The perils of pilgrimage in the age of the spiritual bucket list

Time of India

2 days ago

Earlier this week, the Amarnath Yatra, which witnessed a record turnout this year, was suspended after a woman was struck by a falling rock. Three weeks ago, a tourist bus carrying pilgrims to Badrinath fell into the Alaknanda river, killing four and injuring several other passengers. Around the same time, landslides along the Yamunotri route killed two on the way to the shrine. A day later, a helicopter heading to Guptkashi ferrying pilgrims from Kedarnath crashed, killing all seven on board. The recent Jaganath Puri Rath Yatra attracted more than 14 lakh visitors but the crush of people left three dead.
Why are religious festivals, yatras and temple tours now so congested and prone to tragedy? How has the private act of devotion turned into a noisy, lethal affair of crowd management? Can religion practised at such a monumental scale even be considered sacred anymore?
Inconvenience was once a crucial hallmark of any pilgrimage. In earlier days, when the Char Dhams were not connected by four-lane highways, when Vaishno Devi could not be approached by helicopter, and when the Tawang Monastery in Arunachal Pradesh didn't have luxury hotels at its doorstep, people walked. They trekked long distances on torturous mountain paths with narrow footholds, often camping in forests or along routes with barely any facilities. So selfless was the devotion that no pilgrimage was too arduous or painful. People moved slowly on foot, the old and infirm on horseback, making a journey in hope and uncertainty. God required the tedium of distance, patience and discomfort. Without it, what was the point?
Holy Rush: Every year, the crowds increase as do reports of landslides and mishaps
Today, travel to two of the country's most venerated places has changed dramatically. The approach to the Kashi Vishwanath temple in Varanasi was once through a torturous medley of narrow, disjointed streets that made the passage a difficult pilgrimage of discovery. Since the construction of the Kashi Vishwanath Corridor, the walk has been broadened, linking the city road approach to the river with a mix of local commerce — sari emporia, restaurants, sweet shops, and minor hotels. So too with Ayodhya. You fly out to the newly built airport, stay at a pre-booked hotel, visit the temple, eat out at a choice of restaurants, and live in relative comfort. Much the way you would at Disneyland or Niagara falls. Both places, more curated tourism than inconvenient pilgrimage.
Perhaps this is inevitable, given the sheer numbers. In 1980, the annual number of visitors to Vaishno Devi was nine lakh. Now, the figure stands at almost a crore. The Amarnath Yatra saw one lakh devotees in the first six days before its suspension due to landslides. These phenomenal increases are not just a reminder of population statistics, but point to the increasing commercialisation of religion. Pilgrimage has become a kind of spiritual bucket list, a series of checkboxes on life's tourist map: Two Char Dhams done, two more to go. Ayodhya—checked. Next up, Amarnath and Kailash Mansarovar.
Add to that the relentless pace of urbanisation in India's hill regions and the growing incidence of extreme weather events, and you have a recipe for more landslides, avalanches, swollen rivers, and flash floods. State govts will fall back on standard make-shift measures: widening trails where possible, proposing better crowd management, and increasing security personnel along routes. But without imposing controls on the number of pilgrims, these efforts amount to little. What's needed are strict caps on the number of daily visitors to match available facilities. More important is the removal of all forms of quick-access conveniences like ropeways or helicopter services so that pedestrian trails become the only option to sacred sites. Finally, there is a need to shut select temple and pilgrimage locations where excessive footfall is causing structural damage to buildings and the environment.
Now that commerce is deeply entwined with religion, the line between pilgrimage and tourism has all but disappeared. The sacred is increasingly packaged as a spectacle—easy to reach, easy to consume. As a result, more people will continue to flock to temples, shrines, and sacred rivers. But in the process, their sanctity may be lost forever.
Soon, the hills around Rishikesh are going to be added to another yatra on the pilgrimage map. A small, insignificant ashram that the Beatles visited in 1968 with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi is to be refurbished into an international tourist attraction. Will Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr come for the inauguration? Will the Ambassador car they travelled in be upholstered with new seats? Some forgotten pilgrim places are best left forgotten or, at best, marked by a small plaque on a wall.
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Views expressed above are the author's own.