22nd of January was no ordinary day – it was one where an ancient, wounded civilisation, neutered by tales of defeat and conquest and deracinated by the forced taille of secularism, finally rose to reclaim its dignity. The very people who were told, repeatedly, that they needed to die and let their faith be desecrated with a smile on their face simply because barbarians needed to be placated – rose. The very people who were told, repeatedly, that the burden of harmony and morality rested solely on their shoulders – rose. The very people who were told, repeatedly, that the truth about the genocide of their people, the rape of their women and the attempted annihilation of their faith was either a myth or a conspiratorial campaign against their aggressors – rose. The very people who were forced to accept their demise – rose. The very people who were humiliated, insulted, mocked, tortured and sacrificed at the altar of mythical harmonious co-existence – rose. Rose to say – thus far and no further. Rose in celebration and rapture. Rose in devotion. Rose to tell the world that they exist – and that they will continue to exist – just as they had for thousands of years.
On the 21st of January, as I boarded the flight from Delhi to Ayodhya, the sense of devotional triumph was palpable – it was almost tangible. With chants of Jai Shree Ram, a disparate lot, many of whom did not know each other, embarked on a journey to witness the rise of our civilisation – to finally witness the return of our God King after 500 years of bloodshed and struggle. To finally witness the Pran Pratishtha of Ram Lalla after countless devotees had given their lives up to ensure that the sacred Janmashthaan was freed from the legacy of invading barbarians and the symbol of their tyranny.
A few years ago, it was perhaps unthinkable that a nation of Hindus would rise to celebrate the building of the Ram Temple in Ayodhya and accept the merit of the demolition of the illegal structure in 1992 by Karsevaks. Internalised guilt and the burden of tyrannical acceptance was one that generations of Hindus had lugged around not just on their shoulders, but tied around their ankles like legcuffs. But this day was different.
As I landed at the Maharishi Valmiki International Airport, Ayodhya Dham, I saw a beautiful painting on the wall, welcoming Ram Bhakts.
Return of Lord Ram – the painting depicted.
Everything in Shree Ayodhya Dham immersed you in divinity, from that moment forward. The road from the Airport to the hotel was pasted with the images of Lord Ram and the air filled with Ram bhajans booming through speakers – some in the distance, some close by. Bikes and cars had saffron flags and as one drove, one would see groups of devotees marching through the streets chanting Jai Shree Ram – in perfect harmony.
Much has been said and written about the Pran Pratishtha ceremony itself – about the divinity of the occasion and the untamable tears that flowed as the Ram Lalla Murthi was infused with life. The images of Sadhvi Ritambara, the Sadhus and Sanyasis present, the several thousand invitees and the effusive words of Prime Minister Narendra Modi described the occasion far better than my words ever could.
As I walked through Ayodhya those two days amidst the lakhs that had taken to the streets to welcome Raja Ram and talking to hundreds of those present, the recurring thought was – ‘Is this what Ram Rajya might look like’.
Ram Rajya essentially signifies the ideal reign of Bhagwan Ram as described in the Ramayan – A Kingdom ruled by one who was the epitome of Maryada (the English language is hardly equipped to translate Maryana – but loosely, it would mean virtue, honour and the moral fortitude to do what is right) and a people who lived their life within virtuous bounds of Dharma, duty and honour.
I remembered a couple of verses that my grandfather often recited to me growing up:
सर्वं मुदितमेवासीत्सर्वो धर्मपरोअभवत् ।
राममेवानुपश्यन्तो नाभ्यहिन्सन्परस्परम् ॥ ६-१२८-१०१
And another:
रामो रामो राम इति प्रजानामभवन् कथाः ।
रामभूतं जगाभूद्रामे राज्यं प्रशासति ॥ ६-१२८-१०३
In the Yuddha Kanda of Valmiki Ramayan, an almost Utopian picture is painted of what Shree Ram Rajya would look like. A world where people did not feel jealous, did not steal or murder, respected women, there was no danger of wild animals or disease, everyone lived a virtuous life with happiness in their hearts, turning their consciousness towards Lord Ram and Dharma alone, performing their duties in the society with excellence and diligence.
