Our trip to Kedarnath was decided over a long-distance phone call. Two weeks later, the three musketeers — Kaustabh, Shubham and yours truly — woke up on a decidedly nippy morning at Gaurikund. The place is connected with Lord Shiva’s wife Goddess Parvati aka Gauri. The Kund is also associated with the legend of how Ganesha acquired his elephant head. While bathing in the Kund, Gauri fashioned Ganesha from the lather on her body, breathed life into him and placed him at the entrance of the Kund as the guard. Poor Ganesha, not having the benefit of a VIP entry list, stopped even Lord Shiva, who got incensed and promptly cut Ganesha’s head off. Later, to console the Goddess, Shiva took the head of a wandering elephant and placed it on Ganesha’s body. Gauri had her son back and Ganesha acquired the persona by which he is known all over the Hindu world since then.
Holding a steaming cup of tea, I stood at the hotel balcony. One giant, lush-green hill stood directly ahead. The morning sun was yet to kiss its sleepy, green foliage; the shadow and the dew made the leaves look dark-green at a distance. I could not see the sun yet, but high on the mountains leading to the Kedarnath shrine, I could see its first rays barely illuminating the tips.
Within half-an-hour, we were on our way to the shrine. Skirting the Gaurikund, we climbed the many steps until we faced the rippling Mandakini, which is also a tributary of the Ganges. The physically less-abled devotees opt for a mule ride or to be carried in a make-shift palanquin on the ascent from here. Amid chants of Jai Kedar, we started the ascent. We could see many devotees from the Southern states of Tamil Nadu and Kerala, and marveled at their gumption. Many of them seemed to carry too little to take on the chilly winds but they marched on relentlessly. Some were even barefooted. Hailing from places where the mercury rarely dips below 30 degrees, braving the chilly winds in the morning and near-zero conditions at night require guts and unflinching devotion to the Almighty.
Suddenly, as we were approaching a little steep slope, we were stopped on our tracks. Emerging out of the early-morning mist, the snow-laden, pristine peaks of the Sumeru mountain — resplendent in the morning sun — had just decided to grant us a view. By the time we reached Rambada, which is half-way between Kedarnath and Gaurikund, more than two hours had passed. The Mandakini at Rambada was at her playful best, making quite a din as its white waters collide with giant rocks in great force to create little whirlpools and also throwing up misty-sprays before rushing towards Gaurikund and beyond.
Tourist groups tend to stop at the Rambada inns for a quick bite, while the mules have their standard fare of grams and jaggery. From the babel that emitted, we could make out that a majority was from the South and East. Animated conversations in Bengali, Tamil, Malayalam and local Garhwali turned the inns into a great cultural cauldron of different voices, language, dialects and expressions — an unmistakable prototype of our very-own India. The journey became a tad difficult soon after. At one spot, we saw a huge boulder resting atop a small, smashed iron bridge. At another place, we saw rocks and mud completely obliterating and destroying the path, and pilgrims trudging through the mess by precariously balancing on to the precipice.
About five hours after starting from Gaurikund, we were at Garuda-choti, the last settlement before Kedarnath. Now, we could see the Kedarnath shrine clearly and every step brought us closer to our destination. Suddenly, there was a sense of exhilaration in the air as devotees, who had been trudging along silently, abruptly turned boisterous and started chanting the Lord’s name. Some kneeled over to pay obeisance to Lord Kedarnath, while some others quickened their pace in anticipation of their communion with the God.
The Kedarnath temple is an imposing sight standing in the middle of a wide green meadow surrounded by snow-covered peaks of the Sumeru mountain. Even in the last days of September, we could sense by the nip in the air why temple authorities close down the shrine usually by late October (on the day of Bhai-duj) and re-open in early May (Akshaya-tritiya). Soon we crossed the iron bridge over the rippling Mandakini and after a brief walk through the market area came in front of the Kedarnath temple. Having decided to have our darshan right away, we deposited our bags at an adjacent shop and walked inside the temple premises.
The temple is built of extremely large heavy and evenly cut grey stone slabs. We were amazed as to how these stone slabs were handled by our forefathers in ancient times without modern engineering to support them. I also felt one needn’t make an effort to be reverential at Kedarnath; the fortitude of the ancient workers and their efforts under such extreme conditions were enough to make a person bow to the spirit of human endeavour. The shrine of Kedarnath, one of the 12 Jyotirlingas of Lord Shiva, is believed to have been built by the Pandavas after the war of Mahabharata.
The present temple is credited to Adi Shankaracharya — who rejuvenated Hinduism in the eighth century. A large statue of Nandi, the celestial bull of Lord Shiva, faces the main entrance. The sanctum sanctorum is contained within an unadorned curved stone tower with shallow projections and a timber roof guarding the lotus-shaped dome at the summit. As we crossed the threshold and entered the assembly hall or the mandapa, we could see that all along the walls, there are niches with stone idols of Lord Krishna, the five Pandavas, their wife Draupadi, and mother Kunti — all carved out of the temple walls. Idols of Lakshmi-Narayan, Goddess Parvati, Lord Ganesh and Adi Shankaracarya stood in front of the main altar door. The assembly hall is gabled; its ceiling and niches decorated with carved ornamentation.
A small archway and a short flight of stairs led us to the Garbha Griha of the main deity, Lord Kedarnath. The irregular, three-faced Shiva-lingam is almost conical in shape, somewhat resembling the hump of a bull, and is unlike any other at temples across India. The Mahabharata says, the Pandava brothers — seeking emancipation from the curse of killing their own kinsmen — sought the blessings of Lord Shiva for redemption but He was unwilling to even grant them an audience. The Pandavas finally tracked down the Lord in the form of a massive bull around the Kedarnath region. Shiva, sensing their approach, began sinking into the earth. At this, Bhima, the strongest of the brothers, flung himself and caught hold of the hump of the bull. Shiva, pleased with the determination of Pandavas, blessed them and granted them salvation from their sins. That hump, in conical form, is worshipped as Kedarnath.
The Shiva-lingam, is close to 8 feet in length, about 3 feet wide and 2 feet in height. We offered our prayers, smeared ghee on the Lord’s body and then poured milk and water over the Lingam. Our offerings over, I moved over to the side and leaned on one of the pillars, immediately adjacent to the Shiva-lingam, quietly watching other devotees offering their prayers.
I was soaking in the atmosphere in silence, and suddenly tears swelled up in my eyes. Was it out of reverence, or was it an outpouring of accumulated pain of being let down by people? As a child in pain would rush into the comforting arms of the parent, I too wanted to be comforted. That feeling lingered on in my mind as the three of us trooped to our lodge at a short distance — suddenly feeling worn-out and tired.
— The writer is a freelance journalist based in Delhi. donjuan.chatterjee@gmail.com
How to reach
Five hours from Guarikund by a motor vehicle, you reach Garuda-chiti, the last settlement before Kedarnath. In fact, from there you can see the shrine — in the middle of a wide green meadow.
