Travel

He Shoots Warriors:
Vijendra Trighatia

SANDEEP VIRK

It was the 9th of March, 2012, when my friend Vijendra Trighatia woke me up early in the morning and without so much as by-your-leave, told me to be ready in one hour.

He wanted to me to accompany him to the Hola Mohalla festival at Anandpur Sahib.

That he is a passionate photographer was always known to me but for once his fervor took me by surprise. He is an amateur enthusiast who uses the lens of his camera as a brush to create evocative images.

So even though I was rudely woken up, watching him taking pictures of the Hola Mohalla festivities was a treat I had no intention of missing.

Hola Mohalla is a three day celebration as per Nihang Singh traditions.

We were stopped four kilometers short of the town by the police who instructed us to park the car there at the check point and walk rest of the way to the historic city where the formal genesis of the Khalsa took place a little more three centuries ago. We walked with legions of the faithful who had descended from the remotest corners of Punjab, and mingled with the countless curious tourists from all parts of the world.

Our destination was the Charan Ganga stadium located on the other side of the town.

The endless procession of the Nihangs commenced the moment we entered the narrow and meandering by-lanes of the city. It was a sea of blue with sparkles of white and saffron. Strapping hard men in long flowing robes with fierce moustaches and piercing eyes marched on the roads to the stadium. Their weapons glittered in the rays of sunlight.

We reached the stadium which was already jam packed and the police were busy controlling the entry of the surging crowd. My friend’s standard attire of kurta and pyjama, adorned with the ever-present camera, usually guarantees his entry into all restricted areas and this time was no exception either.

His son, who was also with us, and I followed him and entered the central ground. The descendants of the Guru’s army were
spread all over and were being watched with admiration by thousands of spectators all around the stadium, which was filling in by the minute. As the available space filled up they were soon perched up on the trees and houses beyond the stadium walls.

The display of the martial arts, Gatka, was already underway when we arrived. Swords and spears flashed and swirled with flawless ease. Such was the level of skill that the overtly aggressive engagements between two opponents never resulted in any injury to either the participants or to onlookers such as my friend who merrily went about freezing the action in his camera, oblivious of the fact that razor sharp blades were flashing inches way from his face.

For the Nihang Singhs a step backwards was followed by two forward. Their muscles glinted in sweat when they thrust and parried their weapons. Loud war cries reverberated in the air as the swords thudded on the fearless shields.

The older ones of the lot were not to be left behind. There was this old warrior who presented a singular display of skill with a sword in one hand and a wooden stick in the other. For his girth and age he was deceptively swift on his feet.

And of course there was this old man with a super huge saffron turban who was being followed everywhere by his admirers, which included me.

Soon it was time for the show of the day.

The processions began with the arrival of drummers and two elephants. Then came the horsemen with their brilliantly decorated horses.

Tent pegging is an old sport where once upon a time the warriors on galloping horses speared their opponents and carried off their heads as trophies of their victory.

Small blocks of wood or elephant grass have now replaced their grisly predecessors but there is no let up in the enthusiasm of the modern warriors. The entire stadium watched in hushed admiration as the first of the riders started his gallop from one end.

Despite the electric excitement, I noticed that my friend had suddenly vanished.

I frantically looked around for him until his son who was with me pointed him out at a distant point. To my horror he was bang in the middle of the path of a galloping horse, slightly crouched, and shooting his pictures. Just as I thought that the horse was going to run him over he took his shot and deftly moved away with the finesse of a bull-fighter.

With more Nihang Singhs descending with their galloping horses, it became a deadly game. The hooves thundered on the ground and not a single rider was spared the attention of his lens. Some started racing each other while standing on the back of their horses. They were everywhere and my friend was in the middle of it all.

To avoid injury and chaos his son and I moved to the safety of the perimeter. We stood there stunned, witnessing the grand spectacle and Trighatia’s passion with the camera. It was as if the artist knew that if he turned his back to the festivities he might miss an exceptional image.

The intrepid photographer didn’t look too worried about his health and safety. Just like a Nihang he was risking his life to share
his enthralling portraits with everyone.

A warrior armed with a camera.

He was taking pictures of other warriors who were displaying their exceptional martial skills. The horsemen in blue galloped around as they must have for hundreds of years.

‘Nihang’ means someone who isn’t afraid of death. My friend stood in their path, dodged and kept on clicking away. The adrenalin rush became more intense as the perils around him escalated.

Two Nihang horsemen fell down and two horses collided with each other but my friend was fearlessly capturing the people, expressions, action, colour and splendour of Hola Mohalla with his lens. Notwithstanding the dangers he continued documenting the quickly unfolding scenes.

The sun was setting and we were exhausted.

I implored Trighatia’s son to convince his father that we must get back to Chandigarh. After making a few queries from
several Nihangs, he was finally convinced that the festivities were indeed coming to an end for the day.

We walked back to the car which we had left a few miles away.

He put his camera back in the bag carefully, with a look of utter satisfaction on his face.

The pictures he took are stunning and evidence of his photographic genius. These gems are a pleasure for the viewer
because they have been created by a simple human being who is a passionate artist.

*   Please go to the bottom of the sikhchic.com HOMEPAGE for a daily new photo from Vijendra Trighatia's Hola Mohalla Portfolio.

April 26, 2012

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