THE first time ever I trod the hallowed ground of Tilla Jogian was in October 1974. Young, callow and utterly unread, I had no idea regarding its history or how sacred that hilltop was. But even as my friend Shahid Ahmed and I wandered among the deserted ruins, there was a feeling, more than palpable, of the holiness of the site. We spoke in whispers, we walked on tiptoes. And we half expected some grizzled old guru, his snow-white beard reaching down the navel leaning on a crooked and gnarled staff to appear from somewhere and denounce us for violating the inviolable with our frivolous visit.
But no one appeared. Save for several hedgehogs in the thickets and the droves of birds singing in the tall trees we met with no one. The decrepit rest house built sometime in the 1890s had lost part of its roof. Once it was used by the Deputy Commissioner of the Jhelum district as the summer headquarter. In those pre-electricity days, the 1000 metre (3300 feet) height of Tilla Jogian above sea level meant comparatively milder summers. And so every year in May the DC moved up to the cool, pine-shaded hill to hold office and dispense justice. There he stayed until the beginning of September.
That was also the time when the monastery of Tilla Jogian thrived. Its hostels were home to acolytes of the Kunphutta (pierced ears) sect of jogis from all over India tutored by dozens of accomplished masters of the creed. That had been the way since its inception in the 1st century BC. That was when the great guru Goraknath lived and established both the sect and the monastery. History tells us of two illustrious ones among the guru’s disciples: Raja Bhartari, the philosophical prince of Ujjain, who gave up the throne early in the 1st century BC to become a jogi. And in that same period, Puran the prince of Sialkot much wronged by his libidinous step-mother. Both found spiritual fulfillment in the tutelage of Guru Goraknath.
Closer to our time, the heart-broken Ranjha also repaired here after Hir’s family forcibly married her among the Khehras. Those were the days when yogism transcended the religious divide and all, Muslim, Hindu and Sikh alike, resorted to Tilla Jogian to worship the Lord as they deemed fit.
The abandoned, weather-beaten buildings comprise of two temples and a few auxiliary quarters shaded by tall spreading pipal and wild olive trees. A few hovels mark the spot where some long forgotten masters passed out their days of penance and worship. Below the ruins can be seen arches of earlier buildings: the remains of buildings over which later buildings were raised.
The Mughals from the time of Akbar onward until Shah Jehan periodically visited Tilla. Akbar was markedly impressed by the ancient tradition of piety and godliness maintained at the monastery. Late in the 16th century he even added a large stepped water tank with royal bathing chambers and decorative corner minarets to mark one of his several visits. The Mughals were sufficiently liberal to not interfere with the religious life of the monastery.
In 1748 the accursed brigand Ahmed Shah Abdali descended upon Tilla sacking and looting. When he withdrew, he left behind rotting bodies and a smouldering ruin — the hum of religious industry quieted. Those who could, saved their lives by hiding in the forested slopes away from the marauding Afghans. But creed lives in the soul and cannot die with the body, as Manto was to observe two centuries later. And so despite the savage treatment handed out to the monastery of Goraknath, it was soon singing with life again. Slowly and painstakingly the monks rebuilt the lost houses of worship. The buildings that stand today, save the Mughal water tank, are therefore all post-1748.
By the Mughal water tank, there once stood over two dozen stubby little samadhis: tombs containing the ashes of those who had died at Tilla. But over the years foolish treasure hunters have destroyed them. The samadhis are not the only target of the savagery of men blinded by greed of lucre, these mindless sub-humans have uprooted every single floor in the ruins. I say mindless for they do not realize that those, like Raja Bhartari who gave up the crown, who had forsaken the material world to become jogis would scarcely have possessed any wealth. Though nothing has turned up, vandals still periodically attack and destroy a little more of ancient Tilla Jogian.
When Shahid and I had first visited Tilla one of the things that completely overcame us was the awesome view to the north. Far beyond the broken gullies of Jhelum district there appeared a pure white horizon of snow peaks: the Pir Panjal range of Kashmir. We humans (or so we like to call ourselves!) had not yet successfully killed the purity of the air and the distant hills seemed so near that we reached out to touch them. The best part was that in our perception we actually did. We even felt the chill of virgin snow.
Back in 1974, I had never seen anything like Tilla Jogian. The memory of that outing remained etched on my mind for years afterwards. Now when I have travelled and seen a bit more, I still find that first experience of special significance. I returned a second time in March 1986 and was shocked to find the old British rest house gone. In its place stood a brand new cement concrete cottage and the place was crawling with workmen. I was told that some minister or other having taken fancy to it, wished to turn Tilla Jogian into a tourist resort. I returned yet again in December 1988. Barely nine months after it was raised, the new-fangled rest house was in ruins. Its doors and windows had been ripped out and the shattered water closet from the toilet lay by the front door. That was a sign of the failed state. The state under the Raj enforced law and order, consequently the old rest house, despite its ruinous condition, had not been touched until demolished to be replaced by the new one. But the State of Pakistan being a free-for-all, its property was vandalized within no time at all.
Over the years I returned again and again and saw modern Ahmed Shah Abdalis systematically doing their work: yet another floor uprooted, another samadhi destroyed, the British milestone that said ‘Jhelum 25 miles’ stolen, dozens of the ancient olive trees cut and burnt and more and more buildings defaced with graffiti.
But what not even the most vicious vandal has been able to damage is the aura of Tilla Jogian. The tangible feel of it being a special place; a place much favoured by higher beings. And even if the hum of religious worship may never rise above the sound of wind soughing through the pine trees of Tilla Jogian; even if no jogi ever returns here to seek his own nirvana, that is one thing no vandal will be able to remove from the monastery of Guru Goraknath.
THE first time ever I trod the hallowed ground of Tilla Jogian was in October 1974. Young, callow and utterly unread, I had no idea regarding its history or how sacred that hilltop was. But even as my friend Shahid Ahmed and I wandered among the deserted ruins, there was a feeling, more than palpable, of the holiness of the site. We spoke in whispers, we walked on tiptoes. And we half expected some grizzled old guru, his snow-white beard reaching down the navel leaning on a crooked and gnarled staff to appear from somewhere and denounce us for violating the inviolable with our frivolous visit.
