TRAVELOGUE OF A BAREFOOT PILGRIM

“Are you coming?” asked my friend, gazing into my eyes, looking for an affirmative answer. “Do you have the balls?” is what I heard. His proposition - a 120 kilometer long pilgrimage trek, starting from the banks of holy Ganges at Sultanganj, traversing across the villages of north-eastern Indian state of Bihar and Jharkhand, and finally ending at the holy shrine of lord Shiva in Devgarh, Jharkhand. The catch – to complete the trek barefoot.

Every year, in the month of Shravan –Indian rainy season (July-August), lakhs of devotees of lord Shiva, wearing saffron robes, undertake this insurmountable pilgrimage, carrying the holy water of the Ganges to bath the Shivalinga at Devgarh. An ancient tradition, the infamous trek is filled with perilous conditions and an unforgiving path. The austere rituals to be followed along the way are no respite either.

Sunny and I have been friends from childhood. And much of our friendship was cemented in the play ground, while outsmarting each other with our football maneuvers. But there was also a concealed sense of competition in everything we did together. Unlike my friend, I was never spiritually inclined. A puja here and a temple visit there was all my religious resume boasted of. Spirituality was never my calling. But having been an avid football player all my life, I was highly proud of my physical prowess and stamina. No physical challenge held me back. With me hitting the gym almost every other day, I was at the top of my game. And the opportunity to put my lifelong physical training to test and more importantly, to prove my dear friend wrong, was irresistible.

"Let's do it", I said with an air of confidence.

We reached Sultanganj after an overnight bus journey from Ranchi, early in the balmy morning. And the sight that greeted us was surreal. The whole town was smeared in saffron, and the chants of “Bol Bum” (hail Shiva) resonated in the air, far and wide. Men, women, children, in all shapes and sizes, dismounted the never-ending fleet of buses from far flung corners of the region. Every devotees carried “Kanvariya” - a water carrier made from bamboo, usually hung from shoulder, with water pot suspended from both the ends. Filled with spiritual fervour, their piety was palpable. 

Day 1

After taking the dip in holy Ganges to rid our bodies of lifelong sins, the newly ‘purified us’ adorned the saffron robes and started our trek at about 9.30 am. The sun was already high up and despite the rainy season, there was no sign of clouds. We had filled our pots with holy water and like every pilgrim, carried it with the use of Kanvariya on our shoulders. The excitement of the devotees around us was hard to ignore. Everyone seemed filled with vigor, as they chanted “Bol Bum” relentlessly, at the top of their lungs. Walking midst the devotees, it was impossible to detach ourselves from them. It was only a matter of time before their veneration spilled on to us as we joined them in their paean. And suddenly, I could feel the spurt of energy filling up my senses as our bare feet gathered momentum.

Our plan was to walk 60 km in a day so that we could make our pilgrimage a two day affair, before joining our respective offices. The initial part of the trek involved walking along the highway which would take us out of the town, onto the dirt roads of villages. We were young, fresh, energetic, and it was a no big deal (or so we thought).

Our trek was lined with endless chain of make-shift shacks-cum-hotels resembling large tents. They providing refreshments, rows of beds to rest and restroom facilities. These shacks were temporarily established by the villagers only for the month of 'Shravan' every year to serve the 'yatris'. Each of them had a cleaning area where the muddy monsoon water from the adjoining paddy fields was being pumped into the open showers for the pilgrims to take bath - a ritual that had to be followed after every stop. Each shack also had wooden parallel bars to rest “Kanvariyas” as it was forbidden to let the pots holding holy water touch the ground. 


By lunch, we had already covered 25 kms and were on the village dirt roads, away from the town. We had, till then, not stopped even for a single break as every stop meant performing a whole new set of rituals like taking a bath, offering puja, sprinkling ourselves with holy water etc., before we could resume our trek. After the meal and a little rest, we performed the necessary rituals and set out again. By this time, the hot afternoon sun was screaming down on us. Determined not to be coerced by the flaming sun, we started with jittery steps, trying to regain our lost momentum. 

