“Get in line, get in line,” bellowed a man wearing rectangular frame goggles and dressed in a white printed shirt.
“Whee-whee! Tweet, Tweet.” The man, possibly a crowd marshal, seemed to be in his twenties. He whistled on and off while holding the device in his left hand, hanging around his neck via a gray lanyard.
“Come on, come on, get in line,” he continued as he waved at my sister Pratyusha and me with his right hand.
We calmly moved to the end of the line, which started in the parking lot two hundred meters from the main temple. Immediately, we were joined by a tall young man dressed in a dark blue, half-sleeved shirt. He looked at us and whispered, “Do you want VIP Darshan? There is a huge crowd today, and it will take you three hours.”
“VIP Darshan? Is there an option of a paid pass?” questioned Pratyusha, observing the middleman as he adjusted his collar.
The broker shook his head and calmly said, “You pay me eight hundred per person, but after I get you to the beginning of the line.”
Standing nearby, another person, who seemed a junior broker, jumped in and started singing.
No crowd is too big
Here, eat some figs
This is my gig
I make the place jig
Before you know it, you are in the crib.
Five Hundred, Five Hundred, Five Hundred,
That’s all I ask for my gig!
“I will get you there for five hundred per person,” he reiterated without the rhyme.
“Unh-unh,” we shook our heads and quietly stood in line near the parking lot entrance. The sun shone above us in the clear blue sky as we walked a few steps on the dusty road towards the Grishneshwar temple entrance.
“Flowers, flowers! Take this basket of flowers, Sir,” called out a young woman dressed in a blue printed saree, her voice rising above the crowd’s murmurs. She was seated at the edge of a makeshift wooden shop on our left, holding a basket of bright colors shining in the sun.
The basket was bubbling with yellow and orange marigolds as they shone brightly on top. A freshly watered red rose was peeking through the bael leaves, surrounded by white flowers. A spiky green fruit was artistically placed, making it the center of attraction.
“Twenty rupees only; you can keep your slippers here for safety,” stated the young woman, holding the basket in her right hand and pointing it toward us. “Take it,” she insisted, “your slippers will be safe here, as there is a large crowd ahead of you,” she concluded.
“Don’t remove your slippers here; there is a shoe stand ahead,” shouted the junior broker as he moved behind, trying to find a new customer and continued rhyming his gig.
Pratyusha waved her hand at the flower seller as we took a few steps ahead, moving at a snail’s pace. The persistent flower seller did not give up as she tried convincing us and the others standing behind us.
Flower sellers surrounded the narrow road on each side, as everyone’s proposition was the same, “Twenty rupees for a basket of flowers!”
After a few minutes, a man on the bike stood on our right. He was wearing a full-sleeved white shirt, accompanied by black trousers. Each bike handle supported a large bag of flowers, while the luggage carrier on the back seat provided space for two additional bags of similar size.
“Interesting, a flower delivery man,” I whispered as the large, bulky man removed a small bag of marigold flowers. He then threw one bag on the left. I saw it traverse mid-air over the line of people and landed in the hand of the flower seller on his left.
“Good catch!” shouted someone in the crowd as the delivery man handed another bag of flowers to the seller on the right.
“I came here 5 months ago during Maha-Shivratri, and there was barely anyone here,” mentioned Pratyusha as she moved to her right to look at the queue, which extended till the point our eyes could see. She then turned towards me, squinted, and gave me the look!
“What??” I said, raising my hands with my palms facing the bright, shining sky.
“You, the crowd is here because of you! The other day, there was a considerable crowd at Omkareshwar,” she stated while getting back in line.
“Meeee! Hey, what can I do if I am a crowd-puller? I am not even a renowned author, but the crowd goes where I go,” I jokingly said while raising my blue-collared T-shirt as we engaged in some sibling banter.
“The Bangalore traffic is faster than this line,” murmured the tall man standing ahead in line.
