The Hindu Business Line : Of Haridwar & Jama Masjid

On September 25, on our way back to Delhi from a mind-blowing trip to Gangotri and Gaumukh, we spent a colourful evening at Har ki Pauri, the Ganga Ghat in the bustling pilgrimage town of Haridwar. As you walk down the ghat crossing the innumerable shops displaying colourful wares, including sparkling brass containers filled with gangajal, the eyes and ears are treated to colourful images of a plethora of Hindu gods and goddesses showering their blessings from TV screens, accompanied by bhajans and devotional film songs.

You flow along with the sea of humanity that is headed towards the temple where aarti will be performed at sundown. As at any religious place, the "servants" of god urge you to take a vantage seat in the inner ring. But as this means removing footwear and as one can have the best of both the worlds by sitting with the bigger mass of people along the banks of the river, the invite is declined.

Earlier in the day, at Lakshman Jhoola in Rishikesh, our guide had described how the raging waters of the Ganga were silenced by an arrow from Lakshman. But, in Haridwar, the swirling river marches along at a frenetic pace, creating its own music and overwhelming you. On either side, its banks are decorated by the colourful flower bedecked leaf baskets, each carrying a diya. As hundreds of flowery lamps are gently released into the waters of the Ganga, the entire place reverberates with millions of dreams and prayers sent up to the heavens.

Exactly 18 years ago, one had lit a diya and released it into the womb of the Ganga, praying for the well being of loved ones. So it did not require much coaxing from the plethora of "sevaks" to repeat the exercise. So off went the shoes, trousers were rolled up and we devoutly marched towards the shore to perform the charming little ritual. Couples are asked to stand together, the volunteers chant well rehearsed lines for the welfare of children, parents, and so on; the gentle breeze, the red sky, the gushing waters and the little diya soften you up sufficiently to loosen the purse strings and after a few hundred rupees have been pledged for the blessings, and more promised towards feeding "the Brahmans" you suddenly wake up to halt the philanthropic burst.

The aarti is completed and after a disastrous bout of paani puri — despite warnings from the doctor in the group — and an indifferent masala dosai from a restaurant at the ghat, the evening in Haridwar ended.

The next evening in Delhi saw us in the precincts of the Jama Masjid. Of course, Ramzan was in full swing, but what made us brave the treacherous traffic in the area was not a bout of religious devotion. Ten days of a strict vegetarian diet in Rishikesh, Harsil, Gangotri, Bhojbasa, had us yearning for some hardcore non-veg fare. And what better place to dig into sumptuous sheek kebabs, burra mutton, kidney/liver fry, brain curry and chicken biryani than the tried and trusted Karim's in the Jama Masjid area? These days it proudly displays a BBC article endorsing its Mughlai style of cooking!

The vehicle had to be abandoned at a distance and we walked through the narrow streets in the area resplendent with the glitter and glaze of the Ramzan iftaar.

The religious fervour and intensity were the same; only saffron had given way to white, the music of the bhajans to the chanting of the evening azan as rows and rows of Muslims bowed in reverence for the Asar prayer. Here, too, the pavement shops were in full flow, displaying colourful clothes, prayer caps, and so on. Not to mention huge chunks of different kinds of meat — tandoori and fried chicken, sheek kebabs, deliciously soft rotis — both rumalis and tandoori — huge vessels filled with semiya and phirni... all to satiate the hunger pangs following the day's fasting. Idd is a good while away, but the air is festive and the entire staff at Karim's serves the diners exotic food with a smile, showing not a trace of the invariable tiredness at the end of a fasting day.

A senior staffer tells us that as it is Ramzan, the diners will keep coming in till it is time for sahar... or the early hours of the morning when food intake stops for the next day's roza. "After serving the last diner, our staff members will take their food, and then we'll open for business only tomorrow evening."

We soon realise that we've ordered far too much, but there are enough grateful people outside to relieve us of the packed leftovers. Suddenly, one remembers that around this time last Ramzan a bomb had gone off in the vicinity of the Jama Masjid. I ask Abdul Mian, a shopkeeper, if he is not scared of a repeat. After all what better time for such an attack for enemies of religious harmony...

"Arrey nahi, Madam. We don't have such negative thoughts. And then life has to go on; if you are destined to die, you will, even if you crouch under your bed!"

The walk back to the car is filled with thoughts on the uniqueness of this country, an equally proud and caring host to the devotees at the Ganga Ghat in Haridwar as it is to the faithful thronging the Jama Masjid.

Response may be sent to rasheeda@thehindu.co.in

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