The first
time I visited Pandharpur was back in 2007. The names Vitthal and Pandharpur,
were just names to me. I had heard of them, but that was about it. Seeing the
lord standing on the brick, hands on his hips, was memorable, but more
memorable was the sight that greeted us as we walked out of the main sanctum of
the temple. In the mandap just outside were a group of devotees singing abhangs,
and dancing. This was the first time I had heard abhangs, and even almost
15 years later, I can remember the welling of feeling within me, listening to the
songs, and how fascinated I was by the sight of the devotees dancing, lost in
their love of the Lord. Over the years, as I have read more about Vitthal, and
participated in Ashadi Ekadashi programmes at Puttaparthi, that first
experience has stayed clear in my mind and heart. Every time I tell my Balvikas
students of the saints who sang of Vitthala, it is that experience that I re-live.
I visited Pandharpur again, in 2010, but that experience was a different one, and
I have written about it here. Memorable as that second experience was, the
first one is something I have treasured, as my first encounter with Bhakti.
A few days
back, that memory came back, stronger than ever, as I was at Pandharpur again,
this time in a completely different context. That first time, I was with my entire
family. This time, I was the only one from my family, but with a group, with more
unfamiliar faces than known ones, but another family of sorts – our Sai family,
visiting Pandharpur to sing bhajans in front of the Lord.
From the
very beginning, there were many things I was unsure of, regarding this trip. I am
not great at travelling with groups, and I usually want to visit many more
places than just one. There were just a handful of people I knew, and the
prospect of travelling with so many strangers was daunting…. The list went on. But
there was something that made me want to go…. Especially the week before, when I
heard the group sing at Chembur, and the desire to be part of this trip overshadowed
all the hesitation. And then, Shankar had to drop out, and the doubts
reappeared with a vengeance. I was resigned to missing this experience, but as
it turned out, the Lord had other plans. Spurred on by his friends, Shankar
insisted that I join the group, despite my hesitations. And, unwilling to let
all the efforts made by the organizers go to waste, and since we had already
paid our share, I decided to go on, without him.
I knew I would
miss Shankar on this journey, but I did not anticipate the wave of nostalgia
that came over me, as we waited to enter the temple. Nostalgia, not only for my
two earlier trips, but also for all the stories of Vitthala and Pandharpur that
I have heard, read and re-told over the years. Standing at the Namdev Payari, I
remembered the story of Namdev as a young boy, convinced that the Lord would
come to eat the prasad he offered, seeing the samadhi of Choka Mela, I remembered
his vivid poetry that I had read recently. As we walked into the mandap, I was
overcome by the thought that we were standing in the same spot that these
saints had stood at, that we would be singing where these great souls had poured
their hearts out to the Lord. I am not a singer, and yet, here I was, with some
of the best bhajan singers I knew, and had an opportunity to accompany them in Namasmarana
– singing the name of the Lord, at the same spot where the best of the Bhakti
saints had sung.
As the
bhajans began, I sang along, grateful to the Lord for this opportunity. However,
the mind, especially mine, is one that wanders all the time (as the name of my
blog suggests), and soon I was filled with thoughts. We had gone earlier for Mukha
darshan – darshan from the mandap, where we can see the face of the
Lord, and as we sang, I wished that there weren’t so many people between us and
the Lord. There we were, singing right in front of the Lord, but we couldn’t see
Him. Even as I strained my memory to imagine the Lord as I had seen him,
ignoring the crowds milling around, the sun began to set, and as it passed
behind the temple spire, the light fell straight into my eyes, blinding me. The
masses of people disappeared, and suddenly it was so much easier to imagine Him standing in that brightness which obliterated everything. The light stayed
there for about half an hour, falling on the entire group, as if the Lord was
shining a natural spotlight on all of us, as if He was the one who wanted to
see us clearly.
In the
middle of all this, as the haze of sunlight cleared and our eyes focused, one
of the kids in our group who had been running around, appeared right at the
centre, in front of the mandap. As he pranced around, oblivious to his
surroundings, I was reminded that the Lord might be called Vitthal here, but he
was Krishna, the young, mischievous boy who stole everyone’s heart. And here he
was, reminding all of us once again that he was not only within the stone, but we
had to learn to see him everywhere, in everyone.
The bhajans
continued, as did my waves of nostalgia. More than Shankar, I missed my
father-in-law. I remembered that very first visit, when he stopped to listen to
the abhangs being sung right here, and refused to move till the group was done.
With a smile, I thought that the only difference between then and now was that
the group then was of varkaris who danced as they sang, while we were
singing bhajans sitting down. Even as that thought crossed my mind, an elderly varkari
gentleman walked in, and began dancing! As he swayed along to the music, lost
in his own world, my eyes welled with tears.
Later, as
we stood in the queue to have a closer darshan of the Lord, my thoughts were of
a different kind – of my own devotion and faith. Faith, from what I have seen,
is unique for each one of us, and so is devotion. We each interpret our
experiences in our own way, and each experience gives different results to each
one of us. In the group that I was part of, faith and devotion was strong for
most people, but each expressed it in different ways. We all had the same experiences
at the temple, but I am sure each one of us felt the touch of the Lord in
different ways. As I read the different experiences posted by the different
people in the group, this feeling has strengthened further. While the central
reaction to the sunlight falling on us, and the varkari dancing was the
same for all of us, it touched us all in different ways.
Our journey
continued beyond Pandharpur to Chakur in Latur district, where Swami had visited
back in 2001. We had an opportunity to sing there again, and as we walked among
mango-laden trees, breathing in the fresh air, my thoughts were still about bhakti.
A friend of mine often says that mine is the path of Jnana – the path that
leads to the Lord through the search for knowledge, and not of Bhakti, which is
unflinching, unquestioning faith towards the Lord. At Pandharpur, which is at the centre of the Bhakti tradition in Maharashtra, these lines blurred for me.
