Sacred Architectures: Comparing Religious Heritage in Rishikesh and Braga

Rishikesh sits cradled in the foothills of the Himalayas, where the Ganges emerges from the mountains with a youthful vigor before meandering across the North Indian plains. The city's architecture reflects this riverine influence—temples and ashrams line the banks, their ghats (stone steps) descending into the sacred waters like ancient amphitheaters facing nature's greatest stage.

The 13th-century Neelkanth Mahadev Temple, dedicated to Lord Shiva, demonstrates how Hindu sacred architecture embraces its natural surroundings. Unlike Western religious buildings that often impose geometric order upon nature, this temple seems to grow organically from the forest floor, its shikhara (spire) echoing the mountain peaks behind it. During my visit, I hiked through 12 kilometers of forest paths to reach it, passing groups of orange-robed sadhus making the same pilgrimage.

"This is not architecture that dominates landscape," explained Vijay, my local guide. "It is architecture that honors it." As a former sports journalist, I couldn't help but compare this to how traditional sports like kabaddi or mallakhamb in India are played not on standardized courts but on grounds that adapt to local conditions.

At the Parmarth Niketan Ashram, I witnessed evening Ganga Aarti ceremonies where architecture serves as a backdrop for ritual. The amphitheater-like ghats accommodate hundreds of worshippers and visitors, creating a communal experience where the boundary between performer and audience dissolves—not unlike the cricket grounds of Dharamsala or Chennai where spectators become participants in a larger cultural moment.

Arriving in Braga after Rishikesh creates a fascinating architectural counterpoint. Known as the "Rome of Portugal," this ancient city presents a distinctly European approach to sacred space. Where Rishikesh's temples often blend with their surroundings, Braga's churches and cathedrals command attention through vertical emphasis and ornate detailing.

The Braga Cathedral (Sé de Braga), Portugal's oldest, exemplifies this difference. Its imposing Romanesque structure, later embellished with Gothic and Baroque elements, creates a sense of human achievement reaching toward the divine. Inside, gilded woodwork and elaborate tile panels tell biblical stories with an almost theatrical flair.

"In European sacred architecture, the building itself is often the miracle," noted Professor Maria Gonçalves, an architectural historian I met while photographing the cathedral's façade. "The technical achievement of these structures was meant to inspire awe."

Yet Braga's most remarkable sacred site, Bom Jesus do Monte, reveals surprising parallels with Rishikesh. This hilltop sanctuary, reached by climbing a monumental zigzagging staircase of 577 steps, creates a pilgrimage experience not unlike the journey to Neelkanth Mahadev. Each landing features chapels depicting the Stations of the Cross, making the physical ascent a spiritual narrative—a concept familiar in Hindu temple design as well.

For capturing the architectural details and sweeping vistas of both locations, I relied heavily on my versatile travel lens. Its range allowed me to photograph both intimate architectural details and expansive landscapes without constantly changing equipment.

In both Rishikesh and Braga, water emerges as a central element in sacred architecture and ritual practice, though expressed in dramatically different ways.

The Ganges in Rishikesh isn't merely adjacent to temples—it's integral to their purpose and design. At Ram Jhula and Laxman Jhula, the iconic suspension bridges spanning the river, I watched as pilgrims performed snan (ritual bathing) directly in the flowing waters. The architecture of the ghats creates a graduated approach to this immersive experience, with steps leading devotees from the mundane world into direct contact with the divine represented by the river.

"For Hindus, the Ganges is not symbolic of purity—it is purity itself," explained Swami Chidananda at the Sivananda Ashram. "The architecture merely facilitates our connection to what is already sacred."

In contrast, Braga's relationship with water is more controlled and representational. At the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Sameiro, elaborately carved fountains channel water into basins where visitors collect it in small bottles. The Baroque fountain of Santa Barbara Garden in central Braga transforms water into ornamental display rather than ritual medium.

Yet at Bom Jesus do Monte, I discovered a fascinating parallel to Rishikesh's immersive approach. Here, the Baroque staircase incorporates the Five Senses Fountain, where pilgrims traditionally wash their hands, face, and sometimes feet—a ritual cleansing reminiscent of Hindu practices, though more restrained in expression.

To document these water rituals in varying light conditions, my waterproof camera proved invaluable, allowing me to capture images near fountains and along the misty Ganges shores without concern for equipment damage.

Both Rishikesh and Braga have long histories as pilgrimage destinations, but today they navigate the complex relationship between spiritual authenticity and tourism economics. This tension manifests in their architectural preservation and adaptation.

In Rishikesh, the ashram that once hosted The Beatles (now known as The Beatles Ashram) stands as a fascinating case study. Abandoned for decades and reclaimed by jungle, it was reopened in 2015 as a tourist attraction. Walking through its crumbling meditation halls covered in vibrant murals added by visiting artists, I witnessed a space in transition—neither fully sacred nor fully secular.

"We're trying to honor both the spiritual heritage and the cultural significance," explained Rajiv, a local conservation officer. "It's a delicate balance."

Similarly, Braga's religious sites have adapted to tourism while maintaining their spiritual function. At Bom Jesus do Monte, a funicular railway now offers an alternative to climbing the monumental staircase, making the sanctuary accessible to more visitors. The Cathedral Museum charges an entrance fee that helps fund preservation efforts.

Both cities reveal how sacred architecture evolves when exposed to global tourism. In Rishikesh, new luxury yoga retreats incorporate traditional architectural elements while adding modern amenities. In Braga, former monasteries have been converted into boutique hotels that preserve historic structures while adapting them for contemporary use.

For travelers seeking to document these sacred sites respectfully, I found the travel tripod essential for low-light interior photography where flash is prohibited or inappropriate. Its compact size made it easy to carry between multiple sites each day, while providing the stability needed for capturing architectural details in dimly lit church interiors and dawn ceremonies along the Ganges.

The conservation challenges facing religious architecture in Rishikesh and Braga reveal contrasting approaches to preservation that reflect deeper cultural values.

In Rishikesh, many temples follow a tradition of continuous renewal rather than strict historical preservation. The 13th-century Bharat Mandir, the oldest temple in the city, has been repeatedly rebuilt after flooding and earthquakes. Rather than attempting to maintain original materials, caretakers focus on preserving ritual functions and spiritual significance.

"The temple lives through practice, not just through stone," explained Pandit Sharma, a temple priest. This philosophy creates a more fluid relationship with architectural heritage than typically found in Western contexts.

By contrast, Braga's approach to sacred architecture emphasizes material authenticity and historical documentation. At the Braga Cathedral, I observed conservators meticulously restoring 18th-century azulejo tiles using historically accurate techniques and materials. The process privileges the artifact's original state over contemporary reinterpretation.

Environmental threats create additional preservation challenges in both locations. In Rishikesh, increasing Himalayan flooding threatens riverside temples, while in Braga, acid rain and pollution damage intricate Baroque façades. Climate change accelerates these processes in both regions.

During my exploration, I participated in a volunteer day with a local conservation group in Rishikesh, removing plastic waste from temple surroundings. This experience reminded me of how ecological and cultural preservation are increasingly inseparable—a lesson I first learned while covering cricket matches in Sri Lanka, where ancient temple grounds often double as community gathering spaces that require collective stewardship.

For documenting these conservation efforts and architectural details, I relied on my travel journal to record observations and sketch architectural elements that photography couldn't adequately capture, especially in dimly lit interiors where certain details were better rendered by hand.