Very few fellow pilgrims dared to continue their trek under the hot sun. Just 45 minutes into the walk, dehydration started setting in. Once vociferous, we were now singing hymns in whispers. Our galloping gait was reduced to muted limping.  But then, to our surprise, a sudden gust of wind changed the landscape. The mighty sun was eclipsed by dark clouds. 60 seconds later we were completely drenched and the path was once again teeming with zealous pilgrims dancing in rain, celebrating, as if a bad evil power has been defeated. The ardour with which we started our trek was restored. And the rain poured and poured.


It took several hours before the rain took a breather. By then, we were well into the dark. We decided to end the day's trek and get ourselves a good nutritious dinner before hitting the bed for the much needed rest. We stopped at one of the shacks that looked clean enough to spend the night. The shack provided clean bed sheets and not so clean beds for a small fee. We, with our quick strides and good fortune (weather wise), had covered a total distance of 45 kilometres. Still short of 15 kilometres for the day, we decided to make up by starting our trek very early the next morning.


Our first night was not pretty. We had poorly planned this aspect of our journey and paid a heavy price for it. We had failed to anticipate the situations at night and wasn't ready with the necessary precautions that we ought to have taken. Our beds were badly infested with bed bugs and air was beaming with mosquitoes which kept stonking at us all night.


Day 2


"Amit, get up." Sunny woke me up, terminating my already interrupted sleep. I looked at the watch and it read 4:15 am. As I tried to squeeze away the sleep from my eyes, I heard Bhajans (holy songs) being sung all around. Most pilgrims were already up and some had even resumed their trek. I noticed that Sunny had finished his morning ablutions. I knew we had to hit the road as early as possible to keep up with our planned schedule. 


I felt a lot fresher after my bath. We performed the special early morning pooja, drank the delicious 'masala' tea and set forth on second day of our trek. The forgettable night was quickly forgotten by the spirit of a brand new day. The walk was much more livelier in the darkness that preceded the dawn. The motley of the devotees only added  excitement to our trek. Where else can you find granddaughters hand in hand with their grandmothers singing praises of Shiva interrupted only by mirth? Their devotion was contagious.


Ask any trekker and he'll tell you that apart from reaching ones destination, the break of dawn is the most beautiful sight that one looks forward to. And we were there, soaking the magnificent sight in the midst of green paddy fields. The smoke of the rural 'Chulha' (burner) from the nearby houses filled the air with exotic smell. The birds chirped merrily and the cows mooed, signalling the arrival of a brand new day. As we walked, I filled my lungs with the delicious air time and time again.


We had covered a good distance before we settled for breakfast at around 8 am. There were no milestones to confirm, but a little enquiry from the local villagers established that we were 70 km away from our destination. As we ate a scrumptious rural breakfast, we took stock of our trek and planned for the day ahead. We had, in last 24 hours, covered an approximate distance of 50 km. Our plan was to continue with the same pace so that we could complete our journey by next morning.


But it was not to be. 4 hours into the trek after our breakfast, the hot sun sapped us, sucking water and energy from our bodies. The path was beginning to get deserted as more and more pilgrims took shelters under the shacks. We tried walking under the shades of the trees that lined  our path, but they were few and far in between. As the hot sun parched the earth, hot winds, locally called "luu" started to blow, baking our bodies. A common but dreaded weather phenomenon in the north Indian plains, 'Luu' is known to cause severe hyperthermia. Hundreds of poor souls perish every year at the hands of these shimmering formless monsters. The only choice we were left with was to temporarily call off our trek and hope for a weather change, like the day before. But that didn't happen. Even as we rested inside our shack, the swirling hot winds made our lives difficult. Our shack, like others, was open at two sides and was too ventilated for our liking. We figured that it might not be until 4 pm that the sun would cool off allowing us to resume our journey. With the prospect of loosing out almost a day's trek, we were forced to rework our plan. After a little deliberation, we decided to have an early lunch, doze off till 4 pm, and then trek through the night to make up for the lost time.  


We resumed our trek at around 4:15 pm. By then, the sun had lost its killer instinct but it's entire day's work was not completely undone. The earth was still torrid. We could hardly lay our bare feet on the ground. Each step felt like electrocution. Barely after 20 meters, we abandoned our trek and stood under the shadow of a tree, waiting for the earth to cool off. 


