A tale of a queue

It is 2:50 am on a busy May morning and the solitary road through Badrinath has an unusual calm. There are plenty of vehicles parked on the road - most of them are full of devotees trying to catch a wink before the day breaks. Others are already hustling silently towards the most popular destination around - the Badrinath temple.

The Badrinath temple is one of the most visited pilgrimage sites in the country and usually clocks close to half a million visitors per month when it opens for the summer. This year has seen unusually high crowds and long traffic jams in the hills and the temple expects a new record number of pilgrims.

As you reach closer to the temple, there is a sudden buzz in the air and a spring in the steps of everyone around. The food stalls are already open selling hot jalebis. The concoctions of "milk from natural cows fed with natural Himalayan grass" simmer away in almost every stall, but no one seems to be having these, as the temple beckons.  

It is 3 am and we already have a queue snaking up to 200 metres from the temple entrance. There are close to a thousand jostling in the queue and the length is increasing quickly, as hordes of devouts rush in. 

This is our second attempt to get the elusive darshan after pulling out of the queue the previous evening. Brimming with enthusiasm, we had moved barefoot to the end of a 700m queue. As the hours moved in, we realized that the queue barely moved 50m in 2 hours and the cold at 7 in the evening itself gave us the chills. It seemed logical to retreat and give it a fresh shot in the morning with additional layers of clothing. We were to learn later that many had to wait for seven hours the previous evening to enter the temple around midnight.

So, we are here at 3 in the morning trying to be one of the first to get the darshan, with the temple supposedly opening at 4. The queue does not move at the moment, but this seems to be a much shorter wait listening to the roar of the Alaknanda.

Throngs of elderly men and women huff and puff up the hill on the Mata Murti road fighting obvious high-altitude issues. There are many halts to catch their breath, but at 10,800 feet, it remains elusive. Most of the devotees have landed here after enduring longer queues at the other dhams. Kedarnath seems to be the worst with some horror stories of waits topping 12 hours in extremely cold and wet weather.

The Govt has mandated prior registration to visit these parts and the temple supposedly needs a pass for entry. However, with no one to check these, it is indeed a free-for-all. Policemen are conspicuous by their absence and the queue has to manage the discipline on its own.

As you wait, the tilak man walks along the queue looking for an opportunity to brand the name of the Lord on your forehead (for a price of course!). With nothing else to do in a queue that does not move, many devotees are more than eager to get it. Every time he comes around, he seems to have a new stamp, and most are keen to get branded.

There are specially minted golden Badrinath coins being sold for the princely amount of 10 rupees. The coin men insist that it is a steal, and you are one of the lucky few to be getting these new rare designs.

Then come the chaiwallahs to revive your spirits with a cup of tea and upping hopes with tales of the queue moving at breakneck speeds shortly. But the temple has not yet opened, and the queue does not move.

The plethora of shops sell prasad and encourage you to keep your shoes with them for safeguarding. They keep the shoes precariously on a ledge over the Alaknanda, and use a long stick to move them around. We tried using their services the previous night and realized very soon that this is no place to stay barefoot for hours. So, we have our shoes on and are risking keeping them unguarded closer to the temple.

At half past 3, the recorded chants and songs start, and there is a sudden upswing in the mood of the queue. There is a general consensus that when the songs stop, the temple will open and the queue will move. All hail the Lord! This is probably the zenith of the crowd mood.

The songs end at 4 am, but the queue does not move. There is a hustle and the tapasvi pilgrim behind me has started chanting the Lord's name. 

By 4.30 am, the chill in the air turns up a notch and the temperatures drop to 6° C. Devotees who have already deposited the shoes for safeguarding now have another battle to fight. It gets colder and colder and the tapasvi pilgrim now has a barefoot nightmare. The chant continues, but the crowd is getting impatient now.

