The narrow alleys leading to this ancient temple do not admit cars, so precariously perched on the narrow seat of a cycle rickshaw, we bumped and jostled through the crowded street.
The street narrowed further, and now our rickshaw stopped. So we pushed and jostled our way along fragrant garland sellers. Champa, rose, chameli, juhi, jasmine, and even a garland of the mildly scented kadamb. Only fragrant garlands for the Lord.
The inner hall of the temple is of finely carved stone. Artisans had crafted out a huge palace daintily interwoven with fresh scented jasmine flowers. The Lord was bedecked in jewellery made intricately with jasmine and looked splendid in jasmine-studded garments.
A curtain was drawn to cover the Lord from view every few minutes and, after a while, it was drawn back again. On asking, it was explained that the Lord of love once walked off with a bhakta (devotee) who gazed at him too lovingly and for too long. So this was to keep him in his place.
The vibes were so overpowering that some just sat motionless and gazed, while some went into meditation. My eyes were a captive of the beauty of Bihariji, and a strange calm submerged my being. A moment that is lived completely, when the outer world ceases to be a burden or a source of fear and you feel snug in the comforting arms of a cherished beloved.
A pujari explained how on a Sharad Poornima night, the brightest moon of the year, a beam of moonlight falls directly on the beautiful visage of the Lord from an opening in the ceiling. All lights are then switched off, enabling a view of unearthly radiance as the moon stretches arms of longing to unite with its source: the light of all lights.
As we drove to Delhi, no one spoke. The ascent to uncommon heights was blissful, and we were avoiding the descent and crash to the bedrock of sensory certainty.