It was not until 5 pm that the parched earth was cool enough for us to walk on. We, aware of the uncertainties of the day trek, knew that we had to walk the whole night and take fewer breaks, if we were to make time. There were dramatic changes in our our surroundings as our night trek progressed. We were now much away from civilizations.The green paddy fields were substituted by rocky mountains and forests. There were few shacks and fewer villages, that too far in between. Most of our second night's trek was deserted and uneventful, except for couple of seasoned pilgrims we met along the way. One sagacious, pot-smoking old man was on his 33rd pilgrimage. I wondered what drove this man to undertake this arduous pilgrimage time and again, year after year? Wasn't it too tiring? I put forth these questions to him, to which he laughed and replied that it was the wish of lord Shiva that urged him to embark on this pilgrimage every time. Every single pilgrimage has been unplanned and it just happens. And the tiredness only effects the non believers, he added. It was one of the many strange things that I was about to encounter in the following day of our trek. Having established a congenial bond over philosophical discussions and some light-hearted exchanges about the brutalities of barefoot trek, the old man offered us to try out some pot. According to him, it was the 'prasaad' of lord Shiva, which must be had. We politely declined. And that, to our surprise, didn't go down very well with him.


Day 3 - The longest day of my life.


By dawn, we had covered a total of around 100 km.


But by now, we were extremely exhausted. Our body had started reacting to the debilitation and our feet hurt badly. Our walk now resembled the walk of zombies. Pilgrims muttered half-hearted hymns and the holy chants had lost their power. We had to summon our entire strength for every single step. And it felt like we were getting nowhere. 


The second dawn of our pilgrimage was contrastingly unglamorous. But it had nothing to do with the place's actual scenery. By then, we were so tired that our brain failed to conjure the patterns of the nature's beauty. We stopped for our morning ablutions at around 6 am. But that was a bigger torture. The place had no latrine. To answer nature's call, we had to stray away from our paths, into the adjoining forest, behind the trees and bushes. That meant more steps - and more pain. As I ventured into the forest, I found that the entire area was covered with other pilgrim's faeces. Being as exhausted as I already was, I was in no position to walk across the field to the faeces-free zone. My lethargic brain lazily mapped the area and found a small piece of land in between the dumps where I could sit, so to say. Apparently, other tired pilgrims would have faced the same dilemma, I thought to myself. Its amazing how quickly virtues like dignity, hygiene and shame evaporates when our body is eroded off its physical prowess. So I sat there, in open, squeezed in between hundred of other dumps, braving the swarthy stink. It was the single most physically disgusting moment of my life.


We finished our ablutions and puja by 7 am. By now, the rituals had become chores and we had started skipping past quite a few of them. We didn't discuss but it was sort of mentally agreed upon and was a welcome relief for both of us.  


"20 km more, huh?" Asked Sunny, in a weary voice as we got ready to resume the last leg of our trek. But I could read his thoughts. He was in pain. And so was I. I nodded in equally drained fashion. We both knew what we have gotten ourselves into. And it was the first time that our brains questioned our bodies for undertaking this pilgrimage. 


After walking gingerly for about two hours, we reached a small hamlet at 9.15 am. Our speed and momentum was considerably compromised  due to fatigue and burnout as we took far more rest-breaks than earlier. 


"What's that?" Sunny asked, pointing towards my legs, horrified. I followed his gaze towards my foot and saw a big blackish brown lump of blister between the big and second toe. We stopped for a little examination only to find out that the soles of my forefoot have developed huge blisters. To my horror, many of them have already been punctured. Now, a thing about blister: It is a self protecting mechanism of our body to safeguard the inner layers of the skin which has endured a great physical stress. Our body does so by by filling it with a fluid - called the serum - which onsets the healing process. But, in order to heal, that part must be rested. In my case, it was an impossibility as I had many miles still to cover. With the under skin of my feet exposed (to friction, dust, grovels, rocks and heat, not to mention the pressure on it by my whole body), the reminder of my trek was in real jeopardy. 


