Fire-walking ceremony

It was strange stepping into a Hindu temple. I'd walked by this temple many times before; I'd looked at the piles of dusty slippers and shoes at the pavement by the door of the temple; but the other evening was the first time I dared to slip my sandals off, feel the clammy cement on the bare soles of my feet, and walk into the temple among the devotees.



It was the annual fire-walking festival.

The colours, smells, atmosphere was overwhelming. It was thick with religion. The courtyard throbbed with religious fervour; the white ash coal in the pit a visible symbol of the longing for penance, for a connection with the sacred. It was out of this world.

Seriously, it was hot. I could feel the heat of the pit from 100 metres away. The heat hit me in waves, and made me perspire. It made my toes clam up just thinking about exactly how hot it would be to walk on those coals barefoot.



Every year, devotees would walk through the pit of fire. I suppose they do it for various reasons—for penance, or supplication, or vow. They stoke the fire from evening and start walking at 1am. It lasts all night.



There is something universal about white hot coals as a symbol for purification. Remember when Isaiah was standing in front of the throne of God and he is devastated because he realises how sinful he is? And the angel flies to him with a live coal in his hand, and touches Isaiah's lips with the coal, and says, "See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for." (Isaiah 6)

I know that God has forgiven, but I don't always feel it. So I understand the irrational craving for the pain of purification.