To me, rath yatra had been a mystery till I witnessed it in 2010.

I remember my mother got her first posting at the Puri Women's College when I was around four years old. On the day of the car festival in the same year, we gathered on the first floor balcony of an acquaintance, whose house was located beside the Grand Road.

I can recall the immense crowd, the noise as well as the delectable delicacies being served to us from time to time. With this faint memory, I started building a canvas of imagination about rath yatra till we got a television our house. Later when we had one, I started watching the car festival on our black and white television. With the continuous commentary of erudite speakers, I used to make an attempt to decipher the colours of the three raths, according to their specifications, knowing fully well that it was a vain attempt.

Throughout the years, I was eager to witness the pious ride of the Lord and his siblings but was scared of the crowd and retreated from the adventure. Of course the colour TV had, in the meantime, replaced its black and white predecessor and faithfully showed three differently hued chariots in due time. I used to sit glued to the TV watching the sojourn of the deities to the chariots.

I was thrilled when ultimately I got a chance to witness the yatra as some of my friends had invited me with the promise of a relatively safe place to sit and watch the proceedings. We went to Puri the night before and settled at a place nearby, so it would be easier for me to approach the Bada Danda - the course the chariots take in their yatra.

While walking up to the designated building, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of togetherness with all the unknown people walking along to the same destination with the same purpose. Each of them looked serene and preoccupied, oblivious to their surroundings. The walk was so peaceful and engulfing that I was reminded of the Dandi March, called and taken by Mahatma Gandhi for Salt Satyagraha. It just flashed across my mind that the walk must have been similar to this. People are walking for a goal, a promise, single-mindedly and looking resolute.

As soon as I sat down on the frontline chair on the third floor of the building, I came across a huge crowd standing, pushing, jostling below me! I was awestruck by the overwhelming enormity of the crowd gathered for a glimpse of the God and pulling the chariots.

And then began pahandi - the majestic strides of the deities on the shoulders of the sevayats and devotees. The sight was something I had never come across. I could understand why the commentators used to choke while narrating about the pahandi. I stood up as did all beside me, with tears rolling down my eyes. I found almost all men and women weeping, dancing, singing, chanting, swaying, throwing flowers - all seemed mesmerised and were <>in a frenzy.

There was adequate arrangement for security. Police were deployed in large numbers to control the energised crowd, though holding back people from rushing to the chariots was definitely a Herculean task. But what struck a discord was that inside the barricade a few privileged were allowed to carry flowers and climb the chariots to offer puja, while lakhs of common people jostled outside the barricade to have a glimpse of the Gods, mostly to no avail. I am sure that the Lords, who we believe are the rescuers of the marginal and the underprivileged, would not have approved of this. And the prayers of each and every must have reached them even if all could not get access to touch and offer puja to them directly.

Then pulling the chariots started amidst huge uproar of joy. The crowd was enthused to no bounds.

But, it was too sad a scene to witness the body of a woman, who died due to stampede. The body was carried on a stretcher just below the building I was in. It appears that such deaths that occur every time during the chariot festival cannot be controlled. I was prompted to write a story on the woman, who probably must have come with a lot of aspiration but could not go back to her place to describe her experience. I returned from Puri with a mixed feeling.

• The writer is an author and bureaucrat