It's been about a week since that whirlwind visit to Shirdi, and I cannot help but to continue wondering about those ironies thrown at my face there.
For a start, in his lifetime, Sai Baba of Shirdi would have used a countable number of clothes. He lived the life of a fakir, frugal, spiritual, and preached love.
His marble statue in the temple (originally meant to be a Krishna temple) and his grave, or samadhi sport colourful, expensive shawls and sometimes even designer cloth, that are changed a few times a day, rather, every few hours. So many, that they are sold away at a special prasad counter inside the temple.
Baba, the saint, taught that God is Supreme. That God is one. Today, he is relegated to another one of the many Gods among Hindus. His path of life was more Sufi, rooted in simplicity. The Baba image merchandising in and around the temple, and elsewhere, running into hundreds of crores defies what he stood for.
The shrine at Shirdi would, under normal circumstances, be considered a dargah. Part of worship of Baba's samadhi (tomb) is such too -- flowers sold outside the temple are mostly a bunch of roses touched up with some jasmine. Enthusing public, those in its managing trust, and others, have for most part, made worship very Hindu.
Am glad though, that the tombs of his peers, those at his service and friends, have been allowed to retain their original character.
Baba's simple living in a mosque on the throes of crumbling was meant to be an open space for all - it is popularly known today, as Dwarakamai. My parents, during our first visit to Shirdi, even spent a night there as they believed that sleeping overnight at the mosque would mean good health and bring blessings. The story dates back to a leper believed to have been cured at the place.
Today, the mosque, attached to the temple is barricaded strongly. You are allowed to meditate for a few minutes, only to be promptly chased out by the tensed ushers.
The 20th century saint spoke about universal love in his own unique sort of way. Shirdi, as a village, continued to be a hospitable one for several decades after his demise. Today, the hired security guards at the shrine are anything but polite.
It's popularly believed that a large chunk of the pilgrim crowd at Shirdi is from Andhra Pradesh. You find the Telugu speaking lot everywhere. When it came to performing Satyanarayan Vrat, that is managed by the temple, the concerned priest rattled out his instructions in chaste Hindi. The audience, was largely Telugu speaking.
When some of them requested him to repeat in another language (ideally Telugu) or go slow in instructing, he just shrugged and said `I don't know Telugu. If you cannot follow my instructions, just fold your hands (namaskar)'. Outside the temple though, you have Andhra restaurants and hotels advertised all over the place, sometimes even boards written in Telugu.
As a shared faith place thronged by Hindus and Muslims, the shrine is a target of hate. By terrorists. When those managing it in some form or the other, be it the ushers, the security men at its gates, or even employees at ticket counters act like they are the bosses at the temple, you have reason to think that the hate agenda is actually working.
My parents and I had to hitch an auto-rickshaw ride for a walking distance from a restaurant near the temple to our hotel on another street, as we were without footwear on roads that nearly burned our feet. Such a ride in Mumbai would cost us Rs 9. The guy charged us Rs 20. When I asked him why people were indulging in such day light looting, he brazenly said, ``Shirdi is all about `lootmaar'. Everyone out here loots.'' He said this, with a voice so unabashed that I was too shocked to react.
So much for the place of a saint who preached selflessness! I cannot fathom how worse it could get over my future visits to the place.
Strange are the ways of humans - examples of insolence. They can convert faith into a billion dollar industry. The mere smell of devotion gets their brains overworking with ideas to cash in on it.
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