Wari

The Eternal Pilgrimage

The Pandharpur Wari is not just a pilgrimage. It is a living tradition, a sacred current of devotion that flows unbroken through the heart of Maharashtra and into the soul of Bharat. It is unique—incomparable, second to none, and one of its kind across the entire world.

To witness the Wari is to witness Bhakti in motion. To walk in the Wari is to walk with the saints—with Dnyaneshwar, Tukaram, Namdev, Muktabai, and so many others whose footprints still echo on the path to Pandharpur. Once you have walked even a step in the Wari, once you have held the Dindi Flag, it is held forever. It is no longer just a journey to Pandharpur; it becomes the journey of your life.

The Wari is not an event, not a ritual to be marked once a year. It is a profound way of life. A Warkari is not someone who merely walks to Pandharpur; a Warkari is one who walks the path of truth, love, humility, and unwavering devotion every day. Once you become a Warkari, you are a Warkari for life.

The beauty of the Wari lies in its discipline, simplicity, and deep humanity. There is love, care, selfless service, and brotherhood—not born of blood but of shared Bhakti. The bond between the Lord and His devotee, between the Sadguru and the Sadhaka, between the Dindi and each participant, becomes the very fabric of one’s being.

Only when the heart is ripe—overflowing with the longing to live a life of integrity, commitment, humility, and unconditional love—only then should one dare to step into the Wari. For here, every step is a vow, every chant a prayer, every footprint a sacrifice.

Wari is not for the curious or the casual. It is not for those who walk to say, “I was there too.” It is not undertaken to check off a bucket list. It demands presence, purity, and perseverance. It is not a tradition to be observed from the outside, but a fire to be embraced from within.

The title of Warkari is not conferred lightly. It is a lifelong dharma. To walk the Wari is to accept the Lord Vitthal not just as a murti in a temple, but as the living essence of all beings. It is to live by the teaching: “Sarva bhuteshu cha Atmanam, sarva bhutani cha Atmani”—to see the Divine in all and all in the Divine.

In truth, Wari is not a walk—it is a surrender.
Not a ritual—it is a revolution.
Not a tradition—it is transformation.

Pundalik

My Tryst with the Wari

My journey with the Pandharpur Wari began somewhere around the year 2012. But the seed was sown long before that—in the very soul of my community, in the air we breathed, in the rhythm of our bhajans, and in the stories passed down through generations. For us, Lord Vitthal of Pandharpur and Lord Venkateshwara of Tirupati are not merely deities. They are our Aradhya Devata—our Supreme Beloveds, the very axis around which our spiritual life revolves.

To behold Lord Venkataramana at Tirumala, to gaze upon Panduranga standing on the brick with His hands on His hips, is for us the culmination of Bhakti, the bliss that silences the mind and melts the heart. While I had been to Tirupati several times and bathed in that divine presence, Pandharpur, for reasons unknown, remained a dream just out of reach.

That changed in 2012.

Shree Dnyaneshwar Maharaj Palki

It was Dr. Jitendra Suryavanshi who gently nudged me onto this sacred path. He invited me to join a very special Wari—one not rooted in any institution or matha, but born out of pure devotion and collective inspiration. A group of scientists, especially from the field of chemistry and pharmaceutical research, had come together with hearts full of longing and heads bowed in reverence.

The initiative was led by Shri Pankaj Patankar, Dr. Jitendra Suryavanshi, Shri Shrikrishna Vengurlekar, Shri Gajanan Degaonkar, and Shri Sachin Wadhavane, among others—eight dedicated seekers in all. Scientists by profession, but Warkaris by heart. These were men who worked with molecules and medicines by day, but whose souls burned with the fire of devotion by night. They donned the Warkari topi, lifted the Pataka (sacred flag), and with their first steps, inaugurated a tradition—chemistry of the spirit, where Bhakti was the reagent, and Pandharpur, the final product.

When I joined this divine caravan in 2012, we were already 80-strong. What struck me most was the simplicity, the sincerity, and the sacred intent of every participant. There was no pomp, no performance—only Shraddha, Samarpan, and Satsangh. Over the years, this group has blossomed. Today, we number over 200, including wives and children, making it a spiritual family bound not by blood, but by Bhakti for Vitthal.

