So, all of last week, like every other Gult-Bram (Telugu Brahmin), I was on my yearly temple hopping trip with my family. This is one of the two trips of the year we embark on together as a family. Though I am not an overtly religious person, I do believe in a Higher power, and the relish the beauty and architecture of the temples. I enjoy the positive energy vibes that I get from the place. I also feel like I am accumulating a little bit of punya this way!
When we usually visit one particular temple in South India, we usually choose to ascend the temple perched upon the hill, by foot, using the staircase built for this purpose. The journey uphill usually takes between an hour and two. It's quite an arduous task, as the steps are quite old and high. On most days they're also slippery with all the haldi and kumkum pastes that people who wish to fulfill mannats dab upon the face of each step. We started early, by about five in the morning, fearing rains afterwards. By the time we were finished with the darshan, and were going down the stairs it was about seven in the morning.
As I was descending the stairs, I noticed an old lady. She would've been about my grandmother's age. Her long silver white hair was tied into a fierce knot upon her head. She was dressed in a crimson saree, and resting upon the step, midway to the top of the hill. She looked haggard, and as if she was in some sort of a trance. Her eyes focused upon the destination ahead. A boy, sitting next to her, was pouring water from a bottle into her mouth,and dabbing at the beads of sweat upon her forehead with a paper towel.
I had seen these kind of scenes many times before. People would get exhausted on their way uphill, and stop to rest somewhere in the middle. However, this time around, there was something fierce about this lady. The determination in her eyes was somehow different. It kept me rooted to my spot. I felt like watching her some more. As I watched, I realized why this lady had drawn my attention. The steely gaze, now made sense. She was ascending the steps on all fours. She was actually crawling up them on her knees and wrists. I had goosebumps prickle upon my skin. I had not seen something like this before. I watched her for a bit more, and quickly withdrew my gaze.
This was stirring something inside me. Some unknown mixture of horror and awe. So many questions raced through my mind. Why? Why would someone do something like that?
As I finished the descent, I joined my family in the car. Once inside, I relayed this entire event to my mother, and asked the same question. My mother told me, that every year, lots of people made the journey uphill in this fashion. This was one kind of a mannat; reserved only for some of the toughest people, who had gone through even tougher situations in life. People would make such mannats as sops to the Lord, their savior, in return for prevailing over an impossible life or death choice or situation in their lives. My eyes teared up for the old lady, as I comprehended all this. I let out a small prayer to the Lord, to ease her journey. I also let out another prayer in gratitude, for this life that I'd been gifted.