Ayodhya a year ago

 

(Prototype of Ram Mandir to be built at Ayodhya) 

The favored few are directly summoned by gods and godesses to receive their graces, the fortunate few get signalled by godly visions in their dreams, but the feckless majority must bide  their time and trust fortituity to land them in the vicinity of holy places to make their supplications in person to the Supreme Being.

We decidedly, indisputably belong to the feckless type, this I say with full authority for myself , and to a lesser degree for my wife for reasons not bandied about but universally known. For quite sometime after settling down to a superannuated life, we  longed to visit Ramlalla as it existed post demolition of Babri Masjid. Last year Dame Luck smiled. A bereavement in the family required us to be in Lucknow within 24 hrs. The only option was to drive down. 

In early morning eyes groggy from unfulfilled sleep we left. Midday, in searing heat, our first stop was at a dhaba for tea  in a  swirling 'loo' threatening to blow us off. It took some deft manoeuvring of hands to keep sweat from dripping into our glass and turning the tea salty. The only other halt before touchdown was for lunch at a restaurant that looked promising , and the menu mouth watering. Only to learn that paneer pakoda was all that could be had. We were an hour too late. Beggars can't be choosers. Famished we quickly shouted our order to the only 'seeable' man around, the one at the cash counter - two plates each. With just two of us as customers we wondered how much cash did he really need to count. And sat in half dread of the man abruptly announcing denial of the order. But it arrived and we wolfed it down quickly. Relished it too. There isn't much difference between Hunger and Lust that makes pretty damsels of ordinary ones.

On our return journey we set out more prepared, better organised. First stop, overnight stay at Ayodhya. A sleepy moffussil town with a smattering of tumbled down abandoned havelis, narrow lanes, similar size small shops , selling about the same thing, (statues, beads,amulets) lining both sides of a kilometer long main street, single lane-one way,  and teeming with rustic pilgrims from the countryside. 

Godly presence was ubiquitous, in the air, in the pilgrims, the narrow lanes exhaling divinity from the many Ram temples adorning each. One is weighed down by piety and sobered by the divine airs. 

But like all moffusil towns it lacked in numbers and quality eateries,  good lodging and boarding facilities. The room we stayed in smelled foul. However, pilgrims too shouldn't be fussy. The receptionist suggested we hire an auto for half-a-day to visit Ramlalla and other places ending with aarti at Saryu river in the evening before dropping off at the hotel. Fare ₹700. 

First, Ramlalla at the disputed site. The auto takes one only  to the base of a hillock from which a steep walk of a mile or so lies ahead. Without  mobiles, camera, purse, wallet,  leather belts( fortunately pants hug my broad waistline, so faced no real risk of unwelcome exposure)  and a further kilometer walk into the protected area through barricaded paths, interrupted too frequently by checkposts for frisking and a body-over with metal detectors, We paid our respects to the deity installed on a high ground twenty feet away. When we walked down to the base the auto was no where to be found. He had used the time to ferry other passengers. 

We gave him a piece of our mind. For the rest of the journey we had a sullen, sulking autowala on our hands. Mechanically, he breezed us through many other temples including Ram Mandir Nyas office where a replica of the proposed temple and carved stone slabs lie.  Two incidents in particular stand out in my memory. The Hanuman temple, Ramgarhi- its stairs are a steep 100 steps climb ,almost vertical. We managed to reach the top only after four intermediate stops and still gasping for breath. Then that big Ram temple. As soon as we stepped down the autowala took me aside and whispered " this is the place where Mulayam Singh's police fired on  Rambhakts and killed 2000." I looked up and down the street,  it was  too small and narrow to accommodate that many.  Then he said " here free lunch is given to over 5000 pilgrims every day." When we went in and he pointed to the dining hall where these 5000 men are fed it looked too small and it bore no tell- tale signs of that many having been fed an hour or so earlier. 

But the hours spent at Saryu river were really wondrous, and memorable. A heavenly calm permeated the breezy evening, quiet flowed the river, and busily but methodically the devouts went about preparing fo

r the river aarti, pushing lighted diyas on the still waters. Till late into the evening the official aarti hadn't started and time to disengage the auto was running out. We bowed to Saryu whose waters Lord Rama waded to ascend to his heavenly abode and left with a heavy heart. The autowala had by now turned surly. He refused to wait any longer though we promised extra fare saying he couldn't even if he wanted to as his vehicle had concked out.

That effectively ended our Ayodhya visit. But not before another glimpse at an Ayodhya unknown to antiquity. He asked me to pay up ₹500 and give ₹200 to the receptionist . And that I could take another auto back to the  hotel for all he cared. Fortunately, we found one. When we gave ₹200 to the receptionist he first  looked at the noted, then at me in apparent bewilderment, 'why me? I will find out" and pocketed it.

Early morning we checked out; the receptionist wasn't anywhere. And we never found out whether he found out why the autowala sent him ₹200. But we just  knew. 

Next morning, we raced  home on the smooth, glistening, miraging  highway wondering Ayodhya nagri had failed to live upto the ideal of Ram Rajya. Maybe, it will now with Lord Rama's image re-established at the spot He was supposedly born.

From the birthplace, Ayodhya, of one Vishnu avatar, Lord Rama, to the burial place, Kushinagar, of another - Bhagwan Buddha, enroute. But that's another travelogue.