Again, the English language hardly does justice to what Shree Ram Rajya is described as but suffices to say, that Ram Rajya was meant to accomplish what our modern legal system and ruling class struggle to achieve.
On the 21st of January, as I walked around Ayodhya, the fervour amongst Ram Bhakts was perhaps at its peak. Only hours before the Pran Pratishtha, lakhs (no exaggeration) had taken to the streets. The roads of Ayodhya are not too wide. In that cramped space, there were thousands singing, dancing, chanting Jai Shree Ram, eating, celebrating, talking and taking pictures. Amidst all of that, some Sadhus were talking to groups of youngsters and some were rolling on the ground on the path to the Ram Mandir – fulfilling their tapasya. This was not all – there were YouTubers and journalists littered on the same streets conducting their interviews and shooting their monologues.
Ordinarily, this would not be an ideal place for a woman to walk around alone at night. There are plenty of ways things could go wrong really quickly. Eve teasing, catcalling, theft, stampede, horrible comments and far worse. One of my earliest memories was walking to school as a child and being groped by a man walking beside me. In several reporting assignments, I have felt the glances. I have, numerous times, felt unsafe. This is not to say that I have never before experienced the generosity that people are capable of, however, anywhere in the world, as a woman, one cannot ever be too careful when walking around alone at night.
That night in Ayodhya, however, I felt safe. I felt like I was amongst my people who would not harm me. This was not just a figment of my religious imagination but several experiences that contributed to how I felt.
On the 21st, while walking on the Bhakti Marg, there was a stage erected where several Bhakts were dancing feverishly celebrating the return of Bhagwan Ram.
There was no smell of alcohol and while young men danced and celebrated in their fervour, they were extremely conscious of the presence of women and ensured that they were not touched even by mistake. While I did not go up on stage, Shefali Vaidya did. She later told me how the older boys dancing on the stage ensured that they pulled the younger men away from her, who might not have noticed her presence, to ensure that she felt safe there.
As I stood there, I could not peel my eyes of the safai karamchari who held on to his broom and started dancing while the music played.
As I walked ahead and stopped to have tea, I had random conversations with fellow Ram Bhakts – those who were not invitees but just people who had travelled to Ayodhya from different parts of the country in the hopes of getting one glimpse of Ram Lalla. One said, “I don’t know when I will go back. But I am here till I get the chance to do Darshan – whenever that is”. When asked the same question, I told them that I was an invitee to the Pran Pratishtha ceremony. Their immediate response was to remind me that this invite was a result of my Prarabdha karma – a collection and result of all my past karma in all my previous lives.
The tea vendor, on the other hand, spoke about how he did not doubt that a Bhavya Ram Mandir would be built in Ayodhya – how it was a matter of faith and pride for Hindus. He further spoke about how the Temple would benefit the city and its people by ensuring their economic success. Behind his stall, were three red bricks from his original building that was pushed back due to the government widening roads. He displayed them nostalgically but was happy that his city was changing – evolving – thanks to Bhagwan Ram’s homecoming.
The roads of Ayodhya were not just brimming with devotees, but Uttar Pradesh police officials who had a mammoth task at hand – ensuring order. With lakhs of people on the streets, the situation could devolve very quickly. One push, one shove, one harsh word and the order delicately maintained could come crashing down like a house of cards. One can only imagine the stress the Uttar Pradesh police was under – lakhs of devotees and thousands of dignitaries from across the country had descended on this little town that had simply never featured in the priority list of the previous governments as far as infrastructure development was concerned. Despite the obvious pressures of crowd management, VIP security and the threats by Jihadis that loomed large, in my time, I never saw one police official lose their temper.
I didn’t see even one officer speak rudely to a devotee. I didn’t see them raise their voice, push and shove the devotees or treat them disrespectfully, given they had dignitaries and VIPs to take care of. The police officials folded their hands and asked devotees to stand back. They called women Mata ji or behen – the men – bhai, beta. They helped anyone who needed it. Had beautiful, wide smiles on their face and were more than willing to listen. All of them responded with Jai Shree Ram.
