My visit to the holy site carried both spiritual and temporal rewards

Hari Chand Aneja reminisces about a trip to a temple in the mountains

Landscape of the Leh city in the Northernmost Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir. (Pawan Singh / The National)

‘Chalo raasta saaf karo,” (“clear the path”) yelled Methiram, the tonga (horse-carriage) driver, seated beside me. With a whip waving in the air he exhorted jaywalkers on the road to clear it. Occasionally he shouted at his brown horse to speed up. “It is a 42 kilometre trot from Jammu to Katra and I need to push to make it in time for your pilgrimage”, he told me.

A few days before in Lahore, my brother had counselled me: “If you visit the goddess with faith in your heart, she will grant you your wishes.”

It was 1946 and we were debating whether I should accompany him to visit the famed shrine of Mata (Mother) Vaishnodevi in Jammu state, in undivided India. The temple complex (Bhavan) is a 13-kilometre climb up a massive mountain, 1,580 metres above sea level.

During winter, the temperature drops to minus two degrees. Icy winds rule the mountains. I would have to travel by train from Lahore to Jammu and then undertake a ride on a tonga to Katra, the base town. After that I had to climb the Trikuta mountain. So, I hesitated.

“There is another belief concerning this powerful goddess. You do not decide to visit the shrine. There has to be a ‘bulawa’ (call). When the goddess wants to meet you, circumstances evolve to enable your visit,” argued my brother. He was convincing.

Indian mythology reveals that Gorakh Nath, a tantrik (spiritualist) commissioned a disciple, Bhairon Nath, to ascertain the spirituality of goddess Vaishnodevi, who was achieving immense popularity.

Bahairon Nath was thunderstruck and enamoured by the beauty of the goddess. Nonetheless, he was daunted by a ferocious lion who accompanied her. Finally he proposed to her. When Vaishnodevi refused, he hounded her. He chased her all the way to the mountains. Since he was incorrigible, Vaishnodevi beheaded him. Then, she immersed herself in meditation in a cave.

We climbed up the steep and slippery gravel path that winds around the mountain. A cold wind blew around us, piercing us like pine-needles. We wrapped our heads in woollen shawls. There was no electricity on the mountain path, so all visits were during the day. A few low clouds floated by us and we walked through them.

There were no hotels on the way to the shrine. We were refreshed by the natural rivulets, small waterfalls and patches of red and yellow flowers. We were energised by teams of pilgrims descending after completing their pilgrimage. There was an astonishing camaraderie among the pilgrims, who worse red scarves with golden tasselled borders.

The entrance to the cave is incredibly narrow. You bend sharply and enter. As you traverse the short distance from the entrance to the shrine, icy water flows around your feet on the floor. Then there is a small patio with brass bells suspended from the roof. To the right is the cave of Vaishnodevi.

We had a few seconds to pay our respects to the goddess, due to the pressure of other devotees in the queue. A priest gave me some coins as “prasad” (ceremonial gifts), which I have treasured.

The return journey was faster; we were rejuvenated at having fulfilled our mission.

Over the decades, travel conditions for pilgrims have improved. Besides the steep gravel path, a winding flight of concrete steps has been constructed all the way up to the shrine, with electric lights so pilgrims can climb during the night. A helicopter service transports pilgrims in eight minutes, from Katra to SanjiChhat, 2.5 kilometres from the shrine.

When we undertook the journey 68 years ago, we had relished a simple meal of rajma (red beans) and rice. Now, the route is dotted with hotels serving a range of cuisines, including delicious aloo parathas and masala chole (spicy chickpeas). Coffee shops serve steaming lattes.

The number of pilgrims has also boomed from a few thousand a year in 1946 to a million in 1986 and 10 million in 2012. The temple is the sixth richest in India and contributes about $80m (Dh294m) annually to the local economy.

All these years later, I have two clear memories. The first is the ardent faith of the pilgrims who climbed so far up the steep, gravelled path to offer prayers.

The second is the cleanliness of the temple. I wonder how we keep our temples spotlessly clean but cannot keep our cities sparkling. Visit any important Indian temple and it is glowing. Step out into the laneways, however, and they overflow with rubbish.

Our streets are among the dirtiest in the world. If we can clean them, India will have made massive progress.

Hari Chand Aneja is a nonagenarian former corporate executive who now keeps busy with charity work