SULTANGANJ (BHAGALPUR): The month long Shrawani Mela was officially declared open by deputy chief minister Sushil Kumar Modi amid repeated chants of "bol bam" by a huge gathering of 'kanwarias' at new Sirhighat in Sultanganj on Tuesday afternoon.
Modi was accompanied by urban development minister Prem Kumar, agriculture minister Narendra Singh, health minister Ashwini Chaubey, tourism minister Sunil Kumar Pintu and Banka MP Putul Devi, among others.
Much to the happiness of 'kanwarias' and local citizens, the deputy CM said efforts had been made to ensure uninterrupted power supply to the Sultanganj area during the fair. He, however, added the Centre would have to collaborate with the state for the purpose and allocate more electricity from the central pool for the benefit of pilgrims.
Referring to the installation of solar lamps on the Sultanganj-Deoghar route the 'kanwarias' use, he said this would make the pilgrimage easy. A sum of nearly Rs70 crore has been spent on the construction of new roads, culverts etc, he said and added the new path had reduced the distance of pilgrimage by few kilometres.
Underlining the importance of Sultanganj for Shrawani Mela, Modi said the infrastructure and facilities on the route improved every year since NDA came to power in the state. The area would be further developed with modern amenities for the pilgrims, he said and added the number of 'kanwarias' was increasing every year.
An estimated one crore pilgrims from across the country and Nepal and Bhutan travel to Sultanganj on the way to Deoghar in Jharkhand to pay obeisance to Lord Shiva. Devotees collect the holy water of the Ganga from the Sultanganj ghat, where the Ganga becomes 'uttarvahini' (flowing northwards). The devotees then cover a distance of nearly 105km on foot, chanting 'bol bam', to reach the Shiva temple at Deoghar.
Security has been strengthened at the famous Shiva temple in Deoghar in ahead of a 30-day festival .
During the festival, around four million people visit the Baba Baidyanath temple to offer holy water.
Story of Shiva Temple in Deoghar:-
As Ravan, the ten-headed demon king of Lanka (identified with present Sri Lanka) started urinating a gleeful expression filled his faces. His eons long penance at the foothills of mythical Mt. Kailash, the abode of Shiva in the Himalayas, had finally shown results. Not only had the fiery god appeared before him but also, as a boon, agreed to settle in his kingdom. “And with Shiva on my side,” Ravan thought while surveying the landscape overflowing with his discharge, “I am unconquerable.”
The urge to see this still existing piss-pond had me at Deoghar, the cultural capital of the tribal state of Jharkhand in eastern India. It turned out to be a journey that unfolded a hitherto little known facet of this religious destination. It was at Deoghar that firebrand nationalist, Aurobindo Ghosh, before turning towards spirituality, made bombs and perfected the art of using them on the nearby Digaria hills.
Another well-known 19th century social reformer from Bengal, Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar also settled in its vicinity, at a place now named after him, Vidyasagar. Other Bengali landed gentry too had flocked to Deoghar, about 250 km from Kolkata, in large numbers and constructed huge havelis to while away their time in the region’s salubrious climate. Forsaken by their owners, who later settled in Kolkata, these mansions lie in a state of neglect and decay, perhaps waiting for a conservator’s hand.
As I alight at Jasidih railway station, after 20-hour train ride from New Delhi, a spectacle of orange humanity, returning home from their pilgrimage, overflowed its three platforms. Another 4 km covered in a packed jeep dropped me at the defunct Clock Tower, its two arms permanently stuck, in the centre of the town. The timing could not have been better.
Deoghar appeared as if it was under siege. The orange brigade moved about nonchalantly and filled up the marketplace, devouring, like locusts, everything that came their way.
Loudspeakers blared popular numbers. One of which had Shiva pleading with his wife, Goddess Parvati to prepare his daily quota of hemp (Cannabis sativa). Shops lined up on both sides of the road and a row of stalls selling trinkets and souvenirs had come up right in the middle. It got narrower until about 1 km ahead it turned into one of the numerous alleys leading to the temple. Pushed by the surging onrush, here it was futile even to attempt to walk.
