Tīrtha Māyā: The Illusion of the Holy Dhām
Hitherto I proclaim this puddle “Radha Kunda”!
The Business of Holy Places – How Myth Becomes Real Estate
Religious traditions have a way of turning ordinary places into cosmic landmarks. With the right declaration, a patch of land, a small pond, or even a nondescript tree can become infused with divinity. The process is simple: if the sacred pastimes of a god must have occurred somewhere, why not here?
One of the core teachings in the Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu is that a devotee should regularly visit holy places. It’s considered a powerful limb of devotion, a way to purify oneself, strengthen faith, and deepen remembrance of Krishna. Pilgrimage is described as an essential experience, a spiritual high that keeps devotees connected to the līlā—the divine pastimes of Krishna.
For anyone who has traveled to places like Vrindavan, Mayapur, or Jagannath Puri, the experience can be electrifying. There’s an energy surrounding these locations, a collective fervor that makes the stories feel real. Every pond, every tree, every stretch of dusty road is infused with legend. You hear miraculous accounts from temple priests, listen to devotional songs that seem to melt away skepticism, and immerse yourself in a world where Krishna’s pastimes don’t just feel like mythology—they feel tangible. The air itself seems charged with devotion.
And yet, when you step back and examine how these places became “holy,” a different picture starts to emerge.
Why Does God Always Choose These Places?
If Krishna is truly the supreme being, with the ability to manifest anywhere in the universe, why does he always pick some dusty, obscure location in India?
The world is filled with breathtaking landscapes—majestic mountains, lush rainforests, dazzling oceans, and ancient cultural centers with rich histories. Yet Krishna, Rama, and virtually every major Hindu deity seem to exclusively manifest in places like Mathura, Ayodhya, or Pandharpur—places that, prior to their religious significance, were largely unremarkable.
• No Hawaiian paradise.
• No ancient cities of Greece.
• No vibrant cultural hubs like ancient Persia, Egypt, or China.
Instead, we get places like Vrindavan—a dry, mostly flat region with no natural wonders, no major historical significance before the medieval era, and no evidence that it was considered particularly sacred before the Bhāgavata Purāṇa started shaping its mythology.
If God truly wants to dazzle humanity with his divine play, why not pick somewhere stunning? Why not appear in a place that is already brimming with natural beauty and cultural depth? The answer is simple: these stories are not cosmic narratives; they are regional ones. Krishna appears in India because Krishna was created in India.
These so-called holy sites didn’t start as eternal cosmic locations. They were retroactively assigned religious importance to fit theological needs.
How to Visit Holy Places When They Don’t Exist?
The medieval Goswamis of Vrindavan, particularly Rupa, Sanatana, and Jiva, took it upon themselves to establish the locations of Krishna’s pastimes. The problem? The Bhāgavata Purāṇa—the primary text narrating Krishna’s life—never specifies exact locations for most of these events.
So, what do you do when your theology demands pilgrimage sites, but no one knows where they are? You create them. You declare a random pond to be Radha Kund. You say a particular hill is Govardhan. You walk into the forest and announce, “This is where Krishna played with the gopīs.” With enough repetition, reverence, and institutional backing, myth becomes geography.
Historically, Mathura was important as a political and trade center, but Vrindavan? There is little evidence it was considered particularly sacred before the medieval Bhakti explosion. No early inscriptions, no archaeological finds that predate the temples built in the 16th century, and no mention of specific pilgrimage sites in pre-medieval texts. The best evidence suggests that Vrindavan’s “sacred geography” was actively constructed during the Gaudiya Vaishnava revival, not preserved from antiquity.
By the 16th century, Vrindavan had transformed from a relatively unknown backwater to the spiritual capital of Krishna consciousness. What began as a theological necessity became a fully operational pilgrimage economy. Temples arose, funded by wealthy patrons. Ashrams flourished. Land was sanctified, parceled, and assigned spiritual significance. Priests, ascetics, and scholars settled in, supported by a steady stream of visiting devotees eager to donate to the upkeep of these holy places.
What started as a need for tīrtha-yātrā (sacred travel) turned into a lucrative industry. The more significant the site, the greater the donations. It was spiritual tourism before the phrase even existed.
Spiritual Currency and the Economics of Pilgrimage
In Vedic culture, giving alms (dakṣiṇā) to brahmins, monks, and ascetics was already a social norm. By linking pilgrimage with spiritual merit, religious institutions created an economic model that ensured their survival.
The formula was simple:
1. Visit the holy place.
2. Donate to the temple.
3. Feed the sadhus.
4. Serve the gurus.
5. Earn spiritual blessings and karma.
This system wasn’t necessarily cynical. It was simply how religious institutions sustained themselves. The babajis and Goswamis didn’t have 9-to-5 jobs—they relied on patronage. And in return, they offered spiritual legitimacy, narratives, and a sense of divine connection to those who participated.
The result? A fully functioning ecosystem of belief, devotion, and financial sustenance.
History Repeating Itself – The Modern ISKCON Pilgrimage Circuit
Interestingly, this same pattern is playing out within ISKCON today. Just as the medieval Goswamis established the sacred sites of Vrindavan, modern devotees have begun sanctifying places tied to A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada.
• Tompkins Square Park, where he chanted for the first time in New York.
• The Bowery, where he first stayed.
• The Los Angeles temple, which became the movement’s headquarters.
These locations, once ordinary places, are now seen as pilgrimage sites within ISKCON. Devotees gather at these spots, feeling the “transcendental presence” of Prabhupada, reinforcing the movement’s mythology. Over time, these places will likely be further mythologized, much like Vrindavan before them.
The Economic Elitism of Pilgrimage – A Devotional Paywall
For many devotees, pilgrimage is framed as the pinnacle of spiritual life—a test of sincerity, a chance to immerse oneself in the holiest of places, and an opportunity to advance spiritually. But in reality, pilgrimage is not accessible to everyone.
Traveling to India is expensive. Flights alone can cost thousands of dollars, and that’s before factoring in temple fees, accommodations, food, and donations. For many Western devotees, making the journey requires extensive financial sacrifice—some save for years, others take on debt, and many rely on donations or crowdfunding just to afford the trip.
Yet within devotional circles, those who have made the pilgrimage are often seen as more advanced or serious than those who haven’t. The unspoken assumption is that a true devotee will find a way to go, no matter the cost. This creates a spiritual hierarchy based on wealth and privilege—those with financial means can “earn” spiritual merit through these trips, while those without resources are subtly (or not so subtly) considered less devoted.
Ironically, this contradicts the idea that Krishna is accessible to all, regardless of circumstance. If God is truly everywhere, why should proximity to a specific patch of land determine one’s spiritual success? The emphasis on physical places as reservoirs of divine energy ultimately turns spirituality into a transaction—one that favors those who can afford it.
Conclusion – The Illusion of Sacred Geography
The idea of holy places is powerful because it taps into a deep human need for tangible connection. Standing in a place where something significant supposedly happened feels real in a way that abstract philosophy often doesn’t.
But when you examine the history, the economics, and the institutional interests behind these sites, the cracks begin to show. These places aren’t divine by nature—they’re divine because someone said they were. They are sustained not by supernatural forces, but by tradition, repetition, and money.
And yet, the illusion persists. Because for those who believe, reality is not defined by history, but by faith.