The March winds bid farewell to the cold winter of North India, and in that gentle warmth of spring, our taxi sped towards Vrindavan. This time we were on a quest for unique salvation: to experience the fabled Lath-Maar Holi.
Long gone were the urban jungles, replaced by endless green fields. Jawar and wheat crops stood tall, ready for harvest. The scenery presented a surprise now and then — a crumbling old temple, a splash of sunshine-yellow mustard, and even a pair of Siberian Cranes, a rare sight even for the famed Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary!
Known for their lifelong devotion, these majestic birds stay paired until the end. We couldn’t help but wonder if it was a symbolic blessing in a land steeped in the love story of Krishna and Radha.
Lord Krishna — brief intro
Lord Krishna, a major god worshipped throughout India, holds a special place in the Hindu pantheon. Rulers and merchants revered him as a patron deity, and his influence permeates folk art, paintings, dance, and local culture.
The most important places associated with him are Mathura (Uttar Pradesh), where he was born, and Dwarka (Gujarat), where he retired later in life. This swathe of land, spanning Western Uttar Pradesh, Eastern Rajasthan, and most of Gujarat, has been Krishna’s domain for centuries.
Yet, the Lord Krishna of Mathura differs from the one of Dwarka. In Mathura, Krishna is worshipped as a playful child and divine cowherd. Folktales of his mischievous pranks and Rasleela (divine dance) are abundant. In Rajasthan, his temples are built like havelis (traditional mansions) without the customary dome. These temples have separate bedrooms, guestrooms, kitchens, and other rooms where Krishna lives, entertains, changes clothes, and takes siestas throughout the day. It would be fair to say that the child god here is more playful and accessible to the devotees, and the primary emotion is that of love.
In contrast, Krishna of Dwarka carries immense gravitas. He built this ancient kingdom himself, now one of the four holy pilgrimage sites for Hindus. In this sacred place, Lord Krishna is worshipped as Dwarkadheesh — the king and protector. He exudes a statesman-like grandeur, depicted as a majestic four-armed figure. Unlike his portrayal as a playful child in Mathura, known as Bala Krishna or Banke Bihari, in Dwarka, he is shown in his regal form.
On the way to Vrindavan, nestled beside Mathura, we passed through towns and villages, each with its own story woven around the life of Lord Krishna. This sacred region, known as Braj Bhoomi, is a kaleidoscope of his divine and playful escapades, where every small temple (and there are hundreds of them) seems to hold a secret.
Mathura, the birthplace of Krishna, stands proudly with the magnificent Keshav Deva temple, marking the spot where his prison cell is believed to have been located. Gokul, his foster home, is where he grew up under the loving care of Yashoda and Nanda, his foster parents. Many temples in this place adorn and celebrate his mischievous pranks, such as his notorious butter-stealing escapades. Vrindavan is where Krishna enjoyed his bucolic childhood, performing the enchanting Raas Leela and playing his flute, captivating the gopis. Govardhan is the hillock that Krishna famously lifted to shield the people of Braj from Indra’s wrath, showcasing his divine strength. Barsana, the hometown of Radha, Krishna’s beloved, is famous for the playful festival of Lathmar Holi, where Radha’s people joyfully chase away Krishna’s people with sticks. Lastly, Nandgaon, the village of Nanda, is noted for Lathmar Holi and its grand celebrations during Janmashtami, which marks Krishna’s birthday.
Every stone here, carved or waylaid, hints of a temple, bearing the weight of history, whispering tales of resilience and defiance. Mughal emperor Aurangzeb’s campaigns in the 17th century were a hurricane of hate, ripping through these sacred spaces. Yet, like defiant seeds buried deep in the earth, the main statues found sanctuary thanks to the foresight and valor of neighboring Hindu kings.
We finally arrived in Vrindavan, and the presence of the lord was palpable, literally. The air was filled with the greeting chant of “Radhe Radhe,” and the place was swarming with devotees. Police were everywhere, and the city was barricaded for four-wheel traffic. A trip to the neighborhood ISKCON temple from our AirBnB turned into a 2-hour crowd-fest.
Exhausted, we passed out that night, wondering if we had bitten more than one could chew…
Next morning, we woke up to the soothing chants and temple bells nearby, and I couldn’t help but think the divine forces were blessing us with some much-needed introspective meditation. But alas, the memory of last night’s riotous trip to ISKCON quickly shattered that illusion.
We reached Nandgaon early, expertly navigating the bottlenecks and rush of vehicles. Cars parked about a kilometer before the main town, forcing us to continue the rest of the journey on foot.
Nandgaon is a one street town, where everyone knows everyone else’s business (and probably their lunch plans). The main temple, Nand Bhavan, sat regally atop a hillock, a silent observer to the usual population of 10–12,000 souls. But on Lath Maar Holi, it had exploded like a rogue piñata — multiply that number by ten, and then add a sprinkle of tourists for good measure. Villagers from nearby and tourists from afar had arrived, all swarming to the main temple like a horde of colorful locusts. Contingents of 3,500 police personnel deployed were doing a reasonable job of crowd control, but let’s just say it wasn’t for the faint of heart (or those with a pristine wardrobe).
