Through Rain and Devotion: The Miracles of Bhakta Sammilani

The echoes of anticipation began softly at the conclusion of the last Bhakta Sammilani, carrying whispers of a divine gathering destined near Puri. As the news spread, an investigation squad set forth on a mission to find a venue capable of embracing the enormous multitude expected for the momentous 110th Sarvabhouma Bhakta Sammilani.

As the sacred day drew closer, my heart swelled with an indescribable, heavenly joy. My mother, brimming with excitement, was the perfect companion for this spiritual journey. It was a blessing to be by her side, poised to witness thousands of devotees unite in a shared rhythm of devotion and love for Sri Sri Thakur—a pulsating harmony of faith.

The challenge ahead was monumental: accommodating an awe-inspiring gathering of devotees from all over the country. After much deliberation, a decision was reached. Balighai, a serene spot near Puri and adjacent to the tranquil Hariharananda Ashram, was chosen to host this grand congregation. It was a fitting choice, one that promised to weave the divine essence of the event into the very fabric of the place.

The air was thick with anticipation as the tents were erected, and the preparation for the grand gathering buzzed with energy. Workers and devotees alike were immersed in the task at hand, the spirit of devotion fueling their every move. But just as the final touches were being put in place, the sky darkened, and the heavens opened. The gentle hum of activity ground to a halt, as the rain poured down, relentless and unyielding. All work ceased, and we waited, like so many souls, for the rain to tire, its furious downpour holding us captive.

Then, as if to lift our spirits, one glorious morning arrived. The sun broke through the clouds, casting golden rays that touched every face, radiating warmth and hope. The devotees returned, hearts full of renewed faith, ready to give their all once more. But fate had other plans. On the 24th and 25th of December, the sky unleashed its fury once again. This time, the rain came in torrents, a steady, unrelenting downpour that seemed to soak the very earth beneath us.

The atmosphere grew heavy with despair. The haystacks, painstakingly gathered to cushion the ground beneath the tents, were now sodden and limp, dripping like soggy blankets. The tents, unable to withstand the weight of the storm, sagged in defeat. What had once been an organized assembly of devotion now resembled a sea of puddles, water creeping in every direction. Streams of rainwater formed, winding their way through the area, eroding the fragile ground beneath our feet. The sight of it broke the hearts of all who had come so far to be a part of this sacred gathering.

I arrived on the 26th of December, the day of ‘Adhibasa’, when the air was thick with both anticipation and the lingering scent of rain. The relentless downpour had stalled the final touches of the tent preparations, yet the devotees continued to pour in, undeterred by the challenges that the weather had thrown their way.

I soon learned that, on the night before, many devotees whose tents had yet to be pitched had found solace in the embrace of the open sky. They slept peacefully, wrapped in the warmth of their devotion, beneath the starlit heavens. But despite the hardships, when I asked those around me about the troubles they faced, there was no trace of despair. Not a single face bore the mark of defeat. Instead, the atmosphere was charged with an undeniable joy. Every heart seemed alight with the happiness of reunion—spiritual brothers and sisters reconnecting in a shared celebration of faith.

It was as if, despite the rain and the chaos, each devotee had been cloaked in a blanket of divine grace, their spirits soaring in the glow of the sacred gathering. Volunteers, who had the comfort of a tent over their heads, were out in full force, extending a hand to help others, their selfless efforts embodying the essence of this divine occasion.

The kitchen, a heart of warmth amidst the rain, was operating with unbridled energy, preparing prasad in anticipation of the crowd. But the dining hall, though brimming with the promise of nourishment, was damp, the ground still slick from the downpour. Yet, the devotees showed an astonishing sense of discipline. They lined up in perfect order, waiting their turn without complaint, their patience exemplified the reverence they held for this sacred gathering.

Meanwhile, many had found refuge in the rooms of the nearby Hariharananda Giri Kriya Yoga Ashram, the sanctuary offering a brief respite from the wet chaos outside. Yet, through it all, there was an unmistakable sense of unity, of divine purpose binding everyone together, regardless of the challenges.

Swami Prajnanananda Giri’s voice rang out, filled with awe and conviction, as he addressed the gathered crowd. "Isn’t this a miracle?" he exclaimed, his words carrying the weight of something beyond human comprehension. "Those who saw the state of this place during the two days of torrential rain before the Sammilani can only realize that this is not the work of man. Only divine grace could have brought us here, to this moment."

What followed was nothing less than awe-inspiring. It was not just the sheer number of devotees that was overwhelming, but the powerful pull that seemed to draw each one toward the mandap. The force was palpable—a divine magnetism that rendered personal comfort meaningless. In spite of the hardships, no one hesitated. The devotees flocked, drawn to the Sammilani Mandap as if summoned by a force far greater than themselves, eager to witness Sri Sri Thakur in the midst of his beloved devotees.

They had come from every corner of India: from the bustling cities of Bengal, Bihar, Assam, and Odisha, as well as the remote interiors. Buses, cars, trains, and even airplanes had been their vessels of pilgrimage, each journey a testament to their devotion. They had travelled miles and endured discomfort, but none of that mattered. Their hearts beat with the singular purpose of being part of this auspicious gathering.

Sri Sri Thakur had promised that he would be present in every Sammilani, and devotees thronged, eager to bask in the divine grace that flowed from his kind, all-knowing gaze. It was a gaze that seemed to pierce through the veils of time and space, a gaze that held within it the power to heal, to comfort, to uplift.

And in that sacred space, everyone—without exception—felt the unmistakable, undeniable presence of Sri Sri Thakur. It was not just an experience, but a divine encounter that would remain etched in their souls forever.

As we stood in awe, witnessing the unity and spiritual energy around us, my dear friend Monalisa suggested something truly inspiring. "Why don’t we interview the senior devotees?" she proposed. "At this stage of their lives, they forget all about comfort and rush here. What is it that inspires them to embark on such a journey?"

... to be continued