By Apoorva Dabral
This is a travelogue which I have written while taking a tour from Jaipur to Haridwar via road. Opening the door of the car, enduring a 6 hour drive from Delhi through the moonlit night across the vast fields of Western UP carpeting the landscape and kissing the horizon in its calm darkness, I greeted the first rays of the morning. With the Himalayan mountains faintly visible, being illuminated by the sun, blooming into their transient beauty, the air was cold, calm and dense, the perfect start to the pilgrimage.
As I stepped out into the wide parking amid winters, scenic surroundings engulfed me and I happily drowned in its sheer bliss, for before me flowed the Ganga, the flood banks of which were separated by an iron grid. Nevertheless, I stood there, embracing the immense calmness, yet the vigour of the mighty river. Even after being diverted by the barrage, which was faintly visible as a speck in the morning horizon, the natural path of the river was reduced to stones and some primitive vegetation.
The nectar of the Himalayas flowed with pure serenity, the sound of its lapping waves being heard from where I stood, calm and intense. Here I stood on my destination, for which I had yearned for months. The holy soil of Haridwar felt like a home I never knew I had.
After refreshing myself, I grabbed all my stuff and as if in a peaceful frenzy, started walking towards Har Ki Pauri.
As my feet, as if having a soul of their own, guided me through the bustling lanes of the city with vigorous energy, with the warm sunlight of an early spring morning touching my cheeks through the leaf silts of the leaves and the tarpaulin sheets of the stalls, the walk was not only the walk of the body, but was the journey of the soul. The old road, which, like most roads in the town were the harsh dwelling of many in the city of faith, felt like a heavenly path to liberation.
Observing closely, it is as if I was witnessing life in the limited view of my eye. From small, excited children running around, with their young fathers and mothers struggling to hold them, to the old, wrinkled and heavily bearded “Sadhus” who roamed the streets. From the sons who held the ashes of their father’s, walking solemnly towards the ghat to the newly born infants, yet to gain consciousness of the world who were brought here to purify them in the holy waters of the Ganga. Haridwar indeed represents its name. The path to the divine.
Riches,poverty, gloom, laughter all flowed on the same road, alike, towards the ghat of Har Ki Pauri.
As I stood on the first step of the ghat, with the cold and calm waters of the Ganga slowly lapping on my feet, I once again looked at the rising sun, the warm rays of which had pierced the horizon and engulfed me in a warm blanket.
The faint sound of the temple bells, which were almost constantly being rung by people who were here not for a materialistic purpose, but with a sense of duty and detachment, which enhanced the melodious sound of the bells. This is perhaps what devotion is, I thought, to dedicate oneself entirely to the divine, to not seek anything besides him, to only yearn him in a world where yearning has become the new devil.
The mighty ganga flowed before me, with it’s cold waves being as cold as the melted ice from the Himalayan peaks. As I stepped deeper into the cold waters which a constant shiver down my spine as the cold flow of the water softly pushed against my back and shoulders. At last I reached the sandbank, the deepest point of the ghat.
Looking at the sun, I offered obeisance to him, followed by Ganga herself, and the Devi- Devatas. I calmed the thoughts of the mind, which were as rigorous as the river herself, for a moment, my conscience was the calmest it could ever be, and at that very moment, I took a deep dip, engulfing myself entirely in the pure waters of the Ganga
As I stepped out onto the ghat, I had felt as if it was a rebirth of me, not only did the Ganga washed my body, but it washed away my conscience and soul. I took a deep breath and stole one last look at the heavenly ghat, with the river flowing below carrying with her, floral offerings made by people for a better future, as well as the ashes of the dead being immersed at a distant corner. As I stood there, a sense of ethereal calm appeared in me. I smiled at the beauty of the town, and now had the answer to the yearn I possessed for months. While the physical being lived in a distant land, Haridwar will always be the home of the soul.
Har Har Gange!