Called kanvariyas, these men and women wearing orange robes throng Deoghar every year, during what is claimed to be the world’s longest fair, in the Hindu month of Shravan (mid-July to mid-August), after an arduous 108 km barefoot walk from Sultanganj on the banks of Ganges. Here they collect the river’s holy water in two plastic containers and carry them over their shoulders in a wooden kanvar limping on their blistered feet to pour it on the Lingam, Shiva’s phallic form, at Deoghar, in an act of libation.
After performing their oblations, the kanvariyas visit another Shiva temple at Basukinath, 43 km away. Though it is not compulsory to cover this distance on foot still a large number, leaving no stone unturned to extract boon from the Lord, prefer this mode of movement.
An entirely different category of kanvariyas are Dak Bums. Occasionally, I had to make way for these marathon devotees, attempting to cover the distance, as stipulated in scriptures, within 48 hours. Such is the preferential treatment accorded to them that the administration, in their surprise checks, regularly flushes out hundreds of fake Dak Bums. No one is expected to come their way. It is considered sinful.
So when someone tapped on my shoulder I pressed to one corner. A tall man came by my side and while hardly slowing his long stride, blurted out, “My name is JP Singh and I’m a Mining Engineer. You can jot it down.”
The suddenness of it, and with one of his smiling companions staring at my blank face, left me clueless. He could sense my bewilderment and added, “I was with the priest whose picture you had taken. You wrote his name but not mine.”—And was lost in the melee.
At the temple complex, comprising of, apart from the main Shiva temple, twenty-two shrines of other gods and goddesses, even atheists would turn believers. With only one low door, both for entrance and exit, the dimly lit tiny sanctum sanctorum gets claustrophobic. And with frantic arms rushing to embrace the Lord, few inches below the floor, it is difficult to believe how anyone can come out unscathed.
Maintaining order is an ordeal. Even the continuous charge of frayed sticks by the policemen does little to deter them. “No duty could be as tough,” exclaims Awadhesh Kr. Singh, Inspector of Police. “We change personnel every 30 minutes.”
“Such is the onrush,” many believe, “ that the original stone Lingam has disappeared long ago from the friction of the worshipping hands and has been replaced by a modern replica.”
“Perhaps even Shiva found it difficult to sustain himself amidst his devotees’ woes.” A thought surges within me. “He must have vehemently cursed the treacherous gods for stealing and then deserting him, fearing Ravan’s wrath, amongst mortals.”
Having worsted gods on innumerable occasions Ravan was a formidable power. Therefore, when Gods came to know of Shiva’s boon, they panicked. Fearing their annihilation they devised a plan. According to which, Vishnu, the Preserver, caused in Ravan a strong desire to pass water. Unable to hold himself and aware of Shiva’s condition that he should not keep him down, Ravan frenetically looked for someone around. His eyes fell on a shepherd.
As he eased himself, according to mythology, for centuries because gods had routed a river (some say the God of the rivers, Varun) through his bladder, the shepherd, none other than wily Vishnu, promptly kept Shiva on the ground and ran away. When Ravan returned, he seethed with anger. He understood the God's ploy but could not do anything. All his pleadings fell on deaf ears. “I won’t budge an inch,” Shiva reminded. “I had warned you.”
From the temple the pond is about 4 km away at a place called Harlajodi. Surrounded by green paddy fields in a lush countryside—wonder whether Ravan has a role in it—the sight turned out to be an ante-thesis to this spectacular journey.
“Are you sure this is it?” I ask five kids. And they nod in unison. It was a quite evening, a far cry from the hullabaloo of the town. Adjacent to it there is a temple but hardly any faithful. On their direction I negotiate a declined dirt track skirting turds. It was here that I had its first glimpse. Hopping carefully on the gravely path I reach the edge of the little precipice. From there I jump to reach the water. I felt let down.
What confronted me hardly resembled a poodle. And fed by a tiny seasonal stream, every wee bit of it, shorn of its mythical grandeur.
