When Amar Faqira’s 3-year-old son abruptly lost movement in his foot last year, doctors offered little hope, and panic gripped his family.
Mr. Faqira made a vow. If his prayers were answered and the boy recovered, he would make a 200-mile pilgrimage through blistering plains and jagged terrain to the Hinglaj Devi temple, a site sacred to Hindus, a tiny minority in Pakistan.
The child regained strength a year later. And true to his word, Mr. Faqira set off in late April on a seven-day walk to the temple, which is nestled deep in the rust-colored mountains of Balochistan, a remote and restive province in Pakistan’s southwest.
The goddess “heard me and healed my son,” Mr. Faqira said before the trek, as he gathered with friends and family in his neighborhood in Karachi, a metropolis on the coast of the Arabian Sea. “Why shouldn’t I fulfill my vow and endure a little pain for her joy?”
With that sense of gratitude, Mr. Faqira and two companions, wearing saffron head scarves and carrying a ceremonial flag, joined thousands of others on the grueling journey to Hinglaj Devi, where Pakistan’s largest annual Hindu festival is held.
Along a winding highway and sun-scorched desert paths, groups of resolute pilgrims — mostly men but also women and children — trudged beneath the unforgiving sky, in heat that reached 113 degrees Fahrenheit, or 45 degrees Celsius. Some bore idols of the deity associated with the temple. All chanted “Jai Mata Di,” a call meaning “Hail the Mother Goddess.”
The pilgrimage is an act of spiritual devotion and cultural preservation. Pakistan’s Hindus number about 4.4 million and make up less than 2 percent of the country’s population, which is more than 96 percent Muslim. Hindus are often treated as second-class citizens, systemically discriminated against in housing, jobs and access to government welfare.
For many, the pilgrimage to Hinglaj Devi is comparable in significance to the hajj in Islam, a once-in-a-lifetime obligation of faith. The yearning to make the journey is also strong among Hindus in India, especially in the states of Gujarat and Rajasthan, though it has long been very difficult for Indians to receive visas to travel to Pakistan. Those states, which border Pakistan, have deep spiritual links to Hinglaj Devi that are rooted in traditions predating the 1947 partition that divided the two countries.
The three-day festival is traditionally held in mid-April. But it was rescheduled this year to early May because of heightened security concerns, after separatist militants in the region hijacked a passenger train in March. The festival also unfolded amid renewed tensions between Pakistan and India. On April 22, a terrorist attack in Indian-administered Kashmir killed 26 people, all but one of them Hindu tourists.
For much of the 20th century, the Hinglaj Devi temple remained obscure and inaccessible, even to many Pakistani Hindus. The pilgrimage gained momentum only in the 1990s, when efforts by Hindu groups to institutionalize the site began, gradually increasing its visibility.
A transformative shift came in the early 2000s with the construction of the Makran Coastal Highway, which links the rest of Pakistan to the Chinese-operated Gwadar deep-sea port. Cutting through rugged terrain along the Arabian Sea, the highway brought unprecedented access to the temple.
For the first time, it was possible to make the bulk of the journey by car or bus, taking some of the sweat out of the endeavor.
“Some of the spiritual intensity has faded — hardship was once central to the sacred experience,” said Jürgen Schaflechner, an academic at Freie Universität Berlin and the author of a book about the temple.
Still, thousands continue to make the journey by foot. They are considered the more spiritually devoted.
“The real pilgrimage is in the pain, the feeling,” Mr. Faqira, the devotee from Karachi, said on the fourth day of his trek. “You cannot find it in a vehicle.”
One of his two companions collapsed from heat exhaustion after walking nearly 70 miles and had to return home by bus. Mr. Faqira carried on, his feet blistered and bandaged.
Each pilgrim walks with a personal vow.
Minakshi, who goes by one name, was part of a group of women dressed in yellow and red. She undertook the journey to ask the goddess for a son after bearing three daughters. Holding her 8-month-old, with her mother-in-law by her side, she shielded the child from the dust and heat.
“I believe the goddess will hear me,” she said.
Nearby, 60-year-old Raj Kumari was making her seventh pilgrimage, praying for her grandson’s well-being. Also on the trek was a childless couple, married since 2018, who were hoping for divine intervention in starting a family.
Many pilgrims belong to marginalized lower-caste Hindu groups — landless sharecroppers or daily wage laborers. Those who can afford the $11 fare ride inside a bus. The poorest pay $5 to sit on the roof in the blistering sun.
Maharaj, who goes by one name and is in his 60s, was feeding his grandson beside a river as he recalled making the pilgrimage in the early 1990s — seven punishing weeks across 300 miles of desert, with the “constant fear of bandits and snakes.”
“But every painful step brought us closer to the goddess,” he said.
According to Hindu mythology, the Hinglaj Devi temple is one of the sites where the remains of Sati, a goddess of marital devotion and longevity, fell to earth after her self-immolation.
For many of the faithful, the pilgrimage begins at a sacred mud volcano rising from the barren landscape near the Makran Coastal Highway. Pilgrims disembark from buses to undertake a symbolic trek across rocky terrain, marking the spiritual start of their journey.
Newly built steps and pathways make the volcano site more accessible. At the summit, devotees toss coconuts and rose petals into the bubbling crater to seek divine permission to proceed. Many also smear volcanic clay on their faces and bodies, a ritual of purification and spiritual resolve.
The next stage takes pilgrims to the Hingol River for a ritual bath, often compared to bathing in the sacred Ganges in India. From there, they continue 28 miles to the Hinglaj Devi temple, set within a natural cave.
The complex houses four shrines, the most revered being the Nani Mandir. Inside, flickering lights, marigold garlands and rhythmic chants create an atmosphere of devotion. Adherents believe that participating in the festival absolves them of all sins.
After reaching the shrines, devotees complete the pilgrimage with an arduous, hourslong trek across seven mountains, before returning to the temple to pray. To escape the blistering heat, some walked at night, lighting the path with mobile phones.
Many attribute the festival’s growing prominence to the influence of large-scale Hindu gatherings in India, including the Kumbh Mela, which is amplified by the widespread reach of social media and Indian religious television streamed online.
“In Pakistan, many Hindus have long been disconnected from their spiritual roots,” said Mahendra Dev, a Pakistani university student from the Thar Desert near the border with India. “Digital platforms have helped us rediscover our heritage.”
For him, the revival is not just spiritual; it is also an act of cultural resistance against attempts to erase Pakistani Hindus’ identity.
“It will help in pushing back against decades of efforts, starting with British colonial rule, to convert our poor communities to other faiths, whether Islam, Christianity or Sikhism,” he said.
After making the long pilgrimage, Mr. Faqira reunited with his family, including his young son, who arrived at the temple by bus.
“I always dreamed of walking here,” he said. “The pain means nothing. What matters is that the goddess listens to my prayers.”
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