Journey to Hinglaj

""Journey to Hinglaj

Samaranand had always been a man of books and distant dreams. As a retired engineer and occasional writer with a flair for the dramatic, his mind often wandered to places etched in memory and myth. One such memory was the Bengali novel Marutirtha Hinglaj, which he had first read as a schoolboy. The haunting narrative of Thirumal’s journey to the ancient temple nestled deep within the Makran mountains of Balochistan had never quite left him. Now, with the Indo-Pak conflict once again simmering and stories of Baloch resistance to Pakistani rule gaining ground, Samaranand’s mind loitered along the rocky terrain of Baluchistan. He decided that the time had come for an audacious pilgrimage to the sacred site—Hinglaj Mata Temple.

Logistics were daunting, but help came from an unexpected quarter. His old golfing partner, Jaggi Kohli—a flamboyant tea exporter with extensive business ties in the Middle East—offered to connect him with reliable contacts in Afghanistan. Through Jaggi's network, Samaranand, his street-smart assistant Babulal, and the tech-savvy young Soumya forged a circuitous route. They crossed the border from Iran into Afghanistan with forged papers, aided by a Taliban commander they had befriended during a previous trip to Shiraz. From there, Baloch locals, eager to aid Indians as fellow resistors of Pakistani oppression, escorted them across rugged terrain.

They journeyed in a rusted, paint-chipped truck that groaned under the strain of sharp bends and craggy outcrops. The truck was a moving gallery of Pakistani kitsch art—its sides emblazoned with bright peacocks, a grinning Shah Rukh Khan next to a horse rearing on two legs, angels fluttering with Urdu couplets, and slogans like “Jaan se pyara Pakistan” juxtaposed against “Dil hai Hindustani.” Each panel was a riot of colors—neon pinks, blinding oranges, and psychedelic greens. The horn blared a musical tune every time it was pressed, adding to the surreal atmosphere of their odyssey.They found the couplet written on the rear of the truck!

**"Ae Sher Parhne Wale Zara Chehre Se Zulfen Hata Ke Parhna, Gharib Ne Ro Kar Likha Hai Zara Muskura Ke Parhna"**  

   - Translation: "O reader, read this couplet after removing the tresses of hair from your face; the poor man has wept as he writes this, so please smile while reading." 

 

As the truck rattled over rocky paths, crossing dusty hamlets where children ran barefoot and veiled women peeked from mud houses, they would stop occasionally to pick up flowers and offerings—bright marigolds, coconuts, and agarbattis from makeshift roadside stalls. The landscape was bleak but majestic: wind-swept gorges, dry riverbeds, and towering cliffs guarded their route like silent sentinels.

During this journey, Samaranand found himself slowly morphing into Thirumal—the hero of Marutirtha Hinglaj. He remembered how Uttam Kumar had portrayed Thirumal in the film adaptation with a brooding intensity that matched his current state of mind. Each turn of the road, each silent glance from a Baloch escort, and each flutter of prayer flags from a forgotten Sufi shrine seemed to echo scenes from the book he had read decades ago.

Finally, they reached Hinglaj. The ancient temple carved into the rocky hills appeared almost ethereal. There was no grand entrance—just a cave, a spring, and an age-old sanctum embraced by desolation and reverence. They offered prayers silently, deeply aware of the sacredness and danger entwined in their presence.

After paying homage, they spent the night in a humble hill village not far from the temple. The night sky was clear—an unimaginable blue embroidered with a tapestry of stars. Samaranand had never seen such a sky before. It was as if the heavens, free from pollution and noise, had opened a secret window into the universe. Occasionally, the quiet was shattered by the distant growl of fighter jets, a grim reminder of the war unfolding beyond the horizon.

Back in Kolkata, weeks later, Samaranand sat in his drawing room, a steaming cup of Darjeeling in hand, flipping through the frayed first edition of Marutirtha Hinglaj. Babulal lounged on the divan, and Soumya, ever the rationalist, peered over his laptop.

“So, Babuji,” Babulal grinned, “when’s our next adventure? How about Kailash this time—if China allows?”

Samaranand chuckled, “Let me recover first, Babulal. Thirumal had one journey; I had mine. No sequels planned.”

Soumya added dryly, “Next time, we’ll just do a VR pilgrimage. No Taliban, no fake passports—just Wi-Fi and 3D goggles.”

They all laughed, the echoes of Hinglaj still quietly resonating in the room.

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Footnotes:

1. Hinglaj Mata Temple: One of the 51 Shakti Peethas, Hinglaj Mata Temple is located in the Hingol National Park, Balochistan, Pakistan. It is an ancient site of Hindu pilgrimage and remains one of the few temples that survived centuries of socio-political changes in the region. Devotees consider it one of the most sacred shrines where a part of Goddess Sati's body is said to have fallen.

2. Marutirtha Hinglaj: A Bengali travelogue-cum-novel written by Kalikananda Abadhut, based on his own spiritual journey to the Hinglaj shrine. The protagonist, Thirumal, undertakes an arduous pilgrimage fraught with physical and spiritual trials. The book was later adapted into a Bengali film in 1959, with matinee idol Uttam Kumar playing the lead role of Thirumal. It remains a seminal work capturing the blend of myth, devotion, and self-realization.""