I went to Jagannath Temple in Puri and what I found was not god or spirituality but.......

Visiting the Jagannath Temple in Puri, Orissa had been on my travel bucket list for years. The temple’s history, grandeur, Rath Yatra procession and other stories have always fascinated me. And then one day, my wish came true when one of my cousins decided to get married in a beautiful resort close to Puri. Being one of Hinduism's Char Dham pilgrimage sites, the temple is visited by lakhs of devotees every year who travel from every corner of the world to seek blessings from Lord Jagannath, Lord Balabhadra, and Devi Subhadra (the siblings).


Like many others, I had imagined the visit countless times before finally making the journey a few months ago in the month of February. Because it was a wedding, most of the relatives wanted to visit the temple. And on the day of the visit I realised that I am travelling with three generations of my family: my over 60-years old parents, my 85-year old grandfather (nana ji), and my two-year-old son.


What I imagined would be a deeply spiritual experience quickly became a lesson for life.

A choking reality


We reached the temple around 10 AM. Despite being in February, the air felt warm and humid. The streets around the temple were alive with crowded markets and pilgrims and tourists alike. I saw the temple spire rising dramatically above the city skyline.


The moment we stepped out, we were surrounded

The moment we all stepped out of the auto, we were surrounded with men claiming to be guides, temple helpers and priests. I had been to several temples across the country but this was different. As everyone offered a different promise.


“Madam "VIP darshan" hojaega. Koi waiting nahi seedha mandir me entry,” one shouted in my left ear. My nana ji, who is nearly deaf, was shocked by his loud voice.


"No waiting, I promise," claimed another man.


“Sir Special aarti, with special prasad and direct entry.”


We kept declining. But some of them refused to give up on us. Under normal circumstances, I would have ignored them, but I looked at my parents. I looked at my grandfather. Then I looked at my sleepy toddler in my arms. And the heat was just too much! The thought of standing in almost a 3-km queue for hours suddenly felt impossible.

One man, who looked a little convincing, read my face. He came towards me and promised that he would take us through a special route with no waiting and comfortable darshan. For a group of eight, his initial demand was ₹8,000. But we settled at ₹5,000, which he demanded in cash at that moment.


The guide did lead us past a never-endling queue. Seeing that crowd, and walking past them, I mentally said to myself, “good decision”. Since phones and cameras are not allowed inside the temple, we carried only cash. The guide took the money and led us through one checkpoint after another before disappearing into a waiting area.

And reality was waiting to hit us here


Inside, another enormous queue awaited us. It was a massive swarm of devotees packed together in winding lines. The guide who took thousands with a promise of VIP darshan was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished.


Without my phone, I was feeling nervous and helpless. I desperately wanted to turn back. But it was too late. The human tide had already taken over. With my toddler in my arms and my family behind me, I found myself sandwiched. Nobody was walking voluntarily anymore. I was being pushed forward.


The temple entrance still looked like a distant dream. For a few moments, panic took over as I worried about my child.

A failure of management


Officials appeared to be trying their best, but they were outnumbered. I couldn't help wondering how one of India's most important pilgrimage sites is still so unmanaged. And then came the stairs. So many of them. By now, carrying a toddler while navigating a packed crowd had become physically draining.

Messengers of god arrived


It was then something unexpected happened. Among thousands of devotees, a security guard noticed my situation. He stepped forward, took my child from my arms, and pulled me out and made me stand where he was stationed. He asked another official to help me. He kind of made a human shield around me and took me inside. It was still suffocating.


Yet I was thankful to the two god-sent help. In a place where people seemed eager to take money from pilgrims, these two simply chose to help.


The devotees were shouting. I honestly don't remember exactly what happened and I just looked up and things changed. Above me I saw the magnificent architecture. The towering structure and carvings. And then suddenly, I stopped noticing the crowd.


For a brief moment, I felt alone with my thoughts. I remember catching sight of two of the three wooden deities first. Then all three for just a few seconds. My father had lifted my toddler onto his shoulders. I don’t remember how I came out of the temple but I still remember the fresh breeze that welcomed me.


To this day, I can’t really say what I felt. Did I get the soulful temple experience I had pictured? Not really.


Did the crowds frustrate me? Hell, ya!


Was I disappointed by the self-appointed disappearing guides, and constant requests for money? Without question.


Yet, those few brief seconds of darshan, the sight of Lord Jagannath, made it bearable. The feeling of looking upward and finding stillness in the middle of chaos is something I can’t write in words.


Today, when I look back to the Puri journey, I remember both realities.


I remember the crowd, the confusion, the scammers, my crying toddler and irritated grandfather.


But I also remember the kindness of the security guards. I remember my parents and grandfather completing a pilgrimage. And I remember that brief glimpse of the deities that will stay with me forever.