What began as a small step taken by a few noble souls has today become a living, breathing Dindi of scientists, seekers, and Satsanghis. And for me, that first step in 2012 was not a beginning—it was a homecoming. As if Panduranga had waited patiently on His brick all these years, smiling silently, knowing that one day, this servant too would walk His path.

Since then, Wari is no longer a yearly event in my calendar—it is an ongoing pilgrimage within, a rhythm that beats in my blood, a song that plays constantly in the background of my life. It reminds me every day that the Lord walks with us—whether in a lab or on the dusty path to Pandharpur.

And in holding that Pataka, we hold a responsibility. To walk in truth, humility, discipline, and surrender. To live the very essence of Warkari Dharma.

The Grace of Vithumauli and My First Wari

For five generations, my family has lived under the compassionate gaze of a Sadguru—a divine presence who has been the guiding light of our lives. His blessings have been our compass, His grace our strength. To us, our Sadguru often manifested as Shree Vithumauli Himself—our Vithoba, our Beloved standing on the brick, who graces us with unspeakable joy, peace, and love.

So when, quite unexpectedly, Shri Suryavanshimauli extended an invitation to join the Pandharpur Wari, it felt sudden, yet undeniably sacred. I saw it not just as a request, but as a divine calling—a summons from Mauli Himself, through the hands of a noble sevak. I humbly agreed, unaware that what awaited me was not just a walk, but a revelation.

That first Wari, the moment I joined the flowing river of Warkaris, I was overcome with a deep inner connection. As I walked amidst millions of devotees, my heart was transported to the past. I could feel the footfalls of the great Sants—Dnyaneshwar, Tukaram, Namdev, Muktabai, and countless others who, over the last 800 years, had walked the same sacred path to Pandharpur. Every grain of dust, every stone, felt infused with their presence, soaked with the tears, songs, and love of centuries of Bhakti.

To tread that path was to touch eternity. To walk where the Sant Parampara had walked, to chant the name of Vithumauli with those whose only wealth was prem (divine love)—was the greatest honour, a privilege beyond merit. As I walked, I chanted: “Jai Jai Ramakrishna Hari… Jai Jai Vithoba Rakhumai!” And with each step, I experienced an ananda, a divine joy, that words fail to describe.

After the day-long walk, we reached Pandharpur. The town overflowed with devotees. The queue for Darshan was unimaginably long. But I, as always, prayed to Him from the depths of my heart, “Mauli, bless me with Sahaja Darshan—an effortless glimpse, like how You have always granted me the grace of my Sadguru’s Darshan.”

To my surprise, online booking had just opened that year. It allowed us to bypass part of the crowd. It felt like Mauli had heard my prayer and responded through this unexpected channel.

Yet even with online access, the line was long, and the anxiety grew. Volunteers were ushering people away before they could even gaze fully upon Him. I had grown accustomed to effortless Darshan—the kind where the Sadguru draws you to His feet, unasked, unseen by the crowd. But now, standing in this fast-moving line, I felt nervous. Would I just be rushed past?

But then came the moment of Mauli’s Leela.

As Shrikrishnamauli, Shri Suryavanshimauli, and I reached the sanctum, the queue suddenly halted. Time seemed to still. We were able to stand before Vithumauli, drink in His divine form, and offer our hearts at His Lotus Feet. And then, in an overwhelming moment of grace, the priest placed a garland around my neck.

Shrikrishna Vengurlekar

That was Mauli’s answer to us. That was His way of saying, “I see you. I know you. I bless you.”

From that moment on, year after year, my bond with Pandharpur only deepened. I returned for many Wari and independent pilgrimages, but each time, Darshan came without effort. Never again did I face long delays or feel the weight of the crowd. Somehow, the path always cleared. Somehow, Mauli arranged it all—quietly, mysteriously, like only the Divine can.

For me, Pandharpur is not a place. It is a living presence. It is the heart of Bhakti, where the Lord plays hide and seek with His devotees, only to reveal Himself at the perfect moment. And my Sadguru, ever compassionate, walks silently beside me, ensuring that in every Wari, I don’t just see Vithumauli—I experience Him.

