Holiest of holies with a nice line in chapatis

Andrew Spooner found that it wasn't just his spiritual needs that were attended to when he visited Amritsar's Golden Temple

Two things I avoid are early mornings and contemplating the divine. Yet at 4.30am, I'm sitting on the hallowed marble floor of Amritsar's Golden Temple - the holiest site in Sikhdom - taking in the sights and sounds of thousands of devotees. Most are bent in prayer as the psalms of the Sikh's holy book are recounted in haunting cadences via the temple's public-address system. Several men strip to their underwear, carefully place their kirpans (the Sikh's holy dagger) in the ruffles of their turbans and descend the flagstone steps into the Pool of Nectar - an open body of water that is the hub of the temple. Hands clasped before them, they bow in the direction of a dazzling golden edifice, the Harmandir, that juts into the pool and is the holiest part of this sacred site.

Two things I avoid are early mornings and contemplating the divine. Yet at 4.30am, I'm sitting on the hallowed marble floor of Amritsar's Golden Temple - the holiest site in Sikhdom - taking in the sights and sounds of thousands of devotees. Most are bent in prayer as the psalms of the Sikh's holy book are recounted in haunting cadences via the temple's public-address system. Several men strip to their underwear, carefully place their kirpans (the Sikh's holy dagger) in the ruffles of their turbans and descend the flagstone steps into the Pool of Nectar - an open body of water that is the hub of the temple. Hands clasped before them, they bow in the direction of a dazzling golden edifice, the Harmandir, that juts into the pool and is the holiest part of this sacred site.

Even at this brain-twistingly early hour the Punjabi air is thick and stifling. Pearls of sweat run down my back. The Pool of Nectar is tempting. However, using this holy site as a plunge pool might not go down too well with the locals. Instead, I'm dreamily captivated by the unfolding morning; the changing light of the rising sun playing on water and gold.

It's hard to find anything to compare with the Golden Temple. The Taj Mahal is more beautiful but it's an empty monument with no beating heart. Varanasi, a city - the holiest in Hinduism - that defines sacred, is India's soul but it is chaotic, filled with hungry, limbless beggars and awash with a special kind of detritus. The home of the Dalai Lama, Dharamsala, is now a trashy unchecked riot of bad planning. The Golden Temple surpasses them all. Divinity, splendour and drama combine; the minarets, domes and acres of marble are the backdrop to a noble, compassionate faith. And, while I can appreciate the location, I'm more easily pleased - the best thing is the free food.

"We have the biggest chapati making machine in the world," says a smiling Sikh man as we gaze through a mesh window at a huge, clanking contraption. "It was made in Portugal!" he says with emphatic pride. We watch as thousands of slabs of unleavened bread journey along a giant conveyor belt into large wicker baskets.

When the Golden Temple was established 500 years ago, Guru Nanak, the founder of Sikhism, wanted to create a faith and space that transcended the struggle between Islam and Hinduism. A universal, non-sectarian, anti-caste philosophy that was both secular and sacred. The idea of all faiths eating together was radical. To provide free grub for all - "religious instruction sounds hollow and hypocritical to a hungry man" - was revolutionary. Out of this, the langar (community kitchen) was created.

There's no queue into the langar, just a heaving scrum. By the entrance, several men hand out large metal plates, cups and bowls. I wait politely but am joyfully hustled aside until I break with decorum and join the shoving. I emerge with my plate and edge into the cavernous dining hall.

Forget tables, chairs, cutlery and fine dining. The langar is as basic as it gets. Everyone sits cross-legged on long rows of thin carpet, their plates and bowls set before them. Several men with buckets of dahl (lentils), vegetable curry and rice work the rows, magically depositing equal amounts to each diner at breakneck speed. The chapati man swoops by - up to three per person. Incredibly, within five minutes, the 750 (estimated) people in the langar are chowing down. And, to tell you the truth, the grub ain't too bad; subtly spiced, tasty and evenly cooked.

The sharing of simple food in simple surroundings with several hundred strangers is a profound experience. I'm humbled and moved. We are all here as equals. There is no VIP area or segregation of any kind; everyone gets the same treatment. This is, I realise, something I've never seen before. It is inspiring.

I finish my meal and follow the other diners, taking my plate and utensils with me. The next pleasant surprise is that I don't have to wash up. An army of volunteers gathers around troughs elbow deep in suds and all I have to do is pass them my dirty plate. Free food and no washing up - what bliss!

As I hand over my plate, I notice huge stacks of firewood and a pair of mammoth cauldrons just behind the washing-up troughs. Several Sikh men, stripped to their waists, are stirring the cauldrons with long wooden paddles. I saunter over and stare into the biggest pots of food I've ever seen. The Sikh men, sweating with the effort, smile and nod in greeting. Beside them is a mountain of onions, potatoes, cauliflower and garlic. In the distance an endless row of people sit carefully chopping the vegetables. The whole langar is an awesome endeavour that uplifts the spirit. Some 30,000 fed every day, for free, in a kitchen staffed by volunteers. And all this in a country riven by poverty and corruption.

I decide to walk off my meal with a stroll around the marble hallways that edge the Pool of Nectar. The Punjabi sun is now blisteringly high. Everyone must leave their shoes at the entrance and cover their heads. I'm really feeling the heat but my discomfort is pleasantly offset by the tremendous hospitality of my Sikh hosts. I'm met on all sides by eager, happy faces with several formal introductions. "Where are you from, sir?" usually followed by "What is your profession?"

At one point, a group of particularly fierce looking warrior Sikhs, with spears and several swords, engage me in a friendly discussion about Birmingham.

The Golden Temple is meant to be a place where all faiths are welcome without the fear of unsolicited proselytising. Sikhism is, essentially, a modern secular faith. This is borne out by the fact that India has just put in place its first Sikh Prime Minister, Manmohan Singh - a member of the socially progressive, secular Congress Party.

Not that long ago, the Golden Temple was making headlines for all the wrong reasons. In 1984, it was occupied by a group of militants who wanted to declare an independent Sikh state. India's then prime minister, Indira Gandhi, sent in the army, which destroyed part of the temple. Guerrilla war followed, bringing several thousand deaths. It also led to Mrs Gandhi's assassination by her Sikh bodyguards.

This conflict ended several years ago and the temple is now a definitive ocean of calm. Perhaps, in these days of religious prejudice and conflict, the Golden Temple can now serve as an example of what can be achieved through tolerance. At the very least it's one of the highlights of India - even if you just pop in for dinner.

GIVE ME THE FACTS

How to get there

The author travelled as a guest of Gulf Air (0870 777 1717; www.gulfairco.com) which flies from Heathrow to Delhi via Muscat or Bahrain from around £550 return. Exodus Travels (0870 240 5550; www.exodus.co.uk) offers a 16-day tour of The Golden Temple, Dharamsala and the Taj Mahal) from £1,396 per person, based on two sharing with return flights from Heathrow, 15 nights' b&b, local transport and guide. The next trip departs on 24 September.

Further information

India Tourism (020-7437 3677; www.indiatouristoffice.org).

The Golden Temple is open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Entrance is free. See www.sgpc.net