Landing is the least favourite moment of my journey; it makes me feel terribly dizzy and not right in my stomach. I looked at the comparatively small airport filled with turbaned men, and women, some sober, some loud. Tugging at my turquoise trolley, I went ahead looking for a cab to reach my destination. In a good forty minutes, I reached Shivaay Grand, the hotel, which was located in the heart of the old market area.
Amritsar in the early hours, with all its shutters down, appeared to be an extremely quiet place. For the early morning ceremony of the Palki Sahib, the owner of the hotel directed me to the Golden Temple complex. Harmandir Sahib was a long walk from the hotel. The labyrinth of streets posed a challenge. Heads either covered in chadars, big white handkerchiefs or turbans rushed towards the sanctum. I left my slippers out as most do and cleansed my feet in a small pool of cool water. Engulfed in a sense of otherworldliness, I shuffled through the crowd. There lay in front of me a serene sarovar (a bathing pool believed to have healing powers) that reflected the purplish sky and the surrealistically lit Golden Temple. It seemed like the Golden Temple was afloat.
I rushed straight to join the queue, women and men alike were chanting prayers, waiting their turn patiently. There were thousands of people and surprisingly decorum was maintained throughout, while the Kirtan – the Shabad Kirtan (holy songs accompanied by a tabla and harmonium) played on in the background. Finally my long wait had ended, content with my prayers, I found myself straying away from the queue, heading towards the sarovar, if not for the tap on my shoulder. I turned around and came face to face with an old Sardarji holding onto a big utensil ready to serve me the Karah Prasad, a halva made of whole-wheat flour. I accepted the Prasad with cupped hands and thanked him.
Wrapping my chadar properly around my head, I leisurely walked towards the sarovar. I sat on the marble parapet, dipping my fingers into the cool water of the sarovar. My thoughts led me to a land incorporeal and tranquil. I closed my eyes and relaxed my body, breathing in the spiritual energy. I was pulled out of my reverie soon, somebody had been calling me, “Bhenji, bhenji, uth jaiye” (Sister, sister, get up). I sprang up almost instantly, uttering several apologies. Sri Guru Granth Sahib was being escorted in the Palki or the palanquin, laden with flowers and all the devotees were singing the Gurbani kirtan (hymns). Within a stretch of an hour, everything was calm again and people started to sit. Some absorbed in seva (cleaning the Golden Temple); some busy capturing the picturesque scene and other early risers taking a dip in the inky lake.
The orangish-golden medallion like sun transfixed me. The quietude of the moment left me intoxicated and filled me with a Zen-like peace. To a person looking at the view from above, it would appear to be a site of pure beauty merged with devotional hymns proclaiming ishq (highest form of love) for the divine.
Soon it was time for the langar (a communal free kitchen). After grabbing my steel plate and cup, I sat cross-legged on a chatai (a mat), humbled, awaiting my share of the langar. A man in a yellow turban served steaming chai (tea). The muddy brown chai was sickeningly sweet. A boy, of about 10 years, shyly held out a steel plate of elaichi toast from which I took two. Sated at having had my fill, I slipped out of the hall, still in the daze of an exhilarating experience, muttering to myself, ‘Subah ho gayi’ (It is morning).
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