Then come in the sneaky gang, who have no intentions to stand at the end of the queue. They come in various forms. There are the extremely "sick" folks who are struggling to stand and you have no choice but to let them in. And then there are the smarties, who come up and strike a conversation about the weather or the entry passes, and then you realize they are not moving away. There are sprinters who mysteriously run up and down one minute and come up right ahead of you in the queue a moment later. 

Time ticks along, but the queue does not move.

The place of tapasya also comes up with tests for the young men. Dolled up girls come up with a cheeky smile and look up to you as their only hope of getting a darshan. The tapasvi though does not get budged by these advances and asks them to move on. The abla nari makes an appearance, sometimes with a kid, and looks up to you to accommodate the two in the queue. Of course, they are requested to just move on with an assurance that the queue is just a little longer.

The excited and the expectant move further and reduce the gaps from the person in front. The line nudges ahead by 5 metres, but the queue does not move.

It is 5 am and you can see your breath in the morning chill. And also, the gracious police, who have made an appearance with a rope to cordon off the pilgrims. There is a sudden hullabaloo and there are dozens of folks jumping over the rope trying to get in the queue. A fight breaks off, and a lot of pushing around happens before normalcy is restored. The queue again does not move. The tapasvi is now humming film songs.

The Govt claims to be managing the crowds by issuing only 18,000 registrations per day. There are 3000 people in the queue at 5 am, and the number does not recede all day.

The know-it-all enters the scene now. He is strolling along with tales of queues past in Yamunotri and Kedarnath. He has others to secure his spot and claims to be trying to ensure discipline in the queue. Some look at him suspiciously - is he trying to get in?

An elderly person asks about the nearest restroom and is informed that if he leaves the queue, he cannot get back in.

The clock ticks down and a person blames the VIPs who have blocked darshan for the others. The know-it-all has read the newspapers and says VIP darshans are banned until the end of the month. In reality, no one knows what is going on.

The know-it-all realizes it's time for him to take a bath and requests his friend to help with it. Out comes a bottle of ganga jal, and he sprinkles it on his head and face and lo - he is ready for the darshan.

And suddenly, with the blessings of the Lord Almighty, the queue moves. There is a new type of sprinter now, who tries to run down the side of the queue to catch a slot ten pilgrims ahead. Another fight ensues, until he is restored back to his original slot.

As you move slowly towards the temple gates, there are several more shops selling prasad and the Badrinath coins are now being sold for throwaway prices of 5 rupees each. You can also see that the temple has a locker type arrangement for footwear right near the final entrance, but there is no signage to make anyone aware of it. Also, conveniently it is placed on the exit pathway, so devotees entering the temple have to throw their shoes into the right slot.

With the temple doors visible, another fight ensues as one group tries to barge into the queue by force. The police is summoned and they help push the group away and advise us that the queue needs to ensure discipline on its own. By now, the bhakti in the air is slowly being replaced by flared tempers as several innovative attempts are made to sneak in. More summoning of police ensues, and one of them comes up with some sagely advice - "the queue needs to take care of itself, how can a few policemen help? If no one allows anyone to barge in, then no one can really enter."

The queue really has become an entity of its own now and an aggressive one at that. All the penance of waiting since the middle of the night has led the queue to discover its own "third eye" and it seems that it would destroy anyone who barges in. This is one rowdy lot now and is ready to run riot.

As you finally reach the stairs leading to the temple, a sudden wave of bhakti hits you and the crowd and everything else is forgotten. Chants of "Badri Vishal ki jai" ring in the air, incongruously followed by "Om Namah Shivaya". The devotion is all empowering and propels you up further. You also realize that suddenly several folks are on video calls with their near and dear ones to ensure that they get the spoils of the atmosphere too.

As you finally reach the temple and are blessed with the darshan, there is a surprising calm and the heckling and pushing of the past few hours seems to be in another era. The aggression is nowhere to be seen and the crowd is now full of beatific gentle smiles, a miraculous transformation in a matter of minutes.

Abundantly displaying the power of bhakti, Badri Vishal's darshan makes the transformation impromptu and results in a queue of the blessed.