From a simple sneeze to cancer… depression or even haunted shadows… to finding a suitable partner or obtaining a U.S. visa, Punjab's churches promise it all—just walk in the footsteps of Christ. You’ll find tiny, hidden home-churches in alleyways to sprawling ministries occupying acres at the heart of town. Here, you'll meet spiritual leaders who absolve sins with a gentle touch upon the head.
aajtak.in's reporter ventured to Punjab’s border areas, posing as someone in need, to witness this phenomenon firsthand.
Punjab was first troubled by separatists, then by drugs, and now conversion seems like a termite infestation, as some scholars from Chandigarh frequently state.
Several claims address the shifting demographics. In the 2011 census, Christians formed nearly 1.5% of the population. It is alleged that this has grown to 15%, or perhaps much higher. In areas where Sikhism was founded, numerous Kartar Singhs and Harmeet Kaurs have replaced images of Gurdwara Sahib with framed crosses bearing Jesus. A person from the ministry remarks, 'God asks us to change from within, whether or not one adorns a turban on the outside.'
We journeyed from Jalandhar to Tarn Taran, known as the sectarian belt, to bridge the gap between reality and myths.
Here, many home churches were found where pastors discuss Christ under warm blankets. In contrast, vast ministries appear like empires clearly visible in the heart of the city.
They conduct different types of prayers on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Sundays are reserved for the spiritual wonders of ‘Papai,’ the pastor. Stories of woes are shown on screens: people with broken legs or those driven to suicide by inner demons. Come the conclusion, these individuals emerge smiling, running to the stage with wings on their feet, their sorrows vanished.
Beginning with Jalandhar’s Ankur Narula Ministries.
Source: aajtak
Spanning almost a hundred acres, this ministry belongs to a Pentecostal church led by Ankur Narula, lovingly called ‘Papai’ by his followers who believe his touch can solve the mightiest of crises.
Glimpses of this kingdom in the village of Khambra, Jalandhar, start appearing from afar.
Posters everywhere depict the pastor showcasing miracles, offering healing, or extolling the glory of Jesus. I had already gathered all the details over the phone from a young woman in the prayer tower. As she read healing prayers over the phone for my chronic migraine that had been tormenting me for years, she softly suggested that solace would come, but complete recovery would occur if I embraced Christ entirely.
To truly believe meant to go there and listen. Determined to explore without bias, I headed towards the destination on a Tuesday—a day for counseling sessions. Those privileged enough might receive a 'white card,' granting direct access to the pastor. The rush to have him place his hand upon one's head for just seconds is intense.
I received a white card on my first visit. Post-counseling, some were curious about my fortune. Someone remarked, ‘Their case must be heavy!’—suggesting an emergency situation, where one is at the brink of giving up. I nod affirmatively.
The village throngs become noticeable well before reaching the destination. Those mumbling toward their destinations would point you in the right direction without speaking much: to the right, left, no, Jesus’s path runs straight ahead.
At the stop, many gates await. I make my way on foot, reaching a security gate after about five minutes. Post-checks of belongings, one needs to provide name, Aadhaar card, and phone number. As I hand over my details, hinting it’s my first time, the lady generously wishes ‘God bless you’ and gestures for me to enter. The expression clearly states—once inside, everything will be revealed.
Inside lies a magnificently beautiful church proclaimed to be the fourth-largest in the world.
Sweating profusely, I attempt crossing one corner to another but can't quite grasp the spatial limits. Construction buzzes all around as if an entire city is coming to life. Interestingly, all the workers thank Jesus for their jobs.
Under a red canopy, the waiting continues for counseling. Everywhere, personnel from Ankur Narula Ministries stand ready. Without a chance for mobile recordings, I take a token and wait outside.
People of all kinds surround me—not just from Punjab but Haryana and Maharashtra too. It’s my first time.
Source: aajtak
Does coming here truly bring benefits? Ask around, and answers from all directions will flood in.
Miracles and more miracles. A lady shares, ‘My mother suffered a heart attack. We applied sacred oil and continued praying, speaking as we spread it—applying Jesus’ blood. She got completely better. The doctor was astonished. This is the grandeur of Papaji—his direct connection with the divine. Papaji refers to Ankur Narula, and divine refers to Jesus.
A sculptor from UP claims, ‘I make idols. It’s a family tradition, but after knowing Christ, it all seems meaningless. I’m doing it for livelihood, but soon He (pointing upwards) will arrange something grand.
Your family also believes in Christ?
No. My wife, son, daughter, and daughter-in-law are all idol worshippers. They will suffer. When judgment day arrives, the Almighty will take me, leaving them behind.
But they are your family, why not persuade them to follow your path?
I tried but eventually stopped. The time spent on them could be used for praying for myself.
Middle-aged, this man had elephantiasis. Treatments worldwide proved ineffective, but Papaji’s touch changed everything. He says, ‘Shall I show you my leg? Don’t be afraid; you are blessed to have arrived here. Now, you won’t have to wander further.
Blessings, good news, divine, and demons are terms that float like chants here, echoing as if ordinary greetings.
Waiting in the counseling lounge, I overhear conversations of Papaji turning demons into kittens. I ask—is this the best ministry? The response unabashedly states—‘Whoever heals cancer or reverses divine winds, who can be bigger than Him?’ But sister, you must have faith.
Hundreds wait beneath the canopy. Each with a unique story, unique need—some for visas abroad, some to drive demons out of mothers-in-law. Last-stage cancer patients await their turn, listening for miraculous tales.
Even arriving at 8 AM gets me the 337th spot. I step to the token counter. ‘Brother, I am in a rush, returning to Delhi. Please expedite.’ After rummaging through the drawer, he hands me the 211th slip. Anything earlier, I ask? Laughing, he replies, ‘Look how far I’ve brought you. Just wait half an hour more.
Expert sellers at every counter won’t let any customer walk away, irrespective of being a first-timer, with no chance of a return visit.
Almost an hour later, my turn arrives. At the gate, the meticulous attendees take slips and draw a straight line on the hand with a marker. Upon exit, a cross now adorns it. A tangible mark from Papaji.
Inside, girls wear white salwar-kurtas under black sweaters, each adorned with IDs, closely monitoring every corner.
Source: aajtak
Waiting once more, at each table sits a future pastor giving counseling. A girl from the force passes by, and I ask—is this the best counselor? If anyone else is preferable, please seat me there. Drawing a cross in the air, she moves on, leaving no room for frivolous questions.
Upon my number being called, I meet the...
