The Goddess and the Demon

“It’s bigger than I imagined.” I said, looking down the window as the plane started its noisy descent into Jammu. From the air, hundreds of feet above the ground, it looked like your typical B-class Indian town. Neither big nor small. No visible character, not from that distance anyway. A few minutes later, we touched down, deplaned and walked into a small, dreary airport. My mother-in-law, my brother-in-law, my sister-in-law and me. We were here for the Vaishnodevi Darshan, of course (read this, if you forgot why). We got into a rental car and began our journey to Katra from where we would start the famed arduous walk to the shrine.

We were Vaishnodevi illiterates so to speak. We had small pieces of disconnected information: from the shrine websites and Google and friends who had made the trip years ago. But no real plan. We did not know what to expect really, except perhaps for a 6+ hour walk up the steep slopes of the Trikuta Mountain. We checked into a hotel in Katra, showered, came down to the lobby to ask the front desk about logistics. A rickshaw could put us by the base of the mountain in Banganga after which we just had to follow the signs. Food, water, blankets, everything was available on the way. We would not have to carry any supplies. I was only half listening to the desk manager, my attention diverted by thoughts of what I would expect to happen to me in the next few hours. “But you are lucky. Very lucky.” The desk manager was saying. “Purani gufa has been opened. After 21 years.” I wanted to know what Purani gufa was. “It’s the original path Mataji took. It is small and you have to crawl through it and there is water in it. You are very lucky it has opened today. After 21 years.” My mother-in-law was delighted. Surely, this was an auspicious sign.

And thus began our journey. On the Mahashivratri day. We bought chunari and chattras and some prasad and set about the climb. My mother in law decided she wanted to climb as much as she could. After which she would get a horse. We started the climb. The path was flanked by shops selling devotional music, dried fruit, walking sticks, pooja stuff, trinkets, clothes, blankets, photos in Kashmiri outfits and of course food. We window shopped, bought some water and walked and walked. My sister in law and I walked a little rapidly, anxious we might get tired sooner if we walked leisurely. We tried taking steps instead of the paved ramp to see if that worked out better. After climbing one such flight of five hundred stairs, my sister in law sat down on the low wall and decided to take a break while I climbed on. I could see her sitting down talking to a fellow pilgrim beside her. I thought nothing of it then and it was only later that my sister in law narrated what the woman had told her. Many years ago the woman had asked for a son to Vaishnodevi promising she would visit the shrine. A son had been born to her but she did not keep her end of the promise. A few years later, her parents passed away, then her husband, then her brother and her sister. She lost her entire family. A few weeks ago, her daughter had dreamt that if the woman did not visit the shrine, her daughter would die too. The daughter had implored her mother and they were both making the trip.



It was close to five in the evening. We had been walking for four hours and we had reached Adhkuwari. We convinced my mother in law to get a horse while we walked up the mountain. The unkind rays of the afternoon sun had given its way to a gentle evening light and a soft breeze had begun to blow. I felt no hunger or exhaustion. As we climbed up from Adhkuwari, the shops and food shacks grew fewer and fewer and I could finally feel my mind uncluttering. As the three of us walked at our own pace, I often found myself all alone with just my thoughts and the steady rhythm of my step. I was trying to make sense of it all. The weird quasi-dream that had driven me here, the purpose of such pilgrimages, the clichéd metaphors of life that they generally are. Here was my own metaphor for it. At the base of the mountain I was like a small child. Full of excitement and promise, not really knowing what lay ahead. A few kilometers down the line I was a teenager – the excitement was still there and along with it a fearless, can do attitude. I had a glimpse of what the climb would be like, and I was ready for it. And here, just a little over half way I found myself exactly where I was in my life right now. In my thirties. The can-do attitude had vanished. Doubt about my own abilities had crept in. I was unsure. But what choice did I really have than to go forward? I had reached a point where there we no horses available even if I wanted to ride one. I just had to walk on. Strangely though, my own silly metaphor comforted me. Because, if the climb represented the stages of my life, then I was going to get a glimpse of my future when I reached the top. What would it feel like to grow old and what would it feel like to shed this body?

