On the morning of December 16, India’s largest selling Hindi language newspaper Dainik Jagran led with a rather strange story. It had taken precedence over major news about north India’s record breaking atmospheric pollution touching the red zone and the Bondi firings. Even the prime minister’s visit to Jordan was relegated to another page. The bare bones of the story that ran under a headline in 36-point bold letters were that for the first time in the 500-year-history of the most sacred Krishna temple in Vrindavan, Lord Banke Bihari was not served his morning Bal Bhog (child’s breakfast) on time. Bal Bhog is important because only after the completion of this ritual, after a suitable interval, Lord’s Vigraha (an attractive statue carved in black stone in the Tribhangi Mudra) can be viewed by the visitors. Each day, the visitors arrive at the crack of dawn and wait outside in long queues for the first darshan (auspicious sight) of their Lord. The delay in an impeccably run routine interrupted the five centuries old system of bhog (meal) and vishram (rest) that follows a rigidly laid out routine for 500 years, expectably met with loud protests. The man contracted to provide meals cooked just so on time told the media he had not been paid since November. Later, he changed the story and said that the karigar (main chef) he had employed had a medical emergency at home. So, he reached the workplace late. Hence, there was a delay in preparing and serving the Bal Bhog. So sharp were the reactions that the Chief Justice of India too voiced great displeasure and asked the temple’s designated organising committee and the Uttar Pradesh government to furnish an explanation for the delay. The CJI also asked why, according to some petitioners, the Lord’s daily routine of partaking meals, resting and being available to his devotees was being disturbed to accommodate and arrange for special darshan and puja for influential VIPs. Vrindavan is close to Delhi, where several power holders currently seeped in Hinduism and Bhakti reside. It is thus natural that various privileged VIPs have been visiting the temple frequently, demanding the Lord be woken up at a time of day they are available to worship – a time of the day that suits them. The Sanskrit word teerth, meaning a pilgrimage spot, literally translates to ‘a holy crossing from where you can briefly transcend the gross world around and step into a timeless spiritual landscape that cleanses the soul’. For the Vaishnavites in India, Mathura, one of India’s seven most ancient cities, is one such holy destination for teerth. Illustration: Pariplab ChakrabortyPilgrimage into Mathura opens up the doors to Braj Mandala, the holy rural area where a baby Krishna lived and loved through his early youth. This Krishna is part of the tales most Indian children have heard from their grandmothers. To circumambulate Krishna’s childhood home and visit temples en route, for rural millions who visit the holy Braj all through the year is to be part of Krishna’s glory. As per custom, there can be no discrimination here between rich and poor circumambulating the long dusty lane surrounding Braj Mandal on foot, some even crawling the entire distance. However, religious tourism of the kind being promoted in the last decade, from Uttar Pradesh to Uttarakhand, now offers a guaranteed and special kind of salvation for India’s rich. A website even offers same-day booking for VIP Darshan and itr seva (perfume ritual), subject to availability. A call to their local team guarantees accommodation even during peak worship hours. The rich will splurge to have privileges no matter what the place or the cost. So now, old pilgrimage trails are replaced with paved paths. Shiny new highways with six lanes take you to the doorstep of the holy Mandala of Braj. Special helicopters are being flown for speedy darshan and puja. Even the prasad (offering) can be bought in quantities for certain fixed and high rates. The result is cash donations left in the donation boxes within the temple. For revenue-deprived city corporations, builders and priests, such bounty is like manna from heaven. After Ram Mandir in Ayodhya, a similar reorganisation of Krishna Janmabhumi is being muttered among the power groups. So land prices in surrounding areas have skyrocketed. The Pandas, once as poor as church mice, of small sites have also quickly spun narratives around sacred areas they control like a royal treasure. While the Union government and most states are busy selling India’s ancient heritage, religion is the latest liquid gold. Even the humble rural and urban devotees will happily splurge for little rags of silk sanctified by association with a Kadamba tree where Krishna, according to the lore, hid with the gopikas’ clothes. The belief is that as they put the Braj Raj (the sands upon Braj Bhumi) upon their heads, the Pandas convince them that a higher power has stroked their brows and elevated them above ordinary mortals. Everyone is happy. Yet, all of this is mostly promoting a life without actual productive work. You see the results when you pass through the city markets lined with eateries where thoughts of hard labour are anaesthetised, and where the local young and trendy tourists are all splurging on rich local delicacies, sold as food that Krishna once enjoyed. In a temple town, many temples exist, old and new. Temple treasurers freed from splitting the profits are planning to make their temples look more and more opulent. Glitter is everywhere but the work is outsourced. Contractors’ teams work hard for decorating the temples, providing private security for mob control and also preparing and serving elaborate meals for the Thakur, to be later sold or distributed as prasadam. The accelerated expansion of malls and national highway networks has guaranteed that newer, bigger crowds of the faithful come through the year, be blessed and leave the holy places enriched.If you step into any of the ancient Indian pilgrim towns after a decade, you will scarcely recognise it. Each has become a stunningly overcrowded metropolis housing millions of locals and visitors – a miniature of the notorious Gurugram in the National Capital Region. A million cars strain on the narrow lanes that cannot be widened due to unauthorised construction. A row of cars, trucks, rickshaws meets another row going the other way, cutting through where they can, forming giant carbon-emitting horn honking coils in cage-like lanes. People once quiet and courteous now glare at outsiders, ready to take offence. The local bureaucracy and bunch of builders and traders bow obsequiously before the new crop of VIPs flying in on private chartered planes or helicopters, flanked by gun toting commandos and indulging in weird ways of performing rituals. A billionaire reportedly chose to jog all the way, with his bodyguard, to the holy parikrama, wearing jogging shorts. He then hastily visited the temple and left in a helicopter.Where does this new boorishness come from? Why have temples taken to hiring bouncers to control the restless crowds of poor as the rich come, make their way to the sanctum sanctorum and leave at will? And all this while the holy Himalayan glaciers, the birthplace of most northern rivers, face deep ecological crisis and sacred rivers like Ganga, Yamuna and Sarayu, once considered givers of salvation, are today in dire need of salvation themselves.How can this spellbound circle of helpless destructive madness be broken before we are made extinct by a deluge or drought? Remember Harappa or Dwarika Puri, anyone?Mrinal Pande is a writer and veteran journalist.Saakhi is a Sunday column from Mrinal Pande, in which she writes of what she sees and also participates in. That has been her burden to bear ever since she embarked on a life as a journalist, writer, editor, author and as chairperson of Prasar Bharti. Her journey of being a witness-participant continues.