Thaipusam

"You must do it for journalism," said Jit.
Behind me were hundreds of thousands of Hindus crammed into the festival area, in front, a solid mass of devotees climbing the two hundred and seventy two steps to the temple inside the Batu Caves -- and Jit wanted me to join them. I gulped.

I was in Malaysia, and this was Thaipusam - described by the Lonely Planet as 'one of the most dramatic Hindu festivals (now banned in India), in which devotees honour Lord Subramaniam with acts of amazing masochism'.

Earlier that day, I'd hopped on a bus that disgorged its load of excited pilgrims and lone English tourist at Batu, where a tent city was littered with picnicking families and prone bodies sleeping, reminding me of the outer ring of the pop festivals of my youth.
The path to the cave area was lined with stalls of garish Hindu icons, garlands and presents for the gods of limes and jugs of milk. Barbers, standing in mounds of black hair, worked furiously to shave the heads of men, whose eyes glowed with a silent fervour as they patiently queued. The distant cacophony of drums and cymbals added to a growing sense of excitement and expectancy in the pilgrims and me, and our pace quickened in unison.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sight and sound inside the festival area. Like a field of oil-seed rape, the crowd gave off a yellow glow from saffron robes, golden flowers and lemon-coloured cradles containing babies granted in answer to prayers. Devotees in the central aisle, with the limes and jugs of milk attached to their bodies by hooks, tongues and cheeks pierced by spikes and skewers, swayed and prayed as the procession inched forward.

But these painful acts of faith were dwarfed by the spectacular Vel Kavadis. Huge metal cages, with bright tent-like covers decorated with neon holy pictures, flowers sprays and a multitude of peacock feathers, rested on the carriers' shoulders, attached to their skin of their torsos by spokes and a multitude of hooks. The cries of 'Vel, Vel' from the crowd and the drum beats and chants of their band of supporters drove them on in a trance-like state.
It was a pulsating, gruesome, compelling, riot of colour and noise.

I was perfectly content to watch, taking in the sights and sounds until, miraculously in such a crowd, I bumped into Jit, a Malaysian student I'd met a few days earlier.
"You must climb to the temple." he said. "Come with me."
"It's too hot" I protested. "I'm quite happy here"
But Jit was clever and when he urged me to do it for journalism, he knew I had no choice but to rise to the challenge and join the sweaty, heaving mass queuing at the bottom of the steps.

After half an hour I was surprised that I still existed, surely I'd melted away, and we hadn't even reached the first step. Suddenly it appeared at my feet and the nightmare assent began. Packed in among the faithful, I picked my way slowly, step by step, through the carpet of discarded plastic water bottles, lost shoes and occasional body as yet another person fainted. The first-aid was very well-organised and these unfortunates were whisked away efficiently.
I soon lost Jit in the throng, and, half way up, found myself being diverted into the middle lane by an official. This was where the kevalis were ascending and though it wasn't so crowded and I could breath again, I felt guilty to be in their midst as they plodded upward with their heavy loads, driven on by the drums, a few near exhaustion.

My legs jelly, I reached the top and entered the huge cave containing the temple. In contrast to the scene outside, the atmosphere in the cave was quiet and calm, the air refreshingly cool. The temple itself was covered in an eerie glow created from the shafts of light blazing down from the hole in the roof of the cave that merged with the fog of incense burning in braziers. The devotees made their offerings and sat praying. The cave was so big that the huge crowd was able to disperse, granting breathing space and room to rest. All around the walls were niches with altars and statues of Hindu gods. Each niche had its own band of irreverent monkeys careering around at high speed or sitting on the heads of the statues.
The peace was occasionally broken by the odd pilgrim for whom it was all too much, and one woman, screaming in a manic trance, had to be restrained by her band of followers.

When it was time to head back down, a bottleneck was created as pilgrims, spectators, devotees, helpers carrying the now redundant kevalis, and a hot, sweaty tourist tried to get through the narrow gap at the top of the steps. I teetered on the edge of panic and the steps, as people pushed from behind – there was nowhere to go. By sheer will-power I refused to let my feet be lifted from the ground, and, by the judicious use of elbows, managed to get safely through the gap. Once on the steps themselves, the crush eased and soon I was safely at the bottom.

Exhausted and emotionally drained, I gulped down a huge coke with ice, for once ignoring the health risk.
Jit was lost forever, and needing to get away from people, I caught a bus back to KL, numb from one of the most extraordinary mornings of my life.