Pashupatinath Temple holds a special place in the hearts of the followers of the Vedic tradition. For centuries, this sacred land has drawn pilgrims, seekers and sages. It is believed that the panorama here, with the serene Bagmati emerging out of the labyrinth of hills that leads to the main temple, has served as a source of enlightening revelation for countless accomplished ascetics.
Legend has it that even Lord Shiva himself found his peace here. One widely-accepted legend maintains that he was so bewitched by the beauty of this place that he incarnated as a deer and settled in its forest, which derived its name as Mirgasthali. Alarmed by the absence of the great cosmic force, Lord Brahma and Lord Vishnu left their heavenly abode and came to earth. In the process of their quest to find Shiva and the events that unfolded in its wake, the sacred Pashupatinath came into being. Needless to say, it is difficult to establish the date when this might have happened, as it is with most of the events that go back to the origin of our Vedic tradition. What is certain, however, is that for centuries Pashupatinath has served as a congregational hub for the ascetics and devotees, and that, to an experienced soul, the rhythm and ecstatic pulse of those innumerable devotees can still be made out on certain nights.
President Bhandari extends best wishes on the occasion of Maha...
Last night, the night of Maha Shivaratri, for example, there was something about the trees and the structures that surround the main temple. From the funeral ghats to the distant bend of the Bagmati, everything was clothed in the undisturbed atmosphere of silent longing. It seemed as if a voice, barely audible, was beckoning one to shed off every concern of life and get whisked away into the world of pure nothingness. As if there was some unuttered truth out there which, not one’s mind but only one’s soul could feel, and that, that voice, like an innocent little kid, was tugging one’s arm to pause a moment, hold one’s breath and absorb this truth.
Whether it was due to subconscious awareness of this spiritual truth or due to the simple expression of faith which had brought them here, the same quiet longing observed on funeral ghats and, everywhere else, could be deciphered on the calm, strongly-set face of a group of Rajasthani ladies sitting on the sidewalk. “We are from Rajasthan,” one woman in a traditional Rajasthani saree said. “Yes, we came here for the Pashupati baba.” Not their words, but that assurance in their eyes was revealing what only on special nights like this can be found mirrored in that friendly gleam of people’s eyes.
And this gleam, this silent truth was everywhere: in that perfect calmness of LGBTQI individual asking for alms, in that poverty-stricken despair of a little girl in Maa Parvati’s attire, in that restless rush of the crowd chanting, Jai Shambhu!, in those trees and houses, in that eternal darkness that extends between the earth and the stars. “We are all seeking ourselves,” one ascetic, with a huge crown that framed his head, said. After a pause, in that same austere Hindi, he added, “Even you, even that child, all. Maha Kaal will deliver all of us.”
Drunk with longing one feels connected to everything on such nights. The crowd and the musical echo of those footsteps that ring in the air, bring joys of unexpected nature. On occasions like these, the question of whether god exists or not retreats behind the more profound, pressing experience of truth, the truth that all nature, both animate and inanimate, everything, belongs to one cosmic reality. The night of Maha Shivaratri, on which different energies came into union, is a celebration of this truth.
