Bhairav, Kali and Neelapani

June 13^th, 2014, 7:30 PM, NYC – “Hey Sherrin, Let’s check out something in Queens, They have nice Chinese restaurants”, said I to my dear friend and Han princess Sherry. She wanted me to have hot pot today, but my friend Raza, was a bit skeptical about hot-pot. Although Pakistan has had very warm historical ties with China but unfortunately this has not led Pakistanis to adopt Chinese hot-pot. They still go with their arch-rivals i.e. Indians when it comes to food and, biryani and Chicken Karhai brings them together at least in the gastronomically challenging situations.

Kali

“Abhi, I can't have those half-living crabs and pork ribs getting fried in the soup. It reminds me of the Koranic descriptions of hell, where all the kafirs and rebels like I are fried in the huge jars of boiling oil. I won’t have that stupid Pork. Having drunk like fish, this is the only Islamic thing which I still practice (practice of not eating Pork). This might save me”, said Raza with his philosophical grin. Finally we had some Chinese, some biryani and we ended up in Hard Rock café, where umpteen numbers of tumblers of beer were finished by an Islamic scholar from Pakistan and a confused philosopher from India. Chinese princess was composed, quiet and calm, and looked prettier as the intoxicated night with its lights, life, drugs, passion and music descended on New York City.

It was a beautiful night with amazing people, people of 21^st century, post-modern, rational, progressive, ambitious and free-spirited. I felt as if I was approaching towards my passion of working as a diplomat, where I would get to travel across the globe, see different cultures, meet different people, kiss the prettiest ladies and weave the most unheard of stories. I was drunk, romantic, poetic and happy. Sherrin was sitting beside me with her pretty eyes and Lake Hudson was right in front of me. I thought this would go on forever or when I would get up, I will be somewhere in Paris with Laure………………………………………….However, when I got up………………………………………………………

June 13^th, 2015, 7:30 PM, Neelapani Shiva Temple, Rajasthan- “Banna, we should have come earlier. This place is picturesque and has very mystic and charming natural scenery. At night, this place gets a little scary and dangerous. Did you just see that frightening light? Common, see, those stones are rolling down, towards us. I have always felt that this mountain is not just a mountain; it is a demon or jinn with an evil soul. I can hear the sound of heavy panting. Oh my God, where is this hyena laughing? These hungry spirits and ghosts will not spare us. We have brought whisky. I guess we should have brought a goat too and offered to these hungry, devilish and wild spirits. I suggest, we should move quickly”, said Thakur Mahendra Singh Ji.

I could see the light, the stones rolling like an army of panthers and I could also hear the hyena laughing but could never locate it in spite of my numerous efforts. When Mahendra Sa had told me in the evening that the place is scary, I thought it was just another superstition which has become a belief in the absence of education. I never expected the place to come up with such unusual, scary and strange phenomena. I was thinking of it as another adventure tour. The place was 20 kms far from the district headquarter of Dungarpur, a remote and backward tribal district in southern Rajasthan. The journey to this place on an old shaky bike through a dense and dark jungle was no less a challenge.

 I felt as if I was in mid-19^th century when India was a hot bed of mystical practices, strange and dangerous cults like Thugi which offered humans to Goddess Kali. My love for history had always generated multiple personalities in me. This time, when Mahendra Sa with his rustic and feudal grin was narrating stories of his deity and supernatural experiences, I was feeling as if I was an old caravan merchant who was being lured by a roaming Thug and soon I would be taken to some isolated place, robbed of my diamond bracelets, rings and muhars and, I would be strangled with the notorious coin and handkerchief. But, luckily in this birth I don't have diamond and Thugs never resurfaced, at least officially, after their suppression by Colonel Sleeman in 1835.

“These mountains are very peculiar, banna”, quipped Mahendra Sa. The mountains, three in number faced each other and looked rather strange, restless and revengeful as if three evil brothers with thick eyebrows, heavy mustaches and intense hatred for each other were about to pierce each other with a blood soaked dagger, over an old family feud and, right at that moment were cursed to turn into stones by a hermit. They looked as if the those three brothers were still standing there, with their blood soaked daggers and hatred mortified over the years, ready to pounce upon each other at the very first moment they become alive.

 The land enclosed by those three black, old mountains was a ti-raha (spot where three different routes meet) and it was flanked by two rivulets, Sarpini and Panchdevli which were famous for their venomous cobras. It was 8:15 in the evening and the darkness had enveloped the place as if death was to make a severe blow in the next moment, rendering the place frightening enough to make it most unsuitable for anything living and happy.“Bapu, this tiraha is very important in all tantric sadhna rituals (ancient mystic practices to acquire supernatural powers). I will tell you more about what happens at this place after 10 in the night, but, first let’s get out of here or else we are not getting back home, safe and alive”, uttered Mahendra Sa with little scare and fatigue in his eyes and voice, as if someone was draining him off his life-force. 