“Ravan’s ten heads,” I have no doubt, “they must still be down with disgust.”
Modi was accompanied by urban development minister Prem Kumar, agriculture minister Narendra Singh, health minister Ashwini Chaubey, tourism minister Sunil Kumar Pintu and Banka MP Putul Devi, among others.
Much to the happiness of 'kanwarias' and local citizens, the deputy CM said efforts had been made to ensure uninterrupted power supply to the Sultanganj area during the fair. He, however, added the Centre would have to collaborate with the state for the purpose and allocate more electricity from the central pool for the benefit of pilgrims.
Referring to the installation of solar lamps on the Sultanganj-Deoghar route the 'kanwarias' use, he said this would make the pilgrimage easy. A sum of nearly Rs70 crore has been spent on the construction of new roads, culverts etc, he said and added the new path had reduced the distance of pilgrimage by few kilometres.
Underlining the importance of Sultanganj for Shrawani Mela, Modi said the infrastructure and facilities on the route improved every year since NDA came to power in the state. The area would be further developed with modern amenities for the pilgrims, he said and added the number of 'kanwarias' was increasing every year.
An estimated one crore pilgrims from across the country and Nepal and Bhutan travel to Sultanganj on the way to Deoghar in Jharkhand to pay obeisance to Lord Shiva. Devotees collect the holy water of the Ganga from the Sultanganj ghat, where the Ganga becomes 'uttarvahini' (flowing northwards). The devotees then cover a distance of nearly 105km on foot, chanting 'bol bam', to reach the Shiva temple at Deoghar.
Security has been strengthened at the famous Shiva temple in Deoghar in ahead of a 30-day festival .
During the festival, around four million people visit the Baba Baidyanath temple to offer holy water.
Story of Shiva Temple in Deoghar:-
As Ravan, the ten-headed demon king of Lanka (identified with present Sri Lanka) started urinating a gleeful expression filled his faces. His eons long penance at the foothills of mythical Mt. Kailash, the abode of Shiva in the Himalayas, had finally shown results. Not only had the fiery god appeared before him but also, as a boon, agreed to settle in his kingdom. “And with Shiva on my side,” Ravan thought while surveying the landscape overflowing with his discharge, “I am unconquerable.”
The urge to see this still existing piss-pond had me at Deoghar, the cultural capital of the tribal state of Jharkhand in eastern India. It turned out to be a journey that unfolded a hitherto little known facet of this religious destination. It was at Deoghar that firebrand nationalist, Aurobindo Ghosh, before turning towards spirituality, made bombs and perfected the art of using them on the nearby Digaria hills.
Another well-known 19th century social reformer from Bengal, Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar also settled in its vicinity, at a place now named after him, Vidyasagar. Other Bengali landed gentry too had flocked to Deoghar, about 250 km from Kolkata, in large numbers and constructed huge havelis to while away their time in the region’s salubrious climate. Forsaken by their owners, who later settled in Kolkata, these mansions lie in a state of neglect and decay, perhaps waiting for a conservator’s hand.
As I alight at Jasidih railway station, after 20-hour train ride from New Delhi, a spectacle of orange humanity, returning home from their pilgrimage, overflowed its three platforms. Another 4 km covered in a packed jeep dropped me at the defunct Clock Tower, its two arms permanently stuck, in the centre of the town. The timing could not have been better.
Deoghar appeared as if it was under siege. The orange brigade moved about nonchalantly and filled up the marketplace, devouring, like locusts, everything that came their way.
Loudspeakers blared popular numbers. One of which had Shiva pleading with his wife, Goddess Parvati to prepare his daily quota of hemp (Cannabis sativa). Shops lined up on both sides of the road and a row of stalls selling trinkets and souvenirs had come up right in the middle. It got narrower until about 1 km ahead it turned into one of the numerous alleys leading to the temple. Pushed by the surging onrush, here it was futile even to attempt to walk.