“Beta, get back in line,” shouted a young woman as her daughter, wearing a yellow frock, was running around visiting the nearby shops.
“Where are these people going?” I asked as I saw a group of people carrying a flower basket. “Oh, I got my answer,” I replied as I saw the junior broker walking along with the small group of five people.
“Maa, look at that,” shouted a small kid standing ahead in line.
“What is it, Raghu?” asked the woman wearing traditional Indian attire.
“See a snail, and it’s moving so fast!” he said as he bent down to observe the animal traversing faster than our queue.
“Come back and stand in line!” commanded her mother as the boy ran back towards her mother.
“Whirrr, crunch-crunch, clickaty-clack!”
“Fresh cane juice, get yourself a fresh glass of cane juice,” shouted a shopkeeper on the right as we crossed a few more shops.
“Listen, I have four members with me. You get me inside, and I will give you one thousand,” said a man standing a bit far, discussing with one of the brokers.
“No, no, no, that’s too little; I cannot do that,” replied the broker as I opened the map on my Android phone.
“Hey, look, the temple is only two hundred meters from here,” I told Pratyusha as I looked at the digital map to calculate the distance between us and the temple.
Without turning around, Pratyusha lifted her right hand and said, “Yes, look ahead; that’s the temple.”
“Oh yeah, I can see the temple’s shikara,” I said, observing the slowly fluttering flag.
“It’s made of red stone; last time, one of the temple guards provided me with many details,” mentioned Pratyusha as we reached a place where the road seemed wider with more shops on either side.
Suddenly, Pratyusha bounced on her toes, excitement reflected in her eyes, as she frantically started shouting like a little kid, “I want that backpack, I want that backpack!”
“Huh! What backpack? There are so many out there.”
“That, and that, and that,” replied Pratyusha, intently looking at the backpack hanging on multiple steel rods.
“You want the entire shop?”
“No, are you mad? Three should do for now,” Pratyusha calmly replied.
“Oh, you know, you can buy seven.”
“Seven? Why?”
“One for each day,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders.
Pratyusha turned around and shouted, “Rachit! I am your elder sister, and you cannot pull my leg.”
“Fine, buy three backpacks,” I suggested expressionlessly.
“Nah, I have too many; I’ll buy one on the way back.”
We saw a crowd of people returning from the temple. Two young men adorning a yellow kurta intercepted the group and inquired, “How long is it taking to complete the darshan?”
The man in his mid-twenties replied, “Once inside, it will take forty-five minutes, but outside, the way the line is moving, it will take easily two to three hours.”
“Oh!”
“Also, they ask the men to remove their shirts and banyan, so I recommend you buy something better that is easy to remove and put back on,” he suggested as he continued walking toward the parking lot.
“Remove their shirts,” I whispered.
“Yes, I told you inside, men, before they enter the sanctum where the shiv-ling is there, have to remove their shirts,” said Pratyusha, reminding me of our earlier discussion.
At the same time, a man dressed in an orange chequers shirt came and stood next to us. “Folks, there is chaos ahead; many people are cutting the line and barging in. We need help stopping that,” stated the man, who resembled a commander based on his actions. “Even my family is standing behind; we are trying to gather one member from various families,” he added as he looked at his watch.
The tall man from Bangalore standing ahead of us saluted the man and said, “Aye, Aye, Captain Chaos, we are with you. Tell us how many men do you need for this job.”
Captain Chaos calmly replied, “One person should do, but if two can come, then nothing like it,”
Mr. Bangalore looked at the man standing ahead of him and said, “Raghu, you go ahead; if you need more help, call me,” he replied as Raghu saluted Mr. Bangalore and got out of the line and walked alongside Captain Chaos. “Well, that doesn’t sound great,” I stated as we stood there in line, observing the brokers taking a few more people ahead towards the non-existent VIP line.
***
Part 2: https://harishrijhwani.com/a-wall-of-people-part-2/
Part 3: In Progress