It is on Sagar Island that the mythical sage Kapil Muni is supposed to have condoned the sinful folly of King Sagars sons reining in the horse from the stables of, and blessed at Lord Indras Aswamedha Yagna. So taken in by this legend are the masses that come Makar Sankranti the last day of the month of Pous and over a million people congregate on this tiny island in a remote nook of the Sundarbans. No invitations are issued and no propaganda is indulged in; indeed, there isnt even an official authority organising the mammoth event.
To ensure some kind of order, however, government agencies do spring up overnight in the otherwise forgotten countryside. Law courts, hospitals, police stations and fire brigades show up out of nowhere for that one week every January, turning Sagar island into an altogether unrecognisable place. Even a display board hung up by a purveyor of Ayurvedic medicines comes up, the depiction of Laurel and Hardy trading medicines lending a touch of the incongruous to the otherwise sombre proceedings.
Less conspicuous but equally significant among the transit immigrants in Sagar are those who are here to partake of a different sort of alms petty thieves, pickpockets, beggars, and nomads, the end-object of their prayers being in abundance everywhere. The hard spirit of commerce has long shared a symbiotic relationship with religion, and is in ample evidence all over during the fair. Shops of all hues sprout in every nook and corner, hoping to offload their colourful wares heaps of vermilion, colourful beads, artificial jewellery, household goods, utensils... on to the naive and needy. Theres no dearth of what passes for fancy items either, and on offer are even remote controlled gizmos for those with more sophisticated tastes and a cheque book to match it.
More From This Section
For rubbing elbows nowadays with the dwellers of Gandhis India are the latest boom-time additions to the repertoire, including Bengali middle-class tourists and even a sprinkling of foreigners armed with the inevitable video camera. They steer clear of anything to do with the real action of course, performing the role of bystanders.
The characteristic Ganga Sagar pilgrim, however, is way off in appearance and attitude from his city-bred cousin. It is indeed a tough journey that the real pilgrims undergo, taking the long and arduous route to Ganga Sagar. Dhoti hitched up, a small bundle of all their requirements on their head, the devout come from as far as the Rann of Kutch and the remote villages of northern India. After days packed like sardines in buses and trains bringing them to Calcutta , its another long journey to the ferry wharf in Sundarban, across the vast miles-long span of the tidal river. And then they clamber on to junked, overcrowded local buses to get to the final destination. Miss that connection and walk the last 20-odd kilometers.
Though the pilgrims plight indeed seems deplorable, their fervour sees them uncomplainingly through these hurdles. Stirring evocations of Kapil muni ki jai.rent the humid air, drowning the constant growl of the launch motors ferrying pilgrims across the Ganga and of the countless buses plying between Calcutta and Nakhana. People trudge on enthusiastically to the sound of trumpets and bells, blowing conch shells and chanting prayers. The air is heavy with the now plaintive, now joyous burden of devotional songs.
On the island itself, the sand track to the waters edge mills with devotees, jostling one another for a glimpse of the deity in front of the numerous temporary shrines that have come up to commemorate the auspicious occasion. Needless to say, Kapil Munis temple remains the chief attraction.
As night falls, the air is charged as the devout breathlessly wait under the starlit sky for the auspicious moment to take a dip. The dark seaside is dotted with bonfires lit by bathers to keep off the cold. Finally, when the priest emerges to announce the auspicious hour, the crowd surges forward as one to meet the tide with a chorus of Kapil Muni ki jai.
After the holy dip, its time to return to the brightly lit temple of Kapil Muni, a scene of hectic activity. Some 20-odd priests chant hymns in unison while sewaks run about collecting offerings from pilgrims thronging the temple precincts. The luckier ones in front hand in their contributions, while others must be content to merely fling their offerings in the general direction of the temple courtyard, hoping that their offerings reach their god.
There are more rituals to be performed by diehard devouts the following day to complete their quest for salvation. Many, though, spend the next day just watching the Naga sadhus perform the occasional sleight of hand. The thin, reed-like figures sit by their huts, smoking grass, cooking their spartan meals.
When peace finally descends on Sagar Island, its hardly the place it used to be a week ago. Gone are the crowds and the stalls, leaving devastation its wake. Human refuse and leftovers lie dumped all over, making you wonder if the holiness of the island comes and goes with the crowds.