Called kanvariyas, these men and women wearing orange robes throng Deoghar every year, during what is claimed to be the world’s longest fair, in the Hindu month of Shravan (mid-July to mid-August), after an arduous 108 km barefoot walk from Sultanganj on the banks of Ganges. Here they collect the river’s holy water in two plastic containers and carry them over their shoulders in a wooden kanvar limping on their blistered feet to pour it on the Lingam, Shiva’s phallic form, at Deoghar, in an act of libation.
After performing their oblations, the kanvariyas visit another Shiva temple at Basukinath, 43 km away. Though it is not compulsory to cover this distance on foot still a large number, leaving no stone unturned to extract boon from the Lord, prefer this mode of movement.
An entirely different category of kanvariyas are Dak Bums. Occasionally, I had to make way for these marathon devotees, attempting to cover the distance, as stipulated in scriptures, within 48 hours. Such is the preferential treatment accorded to them that the administration, in their surprise checks, regularly flushes out hundreds of fake Dak Bums. No one is expected to come their way. It is considered sinful.
So when someone tapped on my shoulder I pressed to one corner. A tall man came by my side and while hardly slowing his long stride, blurted out, “My name is JP Singh and I’m a Mining Engineer. You can jot it down.”
The suddenness of it, and with one of his smiling companions staring at my blank face, left me clueless. He could sense my bewilderment and added, “I was with the priest whose picture you had taken. You wrote his name but not mine.”—And was lost in the melee.
At the temple complex, comprising of, apart from the main Shiva temple, twenty-two shrines of other gods and goddesses, even atheists would turn believers. With only one low door, both for entrance and exit, the dimly lit tiny sanctum sanctorum gets claustrophobic. And with frantic arms rushing to embrace the Lord, few inches below the floor, it is difficult to believe how anyone can come out unscathed.
Maintaining order is an ordeal. Even the continuous charge of frayed sticks by the policemen does little to deter them. “No duty could be as tough,” exclaims Awadhesh Kr. Singh, Inspector of Police. “We change personnel every 30 minutes.”
“Such is the onrush,” many believe, “ that the original stone Lingam has disappeared long ago from the friction of the worshipping hands and has been replaced by a modern replica.”
“Perhaps even Shiva found it difficult to sustain himself amidst his devotees’ woes.” A thought surges within me. “He must have vehemently cursed the treacherous gods for stealing and then deserting him, fearing Ravan’s wrath, amongst mortals.”
Having worsted gods on innumerable occasions Ravan was a formidable power. Therefore, when Gods came to know of Shiva’s boon, they panicked. Fearing their annihilation they devised a plan. According to which, Vishnu, the Preserver, caused in Ravan a strong desire to pass water. Unable to hold himself and aware of Shiva’s condition that he should not keep him down, Ravan frenetically looked for someone around. His eyes fell on a shepherd.
As he eased himself, according to mythology, for centuries because gods had routed a river (some say the God of the rivers, Varun) through his bladder, the shepherd, none other than wily Vishnu, promptly kept Shiva on the ground and ran away. When Ravan returned, he seethed with anger. He understood the God's ploy but could not do anything. All his pleadings fell on deaf ears. “I won’t budge an inch,” Shiva reminded. “I had warned you.”
From the temple the pond is about 4 km away at a place called Harlajodi. Surrounded by green paddy fields in a lush countryside—wonder whether Ravan has a role in it—the sight turned out to be an ante-thesis to this spectacular journey.
“Are you sure this is it?” I ask five kids. And they nod in unison. It was a quite evening, a far cry from the hullabaloo of the town. Adjacent to it there is a temple but hardly any faithful. On their direction I negotiate a declined dirt track skirting turds. It was here that I had its first glimpse. Hopping carefully on the gravely path I reach the edge of the little precipice. From there I jump to reach the water. I felt let down.
What confronted me hardly resembled a poodle. And fed by a tiny seasonal stream, every wee bit of it, shorn of its mythical grandeur.
“Ravan’s ten heads,” I have no doubt, “they must still be down with disgust.”
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