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BE 2: The Historical Tapestry of Pandharpur Wari – A Journey Through Time

The soft chime of temple bells still echoes the divine promise of Bhagwan Vitthal, who stood on a humble brick in Pandharpur, his heart open to every bhakt. Beside him, Devi Rukmini’s gentle smile welcomed all, their love turning this quiet town into Bhu-Vaikuntha, a heaven on earth. From that sacred dawn, when Bhakt Pundalik’s pure bhakti brought Vitthal to the banks of the Chandrabhaga, a beautiful journey began. Like a river flowing through time, this journey grew into the Pandharpur Wari, a grand pilgrimage where lakhs of bhakts walk 250 kilometers, their hearts singing “Vitthal Vitthal.” Picture the scene: saffron flags fluttering in the monsoon breeze, the scent of wet earth mingling with incense, and the rhythmic chant of bhakts under a starlit sky. To feel the bhakti of this Wari, let us travel through history, tracing how Pandharpur’s divine call wove a tapestry of love that unites millions today.

Long ago, Pandharpur’s holiness was sung in ancient texts. The Chandogya Upanishad whispers of King Janshruti, who journeyed to this sacred land to seek wisdom, his footsteps blessed by the Chandrabhaga’s waters. The Padma Purana calls Pandharpur a tirtha, a holy place where Bhagwan Vitthal’s presence cleanses the soul. By the 5th century, a king gifted Pandharpur village to honor Jayadvittha, a name for Vitthal, showing how bhakts cherished this land even then. The town’s narrow lanes, lined with tamarind trees, buzzed with bhakts carrying tulsi garlands, their voices soft with bhajans as they walked to the river’s ghats, where diyas floated like tiny prayers.

In the 12th century, a grand moment arrived. King Vishnuvardhana of the Hoysala Empire, touched by Pundalik’s bhakti and guided by the great teacher Ramanujacharya, built the Vitthal-Rukmini Mandir. Imagine the scene: masons carving stone under a golden sun, crafting tall gopurams that reached for the sky. The temple’s walls bloomed with images of Bhagwan Krishna’s leelas—his dance with gopis, his flute’s melody under Vrindavan’s trees. When the idol of Bhagwan Vitthal was placed in the sanctum, his hands on hips, his fish-shaped earrings glinting, the air filled with the sweet scent of sandalwood and the sound of conches. Bhakts wept with joy, their hearts dancing as Devi Rukmini’s idol, draped in a silken sari, glowed beside him. The temple became Pandharpur’s beating heart, calling bhakts to sing, pray, and offer their love.

Vitthal-Rukmini – Pandharpur

By the 13th century, a wave of bhakti swept Maharashtra, like a monsoon rain nourishing the earth. This was the Bhakti movement, led by sant-kavis, saint-poets who sang of Vitthal’s love in simple Marathi words. Sant Dnyaneshwar, a young sage with eyes bright as stars, wrote the Dnyaneshwari, sharing the Bhagavad Gita’s wisdom with farmers and weavers. Sant Namdev, a tailor with a childlike heart, sang abhangas that made bhakts sway, their voices rising like waves in Pandharpur’s streets. The scent of fresh prasad—sweet laddoos and creamy kheer—filled the air as bhakts gathered under banyan trees, their kartalas clinking in kirtans. These saints broke barriers, welcoming all—men, women, rich, poor—into Vitthal’s embrace, their bhakti a song that echoed across villages.

It was then that the Wari began to take shape, like a tiny seed growing into a mighty tree. Some say Sant Dnyaneshwar’s parents, Vitthalpant and Rukmini, started walking to Pandharpur with bhakts, carrying love in their hearts. Others believe the Wari began with sant-kavis leading small groups, their feet touching the earth softened by monsoon rains. Bhakts carried padukas, the sacred sandals of saints, in palkhis, wooden palanquins adorned with flowers. The path to Pandharpur became a river of bhakti, with bhakts singing “Dnyanoba Mauli Tukaram,” their voices blending with the jingle of ankle bells and the beat of mridangas. Under starlit skies, they shared simple meals of bhakri and dal, the taste warm and comforting, their laughter a hymn to Vitthal’s love.

A Marathi abhanga by Sant Dnyaneshwar captures this bhakti:

Marathi Verse (Devanagari):
विठ्ठलाचे नाम गाई, हृदयात रंग भरे।
पंढरीच्या मातीशी, भक्तांचे पाय जुळे॥

Poetic Translation:
Sing Vitthal’s name with love, let colors fill the heart,
With Pandharpur’s sacred soil, bhakts’ feet ne’er part.

Meaning: This abhanga praises the joy of chanting Bhagwan Vitthal’s name, which fills the heart with divine love. It celebrates the bond between bhakts and Pandharpur’s holy earth, where their footsteps become a sacred dance of bhakti during the Wari.

By the 17th century, the Wari grew grander, like a river swelling with love. The Maratha kings, inspired by Chhatrapati Shivaji’s bhakti, poured their hearts into the pilgrimage. They built rest houses where bhakts could sleep under cool roofs, their dreams filled with Vitthal’s smile. They offered food—steaming rice and spicy usal—its aroma drawing bhakts to share meals like one family. The Wari became a living poem, with bhakts walking through fields of swaying sugarcane, their saffron turbans bright against the green. Women balanced tulsi pots on their heads, their saris fluttering, while children ran ahead, their laughter like temple bells. The Chandrabhaga’s ghats welcomed them, the river’s cool waters soothing their tired feet, its ripples singing of Vitthal’s eternal presence.

This journey through time shows how Pandharpur’s divine call grew into the Wari, a celebration of bhakti that knows no caste or creed. Picture a bhakt standing before Bhagwan Vitthal’s idol, his dark form glowing in the temple’s sanctum, the scent of camphor swirling around. Devi Rukmini’s maternal gaze falls on all, her love a soft embrace. The Wari’s history is a song of unity, where bhakts walk together, their hearts beating as one. As the monsoon clouds gather, the air hums with their chants, and the earth trembles with their love for Vitthal.

From this historical tapestry, the Wari wove sacred rituals that light up Pandharpur’s skies. In the next chapter, we will step into these rituals—the aartis, the palkhis, the chants—that make the Wari a living river of bhakti, flowing forever to Bhagwan Vitthal’s lotus feet.

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