The moment we started the motor-cycle, I saw a huge python, appearing out of nowhere, right in front of our motor-cycle. The mountain pythons in the vagad region of Rajasthan are extremely dangerous creatures. They are said to have swallowed many bhil tribal girls. Somehow we passed that monster, and suddenly I saw stones rolling towards us on both sides of the road. Very next moment, I heard the hyena laughter increasing in pitch to the extent that it seemed the scariest ill-omen was happening, forecasting a dead end to human civilization. I had barely made my peace with that disturbing hyena laugh, and we were both invaded by a group of blood-sucking bats from the eternal skies.

“Quick, Mahendra sa, drive faster and get the hell out of here”, said I with fear and sinking senses. Finally, we were out of the 1 km periphery of Neelapani Mahadeo temple. Mahendra Sa immediately opened the whisky bottle and asked me to offer the whisky to the hungry souls in the vicinity, by pouring it on the ground. While I was doing that, he was chanting, “Om bhairvaay namah”(mantra to please Bhairav, form of shiva and lord of the ghosts and evil forces), kali(goddess kali represents aggressive and violent force of women power to kill demons and evil souls)  ---dushta dalan(killer of evil forces), chinnamasta(beaheader of heads). He then offered beer to me and he gulped the remaining whisky.

I was wondering in which domain of time and space, I was travelling. More than wonder, it created uneasiness, fear and a grip of something irresistible. Mahendra sa informed that he did his penances there and acquired his abilities to predict future, ward off jinns and control them. Just a  day before he had organized a Traatak puja( an esoteric worship form consisting of violent rituals to help humans to come out of their worldly problems, ward off spirits and mitigate the evil effects of planets sitting millions of light years away from us).

“Traatak is a very dangerous form of worship. If it goes wrong, banna, even the main priest can die. The place where you are standing is full of spirits as there happens to be a cremation ground nearby. The master lords of spirits Bhairav and Goddess Kali have also been invoked here several times. Last night, I sent three old priests from the Bhil tribe to perform this puja. We have to send bhils only”, uttered Mahendra sa. He said that normally Brahmins being the upper caste do not participate in this puja as it involves dirty rituals and it’s very dangerous. The Bhil priests readily agree as they are in poor economic conditions and their life style which involves consumption of alcohol and animal sacrifices is congenial to this form of puja. Because of economic needs they are willing to put their lives in danger.

 I have often been told that in feudal Rajasthan it has been the tradition to sacrifice people from lower castes and tribes first to protect the upper caste hindus. In medieval times when Muslim invaders demanded people for forcible conversion to Islam, the village Thakur would offer the Meghwals (lower caste people who make leather products). Whenever any ritual needed human sacrifice, the lower caste people were first to be offered.

“In this puja, three bhil priests led by kaigalaal  Damor started the puja at 12 in the noon. They were chanting mantras which are in distorted vagdi. These mantras have no written record. They have been passed over through generations through verbal tradition. These guys invoked all the spirits and sent them to distant locations to help a person whose house was occupied by a Jinn for last 100 years. The jinn was a very tough and strong spirit. Over the years it has become immensely powerful, cruel and angry and it was killing the first sons of that family. For privacy reasons, I cannot give you the names of that family. In these pujas the intensely powerful and forceful radiations travel towards the destination.”, quipped Mahendra sa with a sarcastic grin on his face as if he was explaining something of the most eternal and mysterious wisdom to a person who feels vain-glorious in his own modern world concepts of rationality and rejection and all that emanates from belief.

But, with the seepage of beer inside my mind, body and soul in that terrible heat, I was finding it much easier to comprehend and believe what he was saying. Meanwhile I heard the sounds of tin sheds falling on the ground in a nearby old, deserted house. I was quite surprised to see tin sheds falling and beating against the walls with such force and that too in the absence of any wind. When I asked Mahendra sa, he smiled and said that sometimes people get big degrees but fall short of petty wisdom. He said that this spirit wants us to leave soon as we have offered the alcohol and now they need a goat which we don’t have so let’s move.

Shiva Temple

While going back he continued his narration of the puja happenings which had occurred a day before. “The puja continued till 2:30 in the night. By then the spirits had become extremely hungry. They were about to sacrifice a goat and offer wine, but while slashing a goat, the dagger fell on the feet of the Kaigalaal by mistake and blood droplets came out. The very next moment, kaigalaal felt a big jerk on his neck, he puked and died on the spot”, told Mahendra sa. I was shocked and scared to the extent of my spines freezing. Before I could even speak a word, he told that these spirits wait for the first drop of blood in that state of intense hunger and if by mistake the human blood comes out or any other lapse happens in the puja, the chief priest of the puja will have to sacrifice his life.