My thoughts were interrupted by my brother in law. He wanted something to eat. A few minutes later we reached a small shack that sold rajma and rice and we ate some. I wasn’t really hungry but I thought the protein would do me good. Dusk was slowly creeping in on us. The air had turned cooler as we started to walk again. I could see the path we had taken and the shops and the town we had left behind. There was a sense of a quiet pride in the accomplishment. We had been walking for over six hours. We could see the top. I still didn’t feel tired. A strained muscle bothered me now and then, but it was not enough to slow me down.

As we walked on, my thoughts turned to the legend of the goddess. I had googled it. Mata Vaishodevi, climbed the Trikuta Mountain as she tried to flee from the tantric demon Bhaironath. She hid the in cave at Adhkuwari for nine months, was enlightened and finally slayed Bhaironath. As the dying demon repented, she blessed him saying that devotees who came to her shrine would also have to come to his shrine for the pilgrimage to be considered complete. The demon was as important as the goddess. Because, without him how could she have ever attained godhood? She had conquered the demon and he had stopped bothering her. He was dead. How had she done it? She had tried to flee from him, but he had pursued. It was only at Adhkuwari, after nine months, had she been born again – with knowledge and perhaps with vigor to demolish her pursuant. She had been enlightened and perhaps it was at that moment the demon had been really killed. In that one moment of true knowledge.

As we climbed to the top of the mountain, we got gorgeous views. It seemed so easy – looking down like this. It had been a good ride. And despite the doubts, I had done it. It was getting dark, and a refreshing chill had set in as we approached Bhawan. We found my mother in law who almost went to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. The horse ride had been bumpy for her. The horse was too big for her petite frame and her back ached. We took a little break and then went on to put our stuff in the lockers and stand in line for the darshan. My back was stiff and I longed to do the marjarasan (cat pose) I had been taught in Yoga classes to ease the stiffness. But to break out in a yoga pose here would look very odd and I decided to save that for the privacy of my hotel room. After three hours, the long line of people showed some promise of ending. I felt a slight sense of excitement and anxiety, but soon my thoughts which had been drifting away, turned to more immediate concerns. Hitching up my salwar to make sure it stayed dry in the icy waters. Plans to manage the yellow plastic bag with my chunari and chhatras and prasad as I prepared to contort my body to fit the jagged walls of the dark cave. My mother in law was having a difficult time navigating the cave but she soon found a way and I followed her. As I entered the shrine, I was surprised initially at how austere is really was. And then a sense of void washed over me. I felt utterly empty. As if everything inside me had simply vanished or better still had been neutralized (does this even make sense). It was a brief moment of utter calm and emptiness. There really is no word in English to denote what I felt. It was a nothing-ness. Shoonyata. I finally felt what that word really meant. It must have been only a few seconds and I had no idea what the priest was saying. I offered my plastic yellow bag and my mother in law asked for one chhatra and the chunari to be returned as prasad. I collected the things and walked out behind my mother in law.

I walked out into the open air and more confusion. That’s it? This is what it came down to? The simplicity of it all felt ridiculous. Surely there must be more to it. That now familiar voice of the old teacher was certain to reveal more. Somehow. As I walked on the cobbled stone to the lockers, the voice did return, but it was only with a single line. “I am glad you came and visited me.” Nothing more. I prodded inside my head for more but no other information was forthcoming. This was really it. Later, way past midnight, after we had eaten a simple dinner and rented horses for us to go back down the mountain, I had a chance to go back and think about my encounter. What startled me was the fact that it had been such a personal experience. BigGeek and Chip and my other family were not a part of it. It was something between me and her. There was no one else in the picture. This seemed it was my path alone and no one else could walk it but me.

Looking back, I am unsure if I should be putting a logical spin on the events that occured. I have tried to, but the attempt has been nothing but futile. Perhaps as the years go by, the answers to some of my questions will be revealed, or perhaps the answers will wait for me in another lifetime. The only thing I can say with certainty is this. I definitely haven’t seen the last of her. She will come again. And I will wait. And one day, when the time comes again, I shall pay her a visit.