This post is quite long, but I wanted to make sure I give justice to the enormity of this event!

As my computer works overtime uploading the hundreds of photos and videos from my last field visit, and Biraj guides the new hires through their training, I’ve finally found a moment to write about something I’ve been eager to share. It’s time to dive into what might just be the most energetic, incredible, and unique cultural event I’ve ever experienced – the Ratha Yatra festival in Puri.

Ratha Yatra, also known as the Car or Chariot Festival, is one of the grandest and most attended Hindu celebrations in India. Held annually in June or July in the coastal city of Puri, this ancient holiday celebrates the journey of Lord Jagannath along with his siblings, Balabhadra and Subhadra, from their main temple to Gundicha Temple, their summer garden retreat. The deities are transported on enormous, colorful wooden chariots that are pulled by thousands of devotees down Grand Road, the main street of Puri. The festival symbolizes Jagannath’s care for his devotees, reflecting the idea that divinity is accessible to all regardless of caste. In fact, Ratha Yatra is unique in its inclusion and openness to people of all caste backgrounds. For many, participating in this festival is like a rite of passage that offers a chance to connect with the divine and earn religious merit.

Naturally, I couldn’t pass up the chance to witness Odisha’s most significant festival. On the advice of an Indian friend from grad school, I wisely booked a hotel room in Puri months before my India trip. Little did I know I was in for a VIP experience. My friend had promised to “take care of me,” but I hadn’t grasped what this meant. The day before my departure, I was caught off guard when an MP’s executive assistant showed up at JRP’s office, calling me over to hand me a coveted Cordon Pass. These passes are like golden tickets to Ratha Yatra, granting access to restricted areas and offering unparalleled views of the proceedings – a luxury typically reserved for dignitaries and officials. As it turns out, my friend, currently on leave from the Indian Administrative Service to pursue a Master’s at Harvard, wields considerably more influence than I’d realized.

A coveted cordon pass

When I finally reached Puri for Ratha Yatra, exhaustion hit me hard. The past week had been intense – my longest field visit to Daspalla, followed by a brutal fever that peaked at 105°F just the night before. Despite barely recovering, I’d pushed through a full workday before heading out. So when I got to my hotel, I did the only thing my body would allow – I passed out.

By morning, I was rejuvenated and had time before the festival’s 2 PM start. I decided to explore Puri’s coast and the northern fishing district. In the hotel lobby, I met an unexpected companion – an Israeli traveler, the first foreigner I’d encountered in India. A 40-year veteran of Indian travels, he knew Odisha well. After a quick breakfast of samosas and chai, we headed to the northern beach, dotted with colorful wooden fishing boats called “nava” or “padava”. The beach, unfortunately, was marred by litter and sewage. En route, we navigated the fishing village’s narrow, winding lanes, bustling with life and the aroma of drying fish. Just as we were about to leave the polluted beach, some fishermen waved us over. Surprisingly, they were Christians from Andhra Pradesh. Many fishermen in Puri are Christians due to historical migration patterns and missionary activities to the south. We chatted with them for an hour before returning to the hotel to refresh for Ratha Yatra.

The narrow streets in the fishermen’s village

Fishermen hoisting a Padava into the water on a dirty beach

A couple of hours later, we set off toward the festival grounds. Soon, we encountered the massive procession of devotees slowly making their way to the main staging area. Here, I parted ways with my new companion; he went in search of a comfortable viewing platform, while I plunged into the masses in search of the cordon.

Ratha Yatra is getting close!

The crowds on the walk to the staging grounds

Navigating the crowd was not easy. Elbows flew and bodies shoved in every direction, with thousands of people pressing in from all sides. The only way forward was to push through forcefully, occasionally finding streams of people moving in the right direction. It was a frustrating task – I’d gain 100 meters, only to be pushed back 75. All the while, I was collecting bruises from the surging mass of humanity. The situation was made slightly more bearable by police officers standing atop vehicles, spraying cool water onto us below.

Eventually, I neared the cordon, where everyone was trying to break through the line. About 10 meters back, with the crowd struggling against a line of baton-wielding police, I seized my chance. I raised my pass high and screamed to catch an officer’s eye. In an instant, the police forced their way into the crowd, beating people back, grabbed my arm, and yanked me into the cordoned-off area.

It wasn’t easy getting to the cordon area

I must admit, I felt a pang of guilt receiving this privilege at the expense of others’ wellbeing and safety. The cordoned area is viewed with resentment by many Hindus, who see it as a benefit reserved for Indian elites. However, I couldn’t help but feel relieved to finally be in a space where I could breathe.

Room to breathe in the Cordon area

With space to move my legs, I made my way to the stage where the President of India was delivering a speech. Though I couldn’t understand the words, the crowd was clearly enthralled. However, my gaze was drawn to the true stars of the show: the three massive chariots.