On the day of the Pran Pratishtha ceremony, lakhs of devotees lined both sides of the street – starting from the Ram Mandir to about a 5-kilometer stretch. When I left the Ram Mandir premises after Pran Pratishtha and Darshan, I had several devotees come up to me to touch my feet – not because they knew me, my work or had unbound respect for me – but because I was present during the Pran Pratishtha ceremony, was one of the first people to witness the glory of Ram Lalla after Pran Pratishtha and had been in the presence of the divinity of their Aradhya. The police personnel who had to ensure safety and order as the VIPs would start leaving the premises soon had to ensure that the crowd stayed behind the barricades. It would be very easy for the police to rudely push people back. But the common bhakt was not once treated as an inferior entity lurking on the roads while dignitaries got priority. The police folded their hands and asked people to stand back – and to my surprise – people obliged with a smile on their faces.
While I walked the long road towards my vehicle, there was one Sadhu who did get a little angry perhaps legitimately so. “You are letting big people inside the Temple, not us”, he said angrily. In torn clothes, walking barefoot, the Sadhu was distressed. The police officer he was shouting at immediately bowed his head and apologised. “I am sorry, baba”, he said with folded hands. Almost immediately, the anger of the Baba disappeared and he blessed the police officer, placing both his hands on his head. “Kal aunga”, he said and left.
I decided to walk on the footpath to make the police’s life a little easier – at least for that moment. I approached a section where the footpath was cut off by a rope. I had to bend and cross the rope, a terrible task for someone who decided to wear heels. 4 Ram Bhakts immediately held the rope down so I could cross. Sensing that I was scared of tripping, a man clothed in saffron and holding a flag folded his hands and offered his arm to me – just in case I needed a little support. He folded his hand to send an important message – don’t be scared – I am just trying to help.
When I entered my hotel, finally, after walking for several kilometres and a short cab ride, the receptionist asked me if I had the fortune of being in the presence of Ram Lalla. When I said I had a fleeting Darshan, his face beamed – ‘Bahut Bhagyashaali hai aap’, he said.
Later at night, I decided to go out and walk around Ayodhya again. As I stood in front of the very tea stall I had visited a day before, a Shobha Yatra passed with a Rath carrying Bhagwan Ram and Maa Sita. The divider was full of devotees catching a glimpse of the Rath Yatra. I hesitated to cross over and join them – but when I did – several men made way for me and ensured that I got a good look.
The divider was full of devotees catching a glimpse of the Rath Yatra. I hesitated to cross over and join them – but when I did – several men made way for me and ensured that I got a good look.
I walked right up to Hanumangarhi Temple and then, decided to make my way to Ram ki Paidi – to take a walk along the Saryu. At 11 PM, I was walking along a largely deserted Saryu ghat with only a few people lighting Diyas.
The few people left at Ram ki Paidi at that unearthly hour, were eager to talk. We spoke about where we had come from, the jubilation of the Ram Mandir being built, PM Modi’s speech and how Ayodhya was brimming with a sense of community.
Did we change overnight? Did we become kinder to each other suddenly? Was there a fundamental shift in our consciousness? A part of me likes to believe there was. Civilisationally, it was perhaps only after the Karseva that Hindus came together in collective devotion. It was perhaps only after the Karseva, for the first time, that Hindus from across the globe felt like one undivided monolith – a community. Or perhaps it was the majesty of faith. Of victory. Of Dharma. Maybe, it was what true Ram Rajya looks like – a virtuous state with a dignified population. One where there is no theft or murder. One where women are respected. One where our consciousness is so overcome with devotion towards Bhagwan Ram, that there is no space for Dwesha. One where Dharma reigns supreme.
While I repeat often that it is my job to be a pessimist because the ugly, stark, dirty and blood-soaked truth cannot be spoken in a state of hope and bliss, and that every day, I feel like I am documenting the end of my people, Ayodhya gave me the strength to hope. Hope that as a people, as a civilisation – we are not lost. That despite historical and ongoing atrocities, faith can bring us together – faith can drive civilisational reclamation and revival. On 22nd January, our ancestors rose in Ayodhya – to show us the way forward – sparking hope even in a professional doomsayer like myself.