I cleaned the wound. And that was all I could do. I could not wear foot wears nor could I cover my wounds. That would mean quitting. The goal was to complete the trek bare foot, not with any cushioning or protective layers.

"You should get it dressed", advised Sunny, concerned about my foot in particular and our trek in general. "Let's keep moving", I retorted. Sunny acquiesced.


But it only took me a few step to clearly comprehend the consequences of my decision. Walking on the gravelly road with my punctured feet was a mean task. I felt every tiny particle of road cutting into my sole. My gait was severely deformed. Every step brought out a new expression of despair on my face. I looked at Sunny. "Keep walking", he said encouragingly. So I did.


As I struggled to walk, covering only about 15 centimeter with each step, I couldn't help but notice little girls zoom past us along with their congregation chanting "Bol Bum". I looked at Sunny. He looked at me. And we both stared at the backs of those tiny girls as they faded ahead into the crowd. Nothing was said, but a lot was realized. 


At 11:30, we decided to stop for an early lunch and get respite from the burning sun. As we ate, we took stock of our trek. The best part of our trek was well behind us. We had the most grueling 15 kilometers to cover to reach the holy town ahead of us. We decided to rest for the remainder of the afternoon as the sun outside was fierce. 


We resumed our trek at 4:30 pm. I walked with new sets of blisters on the heels of both of my foot. In excruciating  pain, I was no longer counting kilometers. The upcoming curves on the road or the ubiquitous flag posts became my short term destinations. My only aim was to reach the next curve of the road and get some rest. By now, we were rest-stopping more than half a dozen times every kilometres. The stops were also meant for cleaning the wounds as more and more sand particles found its way into the visceral parts my open wounds, resulting in massive infection. The fluid that filled some of my non-punctured blisters a little while ago, had now turned into puss. By 6 pm, I was in such pain that I sat on the edge of the road and started bawling like a baby. 

Yes, a 25-year-old grown up man, who, just couple of days ago, bragged about being the fittest, was now sitting on the ground, in front of hundreds of pilgrims, crying like a little girl. As the pilgrims (including little girls) passed me by, they watched me shed my tears (which, mind you, was also accompanied by mucous) with pity. My false sense of fitness and enormously inflated ego, which was part of my disposition just two days ago, was shattered. At that point of time, I felt utterly insignificant and weak. Sunny watched me in embarrassment.

And then we saw him. 

He was covered in filth, with knotty dreadlocks, wearing only a crouch dhoti. From what I saw, I could deduce that this man has pledged to complete this pilgrimage by prostrating the entire 120 kilometre stretch. His steps, if I can call it so, consisted of the following: (a) Laying himself down on the ground for a complete prostrate (to pay obeisance to the almighty), (b) mark the ground with his out-stretched hands and (c) get up to walk to the mark - only to repeat the above steps all over again. This was his 'means' to cover this 120 km long pilgrimage. It was an unfathomable sight that dazed my brain to no end. Here I was, wailing like a baby, unable to take even a single step and this man was prostrating his way across 120 km pilgrimage! It was incomprehensible. What glory was there in inflicting ones body with so much pain? Does faith has so much power? I mentally bowed to the man for his veneration. And it was then that I realized what I was lacking - the motivation, the strength, the resolve that comes from FAITH. As this realization set in, I stood up and started walking with steadfast intention to finish this harrowing experience once and for all. 


It took us (or rather me) whole night to walk the last 10 kilometers to reach our destination. As I bathed the 'shivalinga' with the holy waters from the Ganges, I felt emotionally drained. I was overwhelmed with the feeling of achievement and failure at the same time. I had completed what once looked impossible, under great physical strain. But in the process, I lost my false pride and fake sense of physical superiority. I silently told lord Shiva (wondering if he could hear me) that I'll never undertake this pilgrimage ever again, and asked for his forgiveness. What started as a boisterous challenge ended up teaching me countless valuable, that I will never forget.

P.S-  The trek which we had earlier planned to wrap up in two days was completed in three days, but it took me two weeks to recover from my injuries and be able to walk again. As of Sunny, I still wonder why didn't he get any blisters?