In my mind, the concept of "holy water" means dusty pilgrims trudging along barefoot in the yellow Indian afternoon, their shoulders pressed down with a yoke of earthen vessels filled with sacred Ganga-jal. Garlands of tinsel and scraps of scarlet cotton can't quite disguise the weight of the burden, won at such heavy cost. Some walk several hundred miles to the holy cities on the Ganges.

The picture is charming. Truly. I'm sure Western phorographers grab every opportunity to capture the swirling dust, the setting sun, the cameraderie of pilgrimage. Watching the bright pots swinging along is seductive, and I have witnessed this annual migration through car windows with envy more times than I can remember. It's as predictable as a flock of geese in the fall or spring, only much more formless, and the line of travellers stretches out to infinity. The car moves on and on, for miles and miles, and still the people come.

As a child, I thought of little more than the pretty colours, and a feeling of exclusion. I wanted to join the parade. Now, as a history teacher still enamoured with the East, I wonder how many times this journey has been undertaken. For how many eons have simple farmers kissed their families goodbye, settled a yoke upon their backs, and set out to find holiness in this manner? It seems a rite as old as time.

Maybe they've graduated from clay vessels to stainless steel now. Maybe even tupperware some day. I can just envision the descendants of Brownie Wise holding their first Tupperware Pilgrims' Party. Quite practical, really: the lid would prevent evaporation and more holy Ganges water would actually make it home to bless the family and heal the sick.

Half-heeding the news yesterday, my ears suddenly perked up when I heard the phrase "Holy Drinking Water.....for sale.....blessed by Anglican and Catholic priests..." This was my first thought: "??? @#$ ????" And my second, third, and fourth. The cheery on-site reporter presented the sale of holiness as one more amusing spiritual curiosity and the studio anchor fake-laughed indulgently as the camera panned away to show the whole scene. Next to the table of bottled holy water stood an Eastern-European-looking grandmother type, clutching several bottles, waiting in line to pay.

And instantly, I was back on the road out from Delhi, witnessing the crowds of pilgrims shuffling along, deceived. Not so amusing, after all. We may "progress" from clay to plastic, but beyond that, some human characteristics never change. We're oh so willing to yoke ourselves with the weight of holiness, and so unwilling to accept the work of another on our behalf.



Incidentally, according to the website, people with an "evil nature" may experience burning or rashes when they drink the water. The warning is intended to amuse, as far as I can tell, but you can also donate this blessed holy water to the troops in Iraq, which indicates it's not so light-hearted an endeavour.