Love, Pray, Tie The Knot

The warren of lanes of the old city, flanked by Brahmin-blue houses, take you past little shops selling heady-smelling spices and roadside regalia, as you jostle with the crowd and errant cows, dodge open sewers—all this against the screeching stream of traffic in the background. The hemmed-in chaos eases as you approach the farthest end of Juni Mandi in Jodhpur’s bustling Aada Bazaar. Here, an imposing cerulean haveli with majestic, perforated screens—evidently a favourite abode of homing pigeons—cradles a temple in a nondescript, open-shuttered room. This is where Ganesha plays cupid to the milling love-birds who throng his quarters every Wednesday. Trunk turned sharply to the right (instead of the more familiar left), the elephant god—the divine arbiter of love in these parts—commands absolute obeisance from supplicants. The faithful murmur their prayers and make generous offerings as Yogesh Trivedi, a 25-year-old priest with sharp eyes and desperate faith, bids them adieu after a swift, one-minute floral ritual. The activity reaches a crescendo at twilight, when the lane is teeming with lovers, some star-crossed, who wait anxiously for the elaborate evening aarti. Believers say the deity gives his generous benediction to those who seek not wealth.

The plain, three-stone shrine of Guru Ganpati Mandir, untold decades old, was refurbished by philanthropist Lalch­andji Bhattarak in 1981, who then named it Ishqiya Ganesh. Since then, Badri Prasad Sharma Saraswat, the 80-year-old celebrant, has held devotees in thrall with his quiet demeanour. He hasn’t ever missed a Wednesday ‘shringar’, when his two sons Yogesh and Banarsi help him adorn the deity with glossy gold and silver sheets, kumkum and gulaal. “Ganesha helps you unite with your beloved,” Saraswat says confidently, recalling the many ‘true couples’ who have found love.

The Ishqiya Ganesh temple is a simple place, quite contrary to the more ornate Ratanada Ganesh temple on the other side of the town, and a draw for lovers too. “But what makes Ishqiya Ganeshji stand out is the lack of ostentation. Here, couples can meet even clandestinely in the quiet embrace of a desolate gali,” says Ramesh Purohit, a policeman guarding the bastion. In a city where many places of worship seem to be earmarked for specific communities or castes, this offers a uniquely secular refuge to an unconventional theme of devotion. Moin Sheikh, a 25-year-old businessman from Ajmer, recalls how 16 weeks of fervent prayer bore fruit, and led him to be united with his Hindu girlfriend. “Who else would understand our love? When my friends and kin denounced the relationship, I found my peace in Ishqiya. This has been my bolthole for two years now.” Ritesh Parihar also recently wed his long-standing girlfriend Anshu after courting her secretly for five years. “If you come here for seven weeks continuously, your mannat is fulfilled,” smiles the brawny 30-year-old.

For others, Ishqiya Ganeshji summons up sweet nostalgia. Hari Ram, an 88-year-old retired shopkeeper with a sunken frame and a gap-toothed smile, has been accompanying his beloved wife Tulsi Bai to Juni Mandi for 66 years. There’s a sparkle in their eyes as they reveal their earliest memories of this shrine  of love. Back then, it seemed more like a stealthy getaway from the prying eyes of adults, as adolescents would huddle together in the lane and profess their affection. “It was the favourite retreat of lovers in the absence of adequate meeting joints, pubs or discos. The place derived its name from this,” says Hari. After the sweets have been laid out precisely on marigold-ringed copper plates, the tiny bell on the side jingled and a Rs 10 note tucked neatly into the donation box, we quietly ask Hari, who’s clasping his wife’s hand tightly, what he prayed for. “Some more of this rose-tinged life that Ganesha has given us for 66 long years,” he says. After they fade back into the labyrinth of alleys, the young lovers start trickling in again. Taruna Jain, a 23-year-old homemaker currently based in Chennai, visits her favourite shrine every couple of months. “This place has a magnetic pull, drawing me back for 15 years. I’ve even seen the price of laddoos change from Rs 5 to Rs 15.” Along with her husband Mukesh, she hurriedly ties a mouli (wish thread) on the side wall festooned with other bric-a-brac touched by faith, before gushing that Ganesha has blessed her with the best husband. Perhaps a trifle naive, but in smaller cities love works through ingenious ways. Taruna recalls fondly how boys would tuck letters into the crevices of the temple walls, hoping for the lover to seek out those carefully penned notes. Or how couples would stream in individually to offer their prayers and then meet clandestinely at quiet spots nearby.

Evening puja at Ishqiya Ganesh temple

Around dusk, Juni Mandi’s quiet lane wears a different look. The overhead streetlights blink on amidst the tangle of wires, diyas are lit in the temple and Ishqiya Ganeshji smiles beatifically at his devotees in his bright floral attire. This is also the time when you are lost in a maze of pious believers, some hundreds, who choke the tiny arena. The sweet shops nearby make brisk business, selling plate after plate of sumptuous boondi laddoos, halwa cakes and mewa platters. The flo­wer-sellers add to the throng, displaying big salvers of fresh marigold or dew-dip­ped rose petals, and kirana shops sel­ling small prayer wares are abuzz with eager custom. There are some foreigners too, who flock to the temple, drawn by the many love sagas spun around it.

The priests take the evening prayer seriously. “We don’t spare even a breath to talk on Wednesdays and no one’s allowed to disturb the flow of devotees,” says Yogesh Trivedi, as he waves us off. In the crush of worshippers, we spot Anshul Khatri, a 22-year-old shopkeeper from Bikaner with his wife Pooja, a petite 19-year-old. Very much in love, they hold plates of prasad and garlands in earnest prayer before Gan­eshji. “Earlier, I never believed in God, but look what Ishqiya has given us,” says Pooja, throwing a smile at her husband. Even 24-year-old Mona from Punjab, conspicuous in her elegant pencil skirt and a crisp blouse, has been making her monthly pilgrimage, genuflecting before Ganesha and praying for a perfect union with her Rajasthani fiance.

In the course of a long and ardent prayer for love, many of Ishqiya Ganeshji’s followers start frequenting the other Ganesh mandir in Ratanada, perched on a picturesque hilltop and flanked by a large water tank. Priest Jagdish Lal, a former teacher at a local school, feels it’s a popular spot among mature couples, who tie ‘mannat dhaagas’ on to a long string across the temple hallway. “It’s nice to carry the torch of love from one end of the city to the other,” notes Anjali, a regular visitor to Ratanada.

Wish town it may be, but the total absence of pomp and pretence imbues the tiny temple of love in Jodhpur with a heart-warming flavour. It’s as easy to find a Natasha or a Preeti locked in prayer for a love that’s ‘true’, as is a prayerful 40-year-old bemoaning her failed attempts at ‘keeping her husband’. Perhaps the best way to find it is to get lost in one of those blue-hued, winding lanes alive with the aromas of opium, sandalwood, dates and copper till you chance on ‘love’ amidst the web of moustached men smiling for the camera, women in pink saris and the elephant deity at the far end of a tucked-away lane.