whole area looked quite empty and strangely wary with a few cops strolling around and one or two huddles of ‘sadhus’, although seemed more likely to be beggars, either pecking at their evening spoils or else getting on with the usual rounds of smoking pots. It was as if all the hustle & bustle have succumbed to the night fall and the only other thing left to do was to resign to ones bed and wake up to another joyous day of pilgrimage.
As I walked back, I could not but notice the pundits seated in front of their small shrines just as the ‘panwalas’ do in our cities, perched up on their small box like shops. They were amusingly fast in offering blessings that included a flick of a spoon of ‘charanamrit’ a pinch of Prasad and tying of a short length of sacred thread around the wrist of a devotee. The lightning quick ceremony would off-course end with handing over a few notes on a ‘thali’ in front. A slightly heavier sum prompted an additional minute of mantras along with a nice ‘tilak’ on the forehead. The shops in the ‘gallis’ remain open till about ‘9’ in the evening and the short gap between the two rows on both the sides of the narrow lanes help the place look always crowded and alive with the hum and din of God knows how many languages.
The shops are small but gorgeously designed and illuminated and are bound to attract the visitors or at the least evoke a sense of curiosity. It was an elaborate display of items one could only imagine, from the ‘sindoor’ to imported shampoo and from hi-tech electronic toys to rare (so as claimed) ‘Rudrakhsyas’. Parked between the shops were stalls selling fantastic and mouth watering chats and snacks. There’s no non-vegetarian food available within the city limits of Haridwar but that couldn’t dampen my usual carnivorous spirit as I gorged and thoroughly enjoyed the splendid north and the south Indian delights available at the ‘Chotiwala’, ‘Tewari” and many more.
The delight for the Bengali traveler at Haridwar culminates at the dining pleasure at ‘pice-hotels’ like ‘Dada Boudi’ or ‘Masir Hotel’. The only trouble is to identify the original; I am told that they all serve food as good as the other. It almost stands either as the last reminder of home-food for the ‘Bangali paribar’ setting off to a ‘Char Dham’ pilgrimage or as a welcome delight for the eastern palate while retuning from the hills with an over dose of ‘alu-paratha’ and ‘puri-sabzi’.
It was close to midnight as I ambled back, I spotted a ‘pan-shop’, which was still open and delivered the last innocuous surprise for the day - a pan sweeter than any famed ‘misti’ and called ‘Kalkattai’. By that time I had started feeling sorry that I was leaving Haridwar the next day with a short visit to the Chandi Devi Temple on the top of a hill called the Neel Parvat which is on the other side of the river Ganga and to the Mansa Devi temple located on top of a hill called the Bilwa Parvat. The thought of leaving this dirty & dusty yet enchanting city that completely overwhelmed me left me with a sense of a strange discontentment and a promise to come back and absorb its life and the spiritual vitality that literally hung in the air
No matter what aspect of Haridwar a person sees or participates in, it is a holy spot in this country that has no comparison. There is nothing else in any other pilgrim spot quite like it. You have to be there to believe it or understand the charm and the very Indian heart it represents. Some people may not like it; others may love it. That is typical of India no matter where you go. Yet being in Haridwar is an incredibly varied experience that changes with each day that goes by. For most, a dip in the river, a quite moment at a temple, being lost in the milieu of people and a walk through the ancient ‘gallis’ increases one's faith and connection with the Divine, the Infinite. For some, it helps to establish a stronger connection with one’s root and country. In any case, there is something for everyone at Haridwar. This place offers the advantage of being able to look closely at other doctrines and paths, some of which may foster new ways of thinking, or for others, like me, reassure one of the journeys he or she is already taking.
Penned by Sujit Sen
Kolkata:02/11/2006
3 comments:
Mamuz
that was awesome!! This blog now has lift-off. Great yaar.
Great ! keep it up for the next Pulitzer (if & when) on the softer versions!!!!!!
December 2006, I had been in Haridwar..and your blog brought back fond memories.
I guess Bengalis frequent Haridwar the maximum, because you may confidently speak the language while interacting with anybody and everybody.
The food is strictly vegeterian, but nobody minds that!
Shopping and Religion going hand in hand... shops selling consumer goods, food joints along the way to the Ghats.. mobile hawkers near the Ganga-aarti spot.
Favourite among tourists is going to Lakshmanjhula and Ramjhula and feeding the mammoth sized fishes...
Availability of spices at remarkably low prices..
And rafting in the river.. thrilling!
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