2020

Darshan by Invitation

All my previous encounters had one thing in common — I went out seeking His Darshan. I walked, I waited, I prayed. But in 2025, during the Wari, something shifted deep within. This time, I was very clear: I wouldn’t cover the stretch from Taradgaon to Phaltan. My body was already weary, and I accepted my limitation. More so, with online darshan closed on 29th June, I consciously avoided the temple darshan of Lord Vitthal, knowing the queues would be impossibly long.

Instead, I quietly bowed to Shree Dnyaneshwar Mauli’s Paduka, resting reverently in a tent. Devotees believe that Mauli himself halts and rests at that spot — not just symbolically, but truly. I felt a silent sanctity there, a grace that didn’t require loud rituals.

After this serene moment, I walked the 5 kilometres to the Datta Mandir, the next scheduled halt where Mauli was to receive naivedya and rest. That walk, though just five kilometres, brought intense physical pain. My legs protested, my body ached — and it became crystal clear to me: I would not, could not, stand in that long line at Pandharpur the next morning. I had made peace with it.

And so, the next morning came. I had not slept for over 48 hours. Still, I was wide awake — yet completely surrendered. Sleep hovered, and before drifting off I whispered inwardly, “I am not coming to You. If You wish to see me, You must make it happen. You must facilitate it.”

What happened next was nothing short of divine intervention. Within moments, I received a call from Dr. Suranvansi, who simply said, “Come! Let’s go for Darshan. Everything is arranged — we’ll have direct Darshan.”

Dr. Jitendra Suryavanshi and his family

There was no doubt, no hesitation. I went along.

When we reached Namdev Pairee, a colleague escorted us directly inside, promising no queues, no waiting.  But we had to stand in the line (which I did not wish for and yet was made to)— and there I stood, face-to-face with Vitthal’s Mukha Darshan. His lotus eyes, His compassionate smile, His presence — overwhelming, loving, and completely unexpected.

And in that stillness, it struck me — This Darshan wasn’t because I wanted to see Him. It was because He wanted to see me!
It was His Nimitta, His invitation. His love, reaching out beyond my human fatigue, my mind’s resistance, and my body’s limitations. But I had to undergo, like all others, standing in line!

Time and again, my Sadguru — my beloved inner Guide — shows me that He Loves, He Cares. Not just in words, but in direct, lived experience.

This moment of grace was not born of my effort. It was the silent fruit of the blessings of my elders, my parents — their prayers and love forming a bridge between His will and my journey.

It was not a Darshan I earned. It was a Darshan by Invitation.

29th June 2025

Bhagavan Nityananda and Shree Vitthal of Pandharpur

Manorama Shenoy, affectionately known as “Cigarettewali Bai”, worked at the ITC cigarette factory in Andheri, Mumbai. Every Sunday, when she visited Ganeshpuri for Bhagavan Nityananda’s darshan, she would bring along the two complimentary packets of cigarettes she received from the factory—and distribute them freely among the local villagers or devotees. Her simplicity, generosity, and steadfast devotion to Bhagavan earned her a unique place in the hearts of many.

On one such visit, Manorama Bai expressed a deep yearning to Bhagavan: she wished to undertake a pilgrimage to Pandharpur to have the sacred darshan of Lord Panduranga, her beloved deity. Bhagavan Nityananda, in his characteristic directness, gently told her, “Your Panduranga will come to you here in Ganeshpuri. There is no need to go to Pandharpur.”

Initially, she felt disheartened. She had longed for that special journey and the blessing of darshan at the holy site. However, that very evening, in the sacred precincts of Ganeshpuri, Bhagavan Nityananda manifested before her in the divine form of Lord Vitthal—standing in his iconic posture, arms akimbo, radiating compassion and grace. The vision overwhelmed her. Her heart overflowed with gratitude and joy at witnessing her Aradhya Devata in the living form of her Sadguru.

Unable to contain her devotion, she composed a beautiful Arati in Marathi, beginning with:

“Ganeshpuricha Raja Tula Drushta Lāgali,
Ovalitey Rāyā Tula Bhakta Mandali…”

(“O King of Ganeshpuri, my eyes have been blessed with your sight,
Devotees gather to wave lamps before you with love and delight…”)

In Konkani culture, the word “Drushta” commonly refers to the “evil eye”—a negative or envious gaze that is believed to cause harm, especially to beauty, innocence, or radiance. It is a deeply rooted cultural belief that when someone or something is extraordinarily beautiful, charming, or divine, it may inadvertently attract jealousy or excessive admiration. Such intense attention is thought to cast an invisible “Drushta” or malefic influence, resulting in restlessness, illness, or misfortune.