My VIP status afforded me a rare, up-close view. Each chariot, or ‘ratha’, is a wooden behemoth standing over 40 feet tall, crafted anew each year. The largest, Lord Jagannath’s Nandighosa chariot, boasts 16 wheels and is adorned with red and yellow fabric. Balabhadra’s Taladhwaja chariot, slightly smaller, is covered in red and green, while Subhadra’s Darpadalana is the smallest, draped in red and black.

Someone up there is the President, and they were saying something

The stars of the show

These chariots are more than mere vehicles; they’re temples, carved with religious patterns and topped with cloth canopies. Even the wheels are considered sacred, believed to bestow blessings when touched. As I observed, priests and select officials climbed aboard, readying for the journey. These lucky few occupied an even more exclusive VIP area – the chariots themselves.

At the base of the chariots

VVIPS on the Chariots

It was a crowded scene, even in the VVIP area

Within the cordoned area, I found myself in a microcosm of the festival. Reporters bustled about, while devotees danced and sang with joy. I joined with groups of people chanting “Hare Krishna” – a nod to Lord Jagannath’s connection to Krishna, of whom he’s considered an abstract representation. Groups of women also performed the traditional Odissi dance, their fluid movements reflecting age-told traditions. Others engaged in spontaneous expressions of devotion – spinning and leaping to the rhythm of drums and cymbals.

Women dancing the Odissi

Amidst the celebrations, a palpable anticipation built in the air. Finally, the moment everyone had been waiting to arrive! It was time to pull the chariots! The crowd’s energy shifted, focusing intently on the massive wooden structures. The air brimmed with excitement as thousands prepared to witness and participate in the movement of the divine through the streets of Puri.

As a VIP, I was granted the honor of being among the first to pull Balabhadra’s green chariot, the Taladhwaja, which traditionally leads the procession. Lined up with hundreds of other attendees, we waited with anticipation for the signal. Suddenly, the air reverberated with the resonant sound of the ‘sankha’ – a conch shell horn blown to mark auspicious beginnings in Hindu rituals. At this sacred signal, we collectively grasped the massive, sturdy cotton rope, symbolizing the bond between the divine and devotees. Together, we began to pull. While I’m not a believer, I could feel the weight of tradition, faith, and thousands of years of devotion all channeled through this single act.

Pulling the chariots is considered more than just a good omen; it’s believed to be a direct interaction with the divine. Hindu tradition indicates that participating in this pull cleanses one of sins and grants spiritual merit. The physical act of pulling is seen as a metaphor for drawing the divine closer to oneself, both literally and spiritually.

Police ready the rope for the chariots

I was honored with first pull

Soon after we began pulling, chaos erupted. The line separating those with passes from the general public suddenly dissolved, and I found myself engulfed in a sea of humanity. Millions of bodies pressed in from every direction, leaving me disoriented and unsure if I was looking up or down. For the first time in my life, I viscerally understood how stampedes can occur. Despite the overwhelming crush, I was determined to see the festival through to its end.

Over the next 4 or 5 hours, I rode waves of people up, down, and around the main street. I chased ropes attached to the massive chariots, joining in the thunderous chants of “Jai Jagannath!” – meaning “Victory to Jagannath!”. This powerful invocation is both a celebration of the deity and a cry of devotion. While one might think religious fervor is necessary to endure such an overwhelming event, I can attest that the sheer adrenaline rush of being there is enough to carry you through.

Jai Jagannath!

A Ratha well Rathrad

Against all odds, I not only survived but managed to pull all three chariots – Balabhadra’s Taladhwaja, Subhadra’s Darpadalana, and finally, Jagannath’s Nandighosa. This trifecta is considered especially auspicious, believed to bring immense spiritual merit. However, this spiritual triumph came with physical costs. Weeks later, I still have a couple of scars and bruises as souvenirs of this intense experience.

Tragically, not everyone emerged from the festival unscathed. Each year, Ratha Yatra sees casualties due to stampedes, and this year was no exception. This reality leaves me utterly conflicted. On the one hand, the festival’s openness to all, regardless of social status, is truly beautiful. On the other hand, the lack of adequate crowd control measures is a grave concern. India, unfortunately, experiences more deadly stampedes than any other country, often during religious gatherings. It’s heartbreaking that events meant to celebrate life and spirituality often lead to loss of life. This underscores the urgent need for improved safety measures that maintain the festival’s spirit while protecting its participants.

Despite these heavy thoughts, I can’t deny the profound impact of this experience! Ratha Yatra offered a raw glimpse into the heart of Odisha culture and Hindu devotion. It’s precisely these intense, immersive experiences that make travel so invaluable.