The story of a fascinating festival of a small town tucked away in the foothills of the Himalayas.

‘Why are the people rocking the palanquin?’ I ask.
‘It’s not them. That is the deity rocking on its own,’ he says.

Mandi, a vibrant little town on the banks of the Beas River in Himachal Pradesh, India, is filled with fascinating tales and legends that are revered even today. As a child, visiting my grandmother in the summer, I recall listening wide-eyed as she recounted the many myths and legends that the little town is famous for.

With more than 80 ancient rock-cut temples and such a rich culture, it comes as no surprise that Mahashivratri – an important festival celebrating the birth of Shiva the destroyer - in Mandi is different.

Imagine a phalanx of gods and goddesses descending upon one place in elaborately decorated palanquins for a brief period every year, and you’ll see yourself in a town with an atmosphere so super-charged and so electrifying that it gives you goose bumps many times over. Come Shivratri, and hundreds of deities, invited from all over the Mandi district, start arriving into the little town amidst much fanfare.

However, even the gods must follow certain rules in Mandi.
The main deity is Madho Rao (Lord Vishnu) and it is to him that every arriving deity must first pay obeisance. Next is a meeting with the King of Mandi, followed by a visit to the ancient Bhootnath (Lord Shiva) temple. Only then can the visiting deities proceed to their designated places.
The then king built the Bhootnath temple way back in the 1500s, after he had a dream. But that’s a story for another day.
For seven days, the town comes alive and celebrates the arrival of hundreds of deities. Once all the gods have trickled into Mandi, an elaborate procession called a ‘zareb’ marks the Mahashivratri celebrations officially open.

Finally mere mortals like me can pay our respects to all the gods. With more than two hundred gods seated together at one place, adorned in their colourful best, smiling and offering their blessings to whoever desires them, this is one of the most fascinatingly wonderful sights that one could ever witness.

Standing there in the middle of it all, watching the whole town reverberate to the sound of the ‘nagaras’ (folk drums) and other local instruments, I’m awash with childhood memories. It’s been an emotional journey of sorts, and one that I was born to return to. As I step forward to ask for blessings, I promise myself it won’t be the last.