RovingMind: The Golden Temple Of The Sikhs

Nihang Sikhs, decked out in their finest, at the Golden Temple.

It was 0300 when I rolled out of my bunk at the GoStops Hostel in Amristar city. I was only four days into India and my mental time clock was still on East Coast U.S. time, thus the early waking up.

Shafts of moonlight angling in through the windows and illuminating the room in ghostly glow are what triggered me: Hey, now's the time! Now's the time to join the other pilgrims and head for the Golden Temple! Beat the crowds, or so I thought, and all that.

I slipped into my best wrinkled up shirt and pants and set off through alleyways toward the east entrance gate. At that hour, it was an eerily silent walk, past heaps of trash, rolled up store fronts and roving packs of dogs.

Only ten-or-so minutes walking and I was there, with the place lit up in all its glory.

The Golden Temple at 0400. Note line at left-center, hours long, even at that time!

The Golden Temple or Sri Harmandir Sahib as it's known in Punjabi, the local language, is the holiest of holies for Sikhs. It's similar, perhaps, to Mecca for Muslims or the Vatican for Catholics. Sikhs number some twenty-five million worldwide and make up the fifth largest organized religion. What this site represents to them overall is summed up by a sign within the complex. It reads: "The Center Of The Spiritual World".

For many devotees, it's a once-in-a-lifetime journey, to get to the Golden Temple and to worship at the inner sanctum on an island in the middle of the lake.

Me being what I am, I was determined to visit the inner sanctum myself, both to pay my respects and, yes, to get a look inside. Lest you think this on the brazen side, signs both on the premises and on their official website say differently. In general, they are an invitation to humanity at large. As one sign on the premesis reads:

Welcome Here To Everyone Irrespective Of Caste, Creed, Country Or Race

But as with almost anywhere you go, house rules exist. And the Golden Temple is no exception.

First I had to deposit my Chaco sandals at one of numerous "shoe points," as no footwear is allowed inside. Then I had to have a head covering. For this, I used a red farmer's bandanna, arranged and tied atop my head in the proper manner with the aid of a helpful devotee.

Next I had to wade through a shallow pool of water to cleanse my feet. Only then was I allowed to enter through the east gate and on into the complex proper.

The Inner Sanctum, where the sacred artifacts and manuscripts are kept (photo courtesy WorldPress.com)

The line was almost two hours to get in to the inner sanctum. What a crush of humanity it was, even in those pre-dawn hours. The closer I got, the worse the pushing, shoving and squeezing in in front of me. And for once, the women were worse than the men! Some were overcome with religious zeal, it seemed; wild-eyed, trance-like even. Remember, a lot of pilgrims saved and waited years and years to get there, so they were pent up with anxious energy.

Signs warned not to take pictures past a certain point, so I put my Canon PowerShot into my bag so that I wouldn't be tempted. I figured that I was a foreigner, a guest, so I better go by the posted rules. But many others there didn't get the memo -- Sikhs by the scores were clicking away right up to the entrance door of the gilded structure. There, security men wearing swords and daggers (ceremonial) put the quash on them.

After the inner sanctum and various other sites of interest around the temple complex, the place to be was the Langar Dining Hall.

First, you grab yourself a plate and spoon.

Then you sit cross-legged in rows so that they can serve you. (Yes, some hip and knee dexterity is helpful.)

Billed as the largest community kitchen in the world, volunteers dish out thirty- to fifty-thousand meals on a typical day. This spikes up to one hundred thousand on holidays or special gatherings. All are invited and all is for free, although donations are accepted.

Food is strictly vegetarian and is prepared in huge vats or ovens. The menu is generally the same, morning or evening -- "dal" or lentils, "roti" or Indian flatbread, "kheer" or rice pudding for dessert. Plus scoops of rice and this or that vegetable depending on what's available on that particular day or time of year.

A volunteer stirring the lentils.

My most dramatic encounter with Sikh hospitality occurred on my second visit to Langar, on a stifling afternoon with the sun beating down. I received my plate and spoon and proceeded to the dining hall entrance only to discover that it was a mob scene; hundreds of sweaty people were jammed together, waiting to get in. I decided that, free or not, it wasn't worth it.

I went to turn in my utensils at the dirty dish portal, when a Sikh in orange turban and wearing ceremonial sword somehow noticed my shiny, unused plate.

"What, you did not eat?" he recoiled. "No, too many people and it's too hot," I gestured toward the crowd . "No, no, no, no," he said. "You want to eat? You must eat."

Once more I tried to opt out, but he wasn't having it. "No, no, no. You are a foreigner, you are our special guest, you must eat." To my amazement, he grabbed me by the bicep and tugged me toward the dining hall where he barked orders to attendants there. I was promptly ushered in and given a space inside.

I wasn't comfortable jumping the line in front of a such a throng, especially when I could get the same meal outside for less than a dollar U.S. But as I always say, never buck orders from a man wearing a two-and-a-half-foot sword.

So I plopped down, crossed my legs and received my rice, roti and the rest. Then next day it was on to someplace where the fare was not free and was not vegetarian -- Pakistan.