“Kaiga Lal lost his life because of the minor negligence and his karmas in previous life. In fact it was not even an unholy death. It was a sacrifice to goddess Kali. Life is at the door-step of death every moment. Nothing is permanent except death which is discreetly approaching you each and every moment, from the day you are born, just like a man-eating adhvera (panther) chases you in dark wilderness with its nails ready to pierce your heart at the very first sight of yours, when you are on a spree to hunt him down. Those who are born will have to die”, thundered Mahendra Sa. A chill ran through my spine.

 I could feel a mosaic or finest blend with the most intricate texture of the 5000 years of India’s religious and philosophical development. Mahendra sa’s views compressed the journey of our civilization from vedic religion, buddha’s temporariness to the most violent rituals of the heterodox sects like shaktas and kapaliks. The acceptance of Kaigalal’s death as a sacrifice to Kali was not very different from the motivations of thugs who sacrificed innocent humans to Kali with a conviction and belief as firm as the rock of Gibraltor.

When I enquired about his master, he told me that there is a tradition of learning such mytic practices in the region. His master was Bholanath Ji who was an aughad (aughads stay nude and practice rituals in graveyards after midnight) saint. He said that Bholanath ji was a unique man and he was feared for his strange ways and miraculous powers. Once when he was getting shaved, police entered the house of the barber Jetha ram. He was so furious with the disturbance that he slapped the police officer and cursed the whole village that lightening will strike the village, killing at least a dozen people. Then he went to the nearby Shiva temple, took off his clothes and started wrestling with the Shiva lingam. The village elders got worried with his curse. They all went to him and begged him to take his curse back. He roared that the words can never be taken back, but if you insist, then I will do something. He ordered the village panchayat to organize a satsang(devotional songs for shiva) for a night and in return he would bring the lightening in the night. Following his orders, the satsang was organized. The night afterwards brought a devastating thunderstorm and lightening in which five trees were uprooted but not a single human life was lost.

Selfie with Thakur Saheb

While going back I saw a lone man and a woman going towards dangerous Neelapan. It was quite disturbing to me. I was about to ask Mahendra sa when he ordered me to stay quiet and not to look at that man and woman. After a while, he said “those two were the people who learn witch craft in Neela pani. They meet their masters on certain days and practice very weird and dirty rituals. Females who learn such knowledge are called ‘dayens’ in rural areas. In their training, they have to have tantric sex with their masters and partners who are different from their husbands. They even have to eat human excreta. They get their master’s approval only if they eat(kill) their son or husband with black magic. Then, they become addicted”.  After this, I did not have any question or any argument but only a strange fear of living with something unknown.

 We reached his house at 11 in the night, where after a refreshing beer; mutton freshly cooked in ethnic spices was waiting for me. Its aroma travelled into my nostrils just like beauty of a courtesan seeps through its erotic and sensual curves, into the heart of debauched king. Anyways, I was enjoying the sumptuous meal with the utmost satisfaction, feeling each and every bit of the taste as if in a fully aware meditative trance. And, Mahendra sa was sitting beside me, smiling through his mystic and assuring eyes, ready to narrate another story of being and non-being, humans, spirits and Kali.

21^st century India seems to have maintained a vibrant continuity with what it was 5000 years ago and this continuity is so deep, fine and intense that it runs through the fabric of our civilization just like an eternal soul. It seems that over the last 5000 years India has merely changed its body just like a man changes his clothes, as told by Krishna in Gita. The soul of India, unseen and divinely elusive has remained eternal and intact. This makes it so difficult to capture the idea of India which remains so abstract, metaphysical, and spiritual and like an unknowable darkness inside a closed door of an old fortress. The modern notions of nationalism, democracy, human rights, development, economic growth, social media and rationality are found to be utterly misleading, helpless and shallow when one tries to capture this country. This country is surviving with its myriad centuries, faiths and cultures existing simultaneously in a harmony which is mystic in its essence, workable for rotting and decadent social system and responsible for the miseries of nation wanting to make its mark in this post-modern world.

The sky-scrappers of Google, Microsoft and the big malls and supermarkets of Delhi and Mumbai are just the superficial layers. The candle-light marches for gay rights and live-in relationships are just like momentary ripples which can barely be felt without media. If these uppermost layers of the onion are peeled off, one finds real India in the beliefs and esoteric wisdom of Mahendra sa, in the sarcastic and mocking grin of Mahendra sa, in the irrationality of rationality, in absurdity of logic, in the wilderness of Neelapani and shrieking laughter of Neela pani hyenas.