A classic example is that of a beautiful child. If many people admire the child—especially with pride or envy—it is often believed that the child may fall ill or become unsettled. In such cases, the mother performs a ritual Aarti, using camphor, mustard seeds, salt, or red chillies, moving the flame in circular motions to “ward off the evil eye”. After the ritual, the items are discarded, and the child is believed to regain peace and health.

Now, Manorama Shenoy, being a Konkani-speaking devotee, must have carried this cultural understanding of Drushta deep within her psyche. When she had Bhagavan Nityananda’s divine darshan and saw Him manifest as Lord Vitthal, she likely experienced not only reverence but also that maternal instinct of protective love. To her, Bhagavan—despite being the Supreme—was also like a radiant, innocent child whose sheer divinity could attract the Drushta of thousands of admiring devotees.

Thus, in her Arati, when she sings “Tula Drushta Lāgali”, it may carry a dual layer of meaning:

  1. “My eyes have beheld your form” – expressing gratitude for the blessing of having His darshan.

  2. And also: “You have attracted the evil eye” – because of the overwhelming admiration and desire that His form evokes in everyone who sees Him.

So, as a devoted mother-like figure, Manorama Shenoy performs Aarti not merely as a ritual of worship, but as an act of spiritual protection—just like a mother shields her child from subtle harm. In this act, she sees her Sadguru as the tender child, fragile in the face of worldly Drushta, and she assumes the sacred duty of shielding Him with her love and devotion.

This unique blend of Konkani cultural belief, maternal devotion, and spiritual reverence makes her Arati a deeply touching expression—more than just poetic praise, it is an intimate gesture of protective love for the Divine.

गणेशपुरीच्या राया तुला दृष्ट लागली!

ओवाळिते तुला रे देवा संत मंडळी,
देवा भक्त मंडळी।

ओवाळिते तुला रे देवा संत मंडळी,
देवा भक्त मंडळी।

इतुके भक्त मिळुनी तुझी दृष्ट काढिती।
तुझी कीर्ती ऐकूनीया आलो चरणासी।…………..||1||

मीरा बाईसाठी देवा विष प्यालासी।
कान्होपात्र घेउनी आलो आपुल्या चरणासी।…….||2||

जनाबाईसाठी देवा ब्रीद रक्षिसी।
विटेवरी नीट उभा हात कटेसी।………………….||3||

ओवाळिते तुला रे देवा संत मंडळी,
देवा भक्त मंडळी।

Ganeshpurichya raya tula drushta lagali

 Ovalite tula re deva sant mandali Deva bhakta mandali

 Etuke bhakta miluni tuzi drushta kadhiti

Tuzi kirti aikuniya aalo charnasi ……||1||

Mira bai sathi deva vish pyalasi

Kanho patra gheuni aalo aapulya charnasi ……||2||

Janabai sathi deva brid rakshisi

Vitevari nit ubha haat katesi…………||3||

Ovalite tula re deva sant mandali Deva bhakta mandali

O Lord of Ganeshpuri, the evil eye is cast on Thee!
Saints and seekers, in sacred line,
Wave their lamps in glow divine.
Saints and seekers, in sacred line,
Wave their lamps in glow divine.

Devotees gather with hearts so true,
To shield Thy form from harm and rue……………
Hearing Thy glories, gentle and sweet,
With love we come to touch Thy feet…………….||1||

For Mira Bai, in love so deep,
Thou drank the poison, silent, steep.
With Kanhapatra in humble grace,
Surrenders at Your Feet ……………………………..||2||.

For Janabai, so pure and bright,
Thou kept Thy vow in dharma’s light.
On sacred brick, in steadfast stay,
With hands on hips, Thou stood each day. ………..||3||

Saints and seekers, in sacred line,
Wave their lamps in glow divine.

To this day, this Arati is sung every Thursday evening in Ganeshpuri as a heartfelt tribute to that sacred moment of divine revelation and to the unwavering bhakti of Manorama Bai.

 

Note:

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