Deepavali in Naggar - Nov 2012

(This was published in EPW Sept 12, 2015 Issue ... reproduced below with photos)

Deepavali is only a few days away and the uppermost thought in my mind is to get away from home. For home is a teeming metropolis given to an orgy of uncivilised celebration, assaulting the senses, poisoning the air and making the vulnerable sick. 

Hurtling through the night in a volvo, I manage to put enough distance behind me. The morning finds me in a local bus making its way up slowly on a winding road on the left bank of the Beas.

Naggar

The Kulu valley is just a few km wide here with hills rising steeply on either side. The flat area near the river and the lower hill sides are dotted with habitations. Apple orchards fill the open spaces, the trees in their winter form, bare and leafless.

In an hour or so we reach a busy market place. The village of Naggar is located up a hill a short walk from here. Naggar will be my refuge for the next few days. A road heads upwards with many switch backs. I lumber along with my backpack. Near the top, I locate a family run guest house which has a room with a view.

And what a view it is! Sitting on the balcony, I look down upon the Beas flowing far below. Across the river, the hills rise in layers with scattered snow marking the tallest peaks. The room is cold but the sun splashed balcony perfect. I can spend the days here easily doing nothing. 

But Naggar is not without other attractions.

The Castle

 Dominating the village is a dignified old rectangular structure, made entirely of wood and stone, grandiosely named ‘The Castle’. Once the palace of a Kulu Chieftain, it was appropriated by the colonial administration and is now a state run hotel with beautiful views and expensive rooms.

The courtyard of the ‘Castle’ contains a pretty little temple - known by the name Jagatipatt - that houses only a stone slab with a special significance. The courtyard and temple are deserted today, but in a few days I will have occasion to see the place again in a different light.

Just a little further on the winding mountain road going past the village is an art gallery, once the home of the renowned Russian painter Nicholas Roerich. I spend an interesting afternoon immersed in paintings of Himalayan landscapes and peoples.

The temple in Rumsu

The same road continues its way up to the ancient village of Rumsu which has well preserved structures built in traditional style. I thoroughly enjoy a morning visit to Rumsu.

A steep cemented staircase leading off the road provides a shorter path to the village. As I gain height, the distant brown hills take on a golden hue in the morning sun. The air is filled with birdsong. A school boy races down past me. It is 7.30 in the morning and people are already out working – collecting hay for their horses and cattle, laying out the golden corn cobs on their roofs to dry in the sun. I pass the village temple, a beautiful tall structure of wood and stone and then reach the main square, a large open space with more old temples. At the other end of the village there is an area fenced off with a small shrine in its midst and a sign warning people against entering for the devtas reside here.

 Deepavali day arrives. Stepping out for a morning walk, I see a group of men in traditional Kulu caps collecting at the Castle entrance. The sound of drums and trumpets emanates from within. There is perceptible excitement in the air. I decide to join the group.

The Jagatipatt temple in the courtyard is the centre of the action. The courtyard fills up rapidly. I learn that a visiting devi – accommodated in the temple overnight - will now depart. It is a very special occasion for the people of Naggar. This devi has come here after 370 years!

An elaborate ritual is now played out.

A band of musicians with long curved trumpets and large drums stand facing the temple, playing their instruments. The palki is taken out and readied. A white lamb brought for the occasion is sacrificed and its head offered to the devi before she is moved into the palki, now resting on the shoulders of two strongly built young men. Village elders gather around.

An elder takes up a litany in Kului; the crowd supports his supplications when he pauses. I understand enough to make out that he is pleading with the devi not to leave. The palki sways in the direction of the exit, indicating the devi’s wish. Other elders take their turns, pleading. The crowd is sombre, moved by the entreaties, awaiting the inevitable. A burly priest who has all along been conducting the ceremonies in a business like fashion starts sobbing. The time, it appears, has come.

Young men bearing flags lead the way out followed by the musicians. Then comes the palki escorted out by the people from Naggar. The procession, perhaps a hundred strong, marches swiftly downhill. I join in, revelling in the energy of the crowd.

The marchers are warm and friendly, recognizing me as an outsider. I am invited to come with them all the way. That is when I learn that they are on a really long march. The destination for the day is Kullu, 25 km away! The devi will reach her final abode in the mountains only tomorrow and she has already been travelling for 8 days!

At the next village on the route, I bid goodbye to my fellow marchers and take a bus back to Naggar. The walk to my room takes me past houses decorated with pleasing arrangements of leaves and flowers. It promises to be a beautiful Deepavali day.