If you are going somewhere important in this massive nation, there’s almost always a perimeter you have to cross. It isn’t the security perimeter that I’m talking about — it’s the human perimeter: taxi drivers, trinket sellers, beggars, and pavement merchants.
I figured the Kalighat Temple would be no different. But as I got off the Kolkata southbound subway, I was proven wrong. Instead of finding a crazy perimeter, I discovered what I can only call a “Zone of Intensification.” The closer I came to the actual murti (religious deity) — the worst it got.
And at the core of the problem? Some of the Hindu pandits themselves.
For Bengali Hindus, Kali is the most revered of the Hindu faces of god. She has various forms, including the popular four-armed figure with fangs, rageful eyes, and a garland of human heads. Destruction, after all, is an important element of the balanced universe.
For some of the pandits who administer the Kalighat ceremonies, though, there is an even more popular deity: the Indian rupee. And as I walked closer and closer to the Kali shrine, I got a first hand taste of the intensity of their faith.
Blocks away from the temple, self-described pandits zeroed in on me, flashing a “registration card” that demonstrated their authenticity. For anywhere from 20 to 50 rupees, they will give you a place to leave your shoes and perform some preparatory Hindu services before you enter the temple. Of course, none of them would take no for an answer.
The first “pandit” was so persistent that I started screwing with him. I slowed down and walked behind him. As he slowed down, I slowed down even more. The second pandit? I told off. The third? I politely declined. But as I finally approached the temple, the fourth started hounding me. I’m not sure how someone who didn’t even look like he had started shaving could be a pandit.
And that was just on the outside. Once I entered the room where the large Kali deity sat, it got worse. There were two lines: one for the regular people, and one for those who paid extra. I took the longer, slower line, but it didn’t matter. When I got to the front, and it was my turn to participate in the Hindu rites, the older pandit in front of the Kali deity began the hard sell. He wanted 501 rupees.
In between applying the tikka (colored streak) to my forehead, and giving me a garland of flowers, he kept asking for the money.
Now 501 rupees ($13) is a lot of money. To put it in perspective, it is 100 rides on the Kolkata subway. It is 20 days of street vendor lunches for a middle class downtown Kolkata worker. It is two drinks at the most expensive bar in town. It is one night’s stay at a midrange hotel. And it is a day’s earnings for one of my Hindi teachers.
But the hard sell continued. The pandit told me how he had been standing there all day working without a drink of water. And he asked for 501 rupees. He told me how Kali was protecting me with all four of her arms. And he asked for 501 rupees.
And before it was my turn, certain others got the same shakedown. One Indian man left the shrine with a look of anger on his face.
At the exact moment when a Hindu is supposed to be contemplating god, I was getting the hard sell from a spiritual hustler. There was no space for a spiritual moment — just a rushed ritual interrupted by frequent mentions of money.
Never before had a visit to a Hindu temple felt so hollow.
