Everything in Ayodhya is under construction, including the Ram mandir. Until a few weeks ago, this was another crumbling, decrepit UP town albeit one gifted with mythological association. The Ayodhya of today is the beneficiary of expedited urban renewal with religious fervour.
This is best witnessed on Ram Path — chaste Hindi for “Ram’s Path” – the newly expanded 13 kilometre commercial street passing in front of the Ram mandir where shopkeepers are anxiously waiting for the business uptick. And Ram ki Paidi, the ritual bathing waterbody and cultural waterfront that is effectively the skyline of Ayodhya.
In the paradox that is Ayodhya, old and new comes down to a point of view. While most structures have evidently been around since the Treta Yuga, a new coat of government-approved paint to the facade fixes the economy of its residents. The paint industry is the rising tide that’s lifting many a boat. New bridges, street lighting, accommodations, new shops with new signboards, a shiny new airport and even a new railway station is thrown in. No matter what the question, the answer is always a generous dose of saffron. If you visited Ayodhya more than a month ago, that was another city in a different time.
It is true what they say: India is a hindu rashtra. The philosophies that hold the sanatan drama together—an extreme suspension of disbelief and the creation of truths by sincere repetition—is just as critical to the identity of the modern nation state.
Of course, we value the scientific method, i.e. a homegrown version that requires the peppering of beliefs with “as per google” and “according to NASA” every now and then. So this is how the exact date and coordinates of Rama’s birth was determined. No doubt about it. I’ve looked it up on quora so you don’t have to.
Saffron is the new black and “Jai Shri Ram” is the new “Allahu Akbar”. For the longest time, hindus have been in search of a pithy, versatile slogan that works well as a solidarity cry within the universal brotherhood but also fits right in when, say, on a night out with the boys clubbing and lynching.
Chaotic and bloody as the road to this Second Coming of Ram may have been, it was all ordained. “The best lack all conviction,” said Yeats of this maddening day, “while the worst are full of passionate intensity.” The overwhelming sentiment in Ayodhya is “Joy to the world, the Lord is come!” in the vernacular.
The most extreme Ram bhakts made their way to the dham in a form of penance—walking, cycling, crawling, chest-beating, flag-waving, or flying Indigo.
I met a dwarf who peddled all the way from Chandigarh on a cycle innovatively modified for his stature. I asked him if he was alone. He said he initially was but after seeing his fellow bhakts, not so much any more.
I met another man, a सनातनी शेर & कट्टर देशभक्त (his words, not mine) who claimed to have prostrated his way from Saharanpur. He sends me daily updates of his media coverage.
Some folks like to get away, take a holiday from thoughts of secularism and the erosion of civil liberties. Today, we’re in a New Ayodhya state of mind. Ayodhya’s new airport features motifs from the Ramayana. In the background is a depiction of the scene when Ram returns with Sita to Ayodhya after a 14-year vacay. In the foreground, a more mundane reality plays out. A couple is worried about their missing baggage. Others are struggling to fit the giant mural into their selfie or making calls to check on their taxis.
Call it history or mythology, travel is what has always kept the economy going and made for great stories. Not enough credit is given to dharmshaalas and rasoighars as precursors to modern-day airport hotels and buffet lounges in the temples of modern India preparing to welcome planeloads of holy cows of the cattle class.
An elderly gentleman takes of his hawaai chappals before getting off the hawaai jahaaz and kisses the cold tarmac. That day is finally here.
At the moment when the Prime Priest consecrated the Ram idol, which I happened to watch on a live telecast just outside the temple, Lords Ram and Modi both received furious praise. People fell at the tv screen in prayer and touched one of the lord’s pixelated feet to absorb their blessings.
It was at precisely that moment when fact and fiction merged, mythology won over history, and the erstwhile secular republic passed the baton over to the Hindu Rashtra.
My photo essay for TIME magazine + reporting by Astha Rajvanshi.