HALLELUJAH! yelled the MC into the microphone, his voice reverberating across a sprawling wasteland illuminated by stadium lights. An audience of thousands sat cross-legged, waiting expectantly. There was silence. ‘‘Hallelujah!’’ he shouted again, louder. A few voices answered, ‘‘Hallelujah!’’ back.
The MC sounded frustrated. ‘‘Come on!’’ he said. ‘‘You can do better than that! ‘Hallelujah’ means ‘praise the lord’, okay?’’
He gave up and moved the show quickly into a Vijay Benedict number. Benedict stormed onto the stage and kicked off an American Christian rock song with hot electronic guitar licks and a techno beat. ‘‘Come on everybody!’’ Benedict exhorted, ‘‘Let’s do it for the glory of God!’’
Giving the city a taste of American-style evangelical Christian fervour, the Mumbai Peace Festival, organised by the US-based Global Peace Initiative, hit Somaiya Grounds in Sion on Friday night for a three-night run. The guest list included Chief Minister Sushilkumar Shinde, scheduled to attend on Sunday.
‘‘You can stand up,’’ the MC urged, ‘‘You can move your arms, you can do whatever you want.’’ But the crowd—of three lakh, according to organisers—never really got into the swing of it. Most sat quietly, a few clapping half-heartedly.
The evening included songs by Vijay Benedict, a choir of 2,000 singers, a routine by movie star Johnny Lever, and a troupe of pompom-toting cheerleaders. The only hitch was the absence of the chief guest, Minister of State for Home Kripa Shankar Singh, who was sick.
Ironically, many had come looking for a cure. Topping the bill was Dr Paul, an Orissa-born tele-evangelist who flew in from Washington DC. Posters for the festival announced that he would pray for the ‘sick and depressed’.
‘‘I hope he can help Ashok,’’ said Saroja (45) whose 23-year-old son was born deaf. He passed around a note asking people to pray for him. ‘‘We’ll pray and see what happens,’’ she said.
‘‘All the sick people should be over here,’’ ordered the MC, gesturing at an empty space near the VIP area. Crew began herding in hundreds of people, many hobbling on crutches or supported by relatives. Exhausted, some opted to sit on the comfortable benches nearby.
‘‘You can’t sit here, you can’t sit here!’’ cried one of the crew. ‘‘These are the VIP benches!’’ A frenzy ensued, with crew trying to pull elderly and disabled people off the benches and out of the VIP area.
When Dr Paul arrived on the stage, bright fireworks exploded overhead, jets of fire towered into the sky, showers of pink confetti rained down on the choir, and a flock of doves — well, pigeons — burst exuberantly into the air as the music swelled.
Members of the crew grabbed pigeons that had failed to fly up on cue and threw them into the air. One flapped feebly and fell back down again, landing in a plant pot. The crowd gave polite, if bemused, applause.
‘‘This isn’t a Christian festival,’’ claimed Dr Paul, his toothpaste-ad smile and oiled hair glinting under the stage lights. ‘‘I’m not here to convert anyone.’’ He had come with 35 Americans — ‘‘Business and political leaders here to see peace come to Mumbai and around the world,’’ he said.
After preaching the love of Jesus and a message of communal harmony, Dr Paul at last got to what Saroja and Ashok were waiting for: ‘‘If you have any pain or sickness,’’ he said, ‘‘I’m gonna pray for you right now.’’
They closed their eyes and raised their arms. ‘‘In Jesus’ name, be healed!’’ Dr Paul intoned. Ashok noticed others looking up and tapped his ears: nothing.
He looked crestfallen. Saroja held his hand. ‘‘Never mind. We’ll try again tomorrow night,’’ she said.