A door to the heavens

Early morning, as the cycle rickshaw made its way through the never-ending line of pedestrians to Swargadwar, Puri’s own sacred beach, it made me realise the first mistake of the day. A top angle point of view of holi isn’t all that great; the moment is pretty much earth-borne. And atop my rickshaw, I am clearly not a part of what is moving down there, busy baldheads incongruously embraced by colours, lepers at regular intervals and local beggars taking their day off to rub their untouchable shoulders with the babus from Bengal. They are all marching forward in great anticipation but cogently hiding what’s ahead around that distant corner. A sizable chunk of colour-splashed mankind, up and racing the sun.
Finally we leave the lot behind and the rickshaw puller gives out a sigh of relief as the long road shows mercy and starts winding down. It runs a straight line between the rows of shops and widens up before taking its final turn to the left. And there…the shops, the people and finally the road itself gives way to the eternal stretch ahead.

Life ceases, God begins.

Hundreds of dots silhouetted against the sun that glows sublimely from inside the gloomy blanket of an atmosphere thickened with prayers. They raise their hands to the sky, and move down to the sea, only to be swept fiercely back by the dark viscous waves. The colour of the holi disappears in the retrieving tides, revealing heads and limbs burdened and bowed down by guilt and confessions never made. The prayers convert into a roar loud enough to pierce the gloom overhead. The skies open up and the subjects of the Lord of the Lords bathe their sins off in the ephemeral radiance of their benevolent One.

There are other sights too, like that of our own Jack and Ross on honeymoon doing the Titanic with widespread arms, minus the ship but nevertheless greeting the sun as the local photographer captures the moment without fail. A little far away, an old woman, for a brief time forgets her date with the God and decides to have her time playing with the water.
I spend around thirty minutes allowing myself to be swept by the surreal surroundings. I make my way through the unvarying invocations and look around, only to realise I am only being looked at, from high up there.

On my way back, as I walk the road with the blessed ones, I don’t forget to take a look back. There are people still rushing in, leaving life behind and diving into the dark waters, dirty with the sins of the ones who dipped before. Colours and sins disappear, that’s what happens around that corner, all that crowd blend into one, to call out to Him in the same voice. The roar lowers down and I hear my rickshaw puller’s voice on top of it. He is waiting above the uphill wind. I wonder why he isn’t taking a dip. May be he’ll have a private date with the benevolent One later. May be for now, he’s too busy counting the money he gets carrying the reluctant sinners to Him.