In a city known to all, there are some unknowns—the kind that draws one who is more than just the cursory traveller.
Tucked away, on the outskirts of Ayodhya, beyond its cantonment limits, lies a ghat not known to many. That its existence is so poorly known is itself a mystery, for it is here that Lord Ram took his final dip in the Sarayu, never to be seen again. This is the Guptar ghat—the word “gupt” means “secret” in Hindi.
I had stumbled upon it on a routine assignment where nothing had worked out. A local had pointed me in its direction—through cow-dung-strewn narrow lanes. The ghat itself is decidedly non-spectacular, and I have seen the disappointment in the eyes of those I have dragged to it.
I have been unable to explain to them what the pull of the ghat is. But if magic exists, it certainly does in the hold that this plain-looking space has for me.
Four temples dot this ghat—the grandest being the Ram Janaki temple. The sanctum sanctorum of the temple is intact, but it is in its thin red bricks, exposed to the elements, that I can hear whispers of what must have been. Even if Ram was a myth, He comes alive on this non-descript ghat of loud silences. To non-ritualistic Hindus like me, it is in the draw of this silence that I feel the most profound connection to my faith.
I have often sat on the broken stone steps that lead to the Sarayu and been overcome by emotion and gratitude... for just being. I have witnessed the sun go down and kingfishers glide gracefully by.
Somewhere in the distance, when the river’s waters are low, an island forms. I once took a boat to it and stayed till darkness fell. From there, I witnessed the modest arti of the ghat—made grand to my eyes because of its simplicity.
There is an unnamed bolted temple on the ghat. Many inquiries later, all I have gleaned is that it belongs to the Agarwal Samaj. Its ageing door has served as the backdrop in many of my photos.
On one visit, I discovered that a fierce wind had caused the door to fall over itself. In a life so shorn of mystery (thank you, Google) bliss, it was to have the opportunity to explore what remained inside the temple. I found a Nandi—Lord Shiva’s bull waiting patiently. I found dense cobwebs made magical by the interplay of light and shadow. And as I have always done at Guptar ghat, I found bits of myself, too.
Over the years, over so many visits to Ayodhya, I have seen the city change. And I have hoped that no one would discover Guptar ghat to modernize it. I have been dismayed at the ‘I Love Ayodhya’ signage that has come up to mark a selfie point at the ghat. And more dismayed at the unveiling of a statue of Maharana Pratap beyond it.
More change will happen. But till the silences of Guptar ghat continue to speak to me, I shall run to it for solace. And when it is all new and shiny, I will tuck it away in memory. There, it shall comfort me forever.