The Pilgrimage

Share a story about the furthest you’ve ever traveled from home.

I like to read travelogues. I wish to write a few. But nowadays I dont get many opportunities to travel.

Around four decades back, soon after my elder sister’s marriage, my brother-in-law had planned a trip to Vaishno Devi which is an important pilgrimage for Hindus. It’s customary to visit places of worship before and after an auspicious occasion in the family. It can be marriage, child birth, new job or business, the beginning should be with divine blessings.

I remember this journey, though years back, as it turned out to be quite an adventure.

The Legend

Mata Vaishno Devi is reincarnation of Mahakali. Around nine hundred years back she appeared as a young girl in the village of Katra in Jammu which is a part of Jammu and Kashmir. She was lusted after by a wicked Tantric named Bhairavnath. In order to protect herself from Bhairavnath’s unholy advances, Vaishno Devi fled up the Trikut Parvat, leaving her trail at various points in the mountain.

These landmarks are Baan Ganga where the Ganges erupted from the arrow shot by Vaishno Devi, Charan Paduka (converted into a Temple) from where she looked back at Bhairavnath leaving her foot prints embedded on a rock, Ardh Kumari or Kunwari -a very tiny cave said to be in the form of a woman’s womb wherein she lay in a foetal position for nine months to pray and lastly the Bhavan where she ultimately punished Bhairavnath by beheading him and throwing his head up in the mountain. Now she rests in the form of three pindikas or rocks in the Bhavan.

Bhairavnath realized his mistake in the long run and asked for salvation. Mata, being mother of all, forgave him and declared that the pilgrimage will not be complete if her devotees fail to visit the Bhairavnath Temple (where Bhairavnath’s head fell) after getting her darshan in the Bhavan.

Mata Vaishno Devi is also known as Sheraanwali Mata or the mother riding on a lion.

Our Journey

We took the night train Jammu Tawi Express to Katra Village. Tawi was the last station of Indian Railways at that time. The rail tracks terminated at Tawi.

We reached early morning at Katra which is a buzzing village at the foothills of Trikut mountain. The shopkeepers at Katra are said to close shutters at night, walk uphill for darshan and open shutters early next morning. They are so adept at making the journey up and down the hill The journey to Bhavan is 14 to 15 kms approximately one way. You had to walk it or take the ponies.

At Katra there are dhabas where you can have hot tandoori roti (bread baked in tandoor) and rajma (red kidney beans). The best rajma you get is in J&K. You can also buy various items for Pooja or worship and hire coolie to carry your bags and baggage and ponies for elderly persons to carry them up and down the hill.

At present Vaishno Devi is well connected with rail, road and helicopter. The roads are better now. The shrine has been shifted to another cave and renovated.

The time we visited the uphill walk was a task as the roads were very steep, unpaved and difficult to cover for those like us who were first timers. Handing over our luggage to a coolie we started our climb uphill.

We washed our feet at Baan Ganga. Vaishno Mata said to have brought down the pious river to Trikut to quench Lord Hanuman’s thirst who was on guard at the mouth of the rock to preempt any advances by Bhairavnath while Mata prayed inside at Ardh Kumari. The water at Baan Ganga was crystal clear. We could see the rocky bed and fishes swimming underneath the waters. We were surprised to see the river change colour to a deep rusty brown while coming down carrying in its flowing bosom the gifts of the mountains.

At Hatthi Mattha, from where the peak of the mountain looks like the head of an elephant, we rested awhile and had tea. At Charan paduka we bowed and prayed. At Ardh Kumari the ritual was to enter the slender cave chanting Vaishno Mata’s name. The cave was dark inside with rocky walls jutting in and so narrow that one had to crawl in and out like a baby. Entry was one after the other. Inside you could only hear your own breath hissing and limbs floundering for the exit. You just had to pray hard that you could come out unhurt. Legend is that though dreadful the holy chant prevents you from all ills inside and you actually come out in one piece safe and sound. So did we.

The Bhavan

We reached the Bhavan well into the evening. Spent the night in a Dharamshala which was kind of a big hall where groups of pilgrims made their beds on the floor with the rough blankets provided by the owner, chanted mother’s name loudly, before sleeping through the night to wake up early next morning with only one wish that to have a good darshan. The energy inside was so charged that we didn’t feel the teeth chattering cold outside.

Next morning we saw the peaks getting capped with snow. The localities advised us to hurry for darshan and leave before it was too late. We had a sort of communal bath. Sister was already suffering from swollen feet. Padded with layers of clothes we queued outside the Bhavan for our turn for darshan.

The Bhavan was almost thousand years old ready to cave in. The pilgrims were warned again and again not to chant too loudly so as to prevent a sudden avalanche. I hear the Bhavan has been relocated now. After a long wait our turn came to enter the sacro sanctum. It was another and smaller cave inside the slightly bigger one where we had to squat in. The height of the cave was too low to stand. Noone was allowed to spent more than a minute inside. The exit was from the other side through another cave where a stream was flowing through. To our tired feet the water felt warm, though the temperature would not have been more than zero degrees.

Journey Downhill

We were the last to take the journey downhill. The snow had started falling at a steady pace. Silence reigned. We followed the footsteps of the travelers before us. The slim and slimy mountainous roads were unfenced. If we slipped it would have been a drop of around 15 kms. Halfway down, the snow turned into torrential downpour. We found a naked boy climbing down shivering like a leaf and chanting. The one who was right ahead of us was a thin old lady with a stick who kind of battled with the wind as she stepped down the snow covered tracks. Her only strength being the chants. We were drenched to the core. So was our luggage. More disaster awaited at Katra. Not a single room available for the night as pilgrims were stranded at the foothill not allowed to take the uphill journey in such a treacherous climate. So were the ones at the Bhavan. We were the only exceptions.

The Nighstay

Somehow a room could be arranged for the night. Our train was next day noon. But we were so cramped with cold and rain that changing clothes became an arduous task. So was eating as we couldn’t put the food inside our mouth straight. As we warmed ourselves up around the angithi or the cooking burner smoke started rising up from our bodies.

The next day we left for home. By the time weather had changed and sun was shining bright. The last that I recall was reaching the station before time and drying out clothes on the empty platform.

Even after a safe return many nights I woke up sweating. The dreams were vivid. We had lost our way in the snowing pouring mountain with noone to guide us home.

Epilogue

It is said that no ill befalls at the shrine. The chants work as shields protecting the devouts.

Somewhere in the hills we had taken a few minutes rest at a ramshackle tea stall where a man covered in an old blanket hummed a tune in Miyan Ki Malhaar – the Raga of the rains!

His mellifluous notes still haunt me. The only regret I could not see his face.

And of course our pilgrim is still incomplete as we failed to have darshan of Bhairavnath.

Jai Mata Di

(Glory To The Mother)