Okay, it's not worship: Sri Guru Granth Sahib, the Sikhs' holy book, is venerated only. [Sikhism, like Buddhism, is a non-theistic philosophy; a key tenet is that service to humanity is service to god.] But the Golden Temple at Amritsar is quite a testament to the reverence of the faithful.
After a brief visit the afternoon I arrived [google Golden Temple for pictures], I went back next morning at 4 AM, when the Granth is transferred from its marble and gold-domed overnight home at one end of the huge white temple-complex, to the Golden Temple itself, which sits in the middle of a vast tank or pool (where golden koi swim). It was hours before sunrise: the temple-complex was brilliantly lit and thronged with barefoot pilgrims wrapped in cloaks against the Punjabi chill. [There were more people at 4 AM than there had been in the daytime.] Some were still sleeping under the colonnades; some bathed in the holy pool, despite the temperature and breeze. Women's heads were covered; most men wore the towering Sikh turban, and quite a few men (and women too) had silver kirpans (curved daggers) slung on a bandolier and resting at handy hip-level. A few tall, fierce-looking men in saffron turbans and long blue coats carried spears with large leaf-shaped blades that did not look merely decorative.
The causeway to the Golden Temple itself was already packed solid, so I went up some stairs and found the sleeping-place of the holy book (behind glass panels). Descending on the other side, I positioned myself where I could see the palanquin being readied for the procession. It was being garlanded, though it needed no ornamentation, being entirely covered in gold leaf intricately worked. A brocade bed and two pillows were laid in the carrier; a saffron processional flag appeared; a small gold turret was added to the palanquin's canopy, and then garlanded (the whole thing now being of gold completely overlaid with golden flowers); a fine cloth was spread over the marble floor at the place where the palanquin would receive the book.
Throughout these preparations, the faithful kept praying aloud, in musical call-and-response fashion, while other recitation-chanting from the gurus [translated into English on an enormous flat-screen display, in the daytime] came over the loudspeakers, so that at times there seemed to be a competition. Then a loud shofar-like note was heard, from an S-shaped brass instrument that towered over its player (how interested Tony would have been!), and the enormously heavy palanquin was carried by a dozen men to the foot of the stairs. These stairs--and all surfaces near the book--were swept continuously by stooping devotees wielding lengths of cloth.
The horn sounded again: above, two tall silver maces appeared, then a man in white who held a huge silken pillow on his head, on which the book rested. Behind him, someone swished it ceaselessly with a silver-handled whisk made, I believe, of plumy white lambs-wool. At the appearance of the Granth the fervor of the crowd was unbounded: some cried out in prayer, others fell to their knees and bent their faces to the ground. As the book neared it was inundated with showers of rose-petals flung by pilgrims, before being placed in the palanquin and carried past the crowd on the causeway.
The next day I waited for an hour to cross that causeway and see the inside of the Golden Temple itself. It's like being inside a Faberge egg: every surface is covered in brilliantly colored and patterned gilt and paint, mirrors set in the ceiling, walls of elaborate floral porcelain or marble inlay. A two-storey crystal chandelier hangs over the book, which rests on brocade cushions strewn with rose-petals, protected by a many-tasseled silken canopy. A priest chantingly recites from the holy Granth; musicians play (harmoniums and drums), and the faithful throw coins and bills on its cloth dais. Although the Sikhs have had a bloody history (depicted in gory museum paintings at the complex), it resulted largely from persecution: they themselves are inclusive and tolerant. And I have to warm to those who hold so dear a book of wisdom.
After a brief visit the afternoon I arrived [google Golden Temple for pictures], I went back next morning at 4 AM, when the Granth is transferred from its marble and gold-domed overnight home at one end of the huge white temple-complex, to the Golden Temple itself, which sits in the middle of a vast tank or pool (where golden koi swim). It was hours before sunrise: the temple-complex was brilliantly lit and thronged with barefoot pilgrims wrapped in cloaks against the Punjabi chill. [There were more people at 4 AM than there had been in the daytime.] Some were still sleeping under the colonnades; some bathed in the holy pool, despite the temperature and breeze. Women's heads were covered; most men wore the towering Sikh turban, and quite a few men (and women too) had silver kirpans (curved daggers) slung on a bandolier and resting at handy hip-level. A few tall, fierce-looking men in saffron turbans and long blue coats carried spears with large leaf-shaped blades that did not look merely decorative.
The causeway to the Golden Temple itself was already packed solid, so I went up some stairs and found the sleeping-place of the holy book (behind glass panels). Descending on the other side, I positioned myself where I could see the palanquin being readied for the procession. It was being garlanded, though it needed no ornamentation, being entirely covered in gold leaf intricately worked. A brocade bed and two pillows were laid in the carrier; a saffron processional flag appeared; a small gold turret was added to the palanquin's canopy, and then garlanded (the whole thing now being of gold completely overlaid with golden flowers); a fine cloth was spread over the marble floor at the place where the palanquin would receive the book.
Throughout these preparations, the faithful kept praying aloud, in musical call-and-response fashion, while other recitation-chanting from the gurus [translated into English on an enormous flat-screen display, in the daytime] came over the loudspeakers, so that at times there seemed to be a competition. Then a loud shofar-like note was heard, from an S-shaped brass instrument that towered over its player (how interested Tony would have been!), and the enormously heavy palanquin was carried by a dozen men to the foot of the stairs. These stairs--and all surfaces near the book--were swept continuously by stooping devotees wielding lengths of cloth.
The horn sounded again: above, two tall silver maces appeared, then a man in white who held a huge silken pillow on his head, on which the book rested. Behind him, someone swished it ceaselessly with a silver-handled whisk made, I believe, of plumy white lambs-wool. At the appearance of the Granth the fervor of the crowd was unbounded: some cried out in prayer, others fell to their knees and bent their faces to the ground. As the book neared it was inundated with showers of rose-petals flung by pilgrims, before being placed in the palanquin and carried past the crowd on the causeway.
The next day I waited for an hour to cross that causeway and see the inside of the Golden Temple itself. It's like being inside a Faberge egg: every surface is covered in brilliantly colored and patterned gilt and paint, mirrors set in the ceiling, walls of elaborate floral porcelain or marble inlay. A two-storey crystal chandelier hangs over the book, which rests on brocade cushions strewn with rose-petals, protected by a many-tasseled silken canopy. A priest chantingly recites from the holy Granth; musicians play (harmoniums and drums), and the faithful throw coins and bills on its cloth dais. Although the Sikhs have had a bloody history (depicted in gory museum paintings at the complex), it resulted largely from persecution: they themselves are inclusive and tolerant. And I have to warm to those who hold so dear a book of wisdom.
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