Brief note on Lath Maar tradition:
Legend has it that Krishna, living in Nandgaon, would visit Barsana to meet Radha during Holi. His mischievous antics of teasing Radha and her friends led to a playful retaliation where the Gopis, including Radha, would chase Krishna and his companions with lathis in good-natured jest.
Fast forward to today, and the tradition continues. Sporting their finest turbans and shields, the brave men of Nandgaon head to Barsana to pay respects at the Radha Rani Temple. The women then emerge, playfully striking the men’s shields with sticks, creating an electrifying atmosphere filled with laughter and camaraderie. The festivities continue as the following day see men from Barsana reciprocating the playful banter by visiting Nandgaon for the same spirited celebration…and the tradition of Lathmar Holi lives on.
Lathmaar, in short, is raasleela with lathis, with a playful twist of gender reversal.
Multiple narrow lanes led up to the temple, barely broad enough to accommodate three abreast. Today they had been packed thrice the capacity, creating a human traffic jam. The air was thick with the sweet, earthy scent of gulal, the colored powder, as people playfully drenched each other in a vibrant assault. Laughter erupted in joyous bursts, punctuated by playful shrieks as someone got a sumptuous splash of color, or a stinging water balloon. The air itself had taken on a life of its own, twinkling with a rainbow dust that had settled on hair, clothes, and skin, transforming everyone into a living, breathing work of art.
The streets had turned into open-air battlegrounds, everyone armed with packets of gulal and pichkaris (water guns). Children, with the unbridled joy of their age, took down adults with well-aimed throws of purple powder, while young girls on terraces, wielding pichkaris, like seasoned snipers, soaked the unsuspecting tourists in the streets below. Dodging skills was a prerequisite, and expecting chivalry was out of place. Those water balloons pelted us relentlessly, like popcorn kernels from a malfunctioning machine.
The crowd was mostly young and male, with perhaps less than a tenth female audience. A word of caution (though we witnessed no mischief) — young girls may want to take the usual precautions, lest some lout mistakes them for his gopis.
As we entered the large courtyard of the temple, the music intensified, with dhol beats booming and the clang of cymbals blending with the strains of folk songs. The courtyard had become a pulsating dance floor, where people of all ages — strangers turned temporary companions — swayed and whirled. The rhythmic thumping of the dhol vibrated through the soles of our feet.
Frankly, the first hour had been bewildering. The crowds, the music, the colors, the revelry had been far too much to process, much less enjoy. I felt good for not carrying the large Nikon, and tried to take pictures with my mobile, firmly wrapped in polythene. The color palette on offer ranged from the somewhat-acceptable (pink and yellow) to the downright terrifying, industrial-strength purple that stained like a bad decision. Within minutes, we had been unrecognizable, psychedelic masterpieces similar to a toddler’s finger-painting gone rogue.
But slowly, a sense of companionship settled over the revelers. We found a shaded corner, sharing with a group of young photographers, who shot, edited and posted reels on social media, real time. About a dozen drones hovered overhead, expertly managed by a DTC (Drone Traffic Controller). A fixer offered to arrange better viewing spaces on terraces (at Rs 2K apiece), but we passed. A hawker sold chilled (but suspect) bottled water, neatly labeled as BISRELI (not BISLERI). In this chaotic kaleidoscope, all social barriers had melted away, and the officer and his driver had become temporary comrades-in-arms, united in their quest to inflict (or avoid) colorful mayhem. The initial frenzy softened into a more relaxed celebration, and by afternoon, a sense of joyous exhaustion had set in when we made our way back to AirBnB.
Holi is a riotous spring festival for the senses, a vibrant tapestry woven with the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of a culture steeped in tradition. Of course, there’s always the risk of ending up with a lungful of colored powder that may or may not be entirely natural. But hey, a little respiratory distress is a small price to pay for an authentic cultural experience, right?
And speaking of authenticity, let’s not forget the bhang. This “sacred” drink, shall we say, has a peculiar effect on one’s inhibitions. It prepares you for impromptu dance moves and philosophical pronouncements from the unlikeliest of sources.
So, is Lath Maar Holi a life-changing spiritual experience? Well, that depends on your definition of “life-changing” and “spiritual.” It will undoubtedly change the color of your clothes (and possibly your hair), and it might just leave you questioning your sanity. But at least you’ll have a story to tell (assuming you can remember it through the bhang haze).
So, the next time you hear about Lath-maar Holi, take it with a grain of salt (or perhaps a handful of gulal). It’s an experience, that’s for sure.
Just make sure you pack your sense of humor, and possibly a hazmat suit.
