Hinduism, commonly regarded as the oldest religion in the world, is a religious and spiritual practice that originates from India in the Eastern hemisphere. Hinduism is the third largest religion in the world today, thanks to its 1.2 billion followers trailing behind Islam’s 1.9 billion and Chrisitanity’s 2.3 billion believers. But instead of worshiping only one god and one set of moral instructions like its conscientious competitors, Hinduism is often regarded as a family of religions unified by dharma. Dharma is the righteous practice of living in accordance with the natural order that binds the universe together. It ultimately establishes the way of Hindu life. But can the universe still be bound together when it’s off Exit 10 of the New Jersey Turnpike?

Like every other dirty tree-hugging hippie, the New Jersey Turnpike was born during the United States’ postwar economic boom in 1951. Initially built for the safe passage of Italian-Americans seeking asylum from the embarrassing amount of times the Chicago Cubs fumbled the World Series, the 117 miles of turnpike include a series of controlled toll stations sprinkled across the garden state’s expressway. The term ‘turnpike’ originates from when 18th century New England boys-in-blue would plant physical spikes on dirt paths until a toll was paid to pass through. These toll taxes were used to fund the local community’s infrastructure. 

Unlike the modern experience of paying a fee at a toll station to fund unnecessary highway extension projects, the original turnpike practice incorporated the act of jamming spikes in the ground to stop your horse from entering poop-in-the-streets Philadelphia til you cough up your last five shillings. That’s the true American Dream. Getting forcibly taxed so you get to experience a weekend in Philly only to unfortunately catch the yellow fever and die out in the street like every dog in 1793. Paying to continue down a path is an unfortunate byproduct of human evolution. 

But how often is that price paid to better society actually bettering society? Is it truly just a sacrifice for a greater purpose, or simply another consequence of living in a world constructed around money and power? Growing up Catholic always planted the stressful idea of having to pay or earn your way into a higher path. I believe almost all kids raised in religious environments felt that stressor due to being indoctrinated into a commitment of something your younger self could not fully fathom. While I did not grow up in the 1500s when the tithe (a required tax that directly went to the church) finally inspired Martin Luther to reform a bunch of protestants, the concept of paying your way into heaven––or at least bettering your chances––always felt like a personal excuse to get away with sins. 

On the other hand, I think all my years spent in Catholic school, Sunday morning mass where the holiest presence was the post-service donuts, and talks with my traditional Roman Catholic grandma at dinner ultimately helped me become a better person thanks to my religion’s community. I ended up doing a good amount of volunteering for my church in middle school; that effort of helping a community of others stuck with me throughout high school. Those nights at soup kitchens with my high school friends never felt like a chore compared to the other kids just doing it for NHS hours––even though the hours were why I was initially there too. Contributing personal labor to benefit a community might be one of the most supportive actions humans can do for each other. But when that personal labor is taken advantage of for personal gain, the line gets crossed.

The BAPS Swaminarayan Akshardham is located off Exit 10 of the New Jersey Turnpike. Peacefully surrounded by scrawny oak tree forests, the intricately-detailed Hindu temple and its 183 acres dub it the second largest Hindu temple in the entire world. It’s also the largest in the entire Western Hemisphere. The Akshardham’s construction began in 2011 but did not open up to the public until 2023. It was built by over 12,000 Hindu volunteers from around the world whose labor BAPS considered a religious volunteer service––not employment. The temple’s controversial construction worsened in 2017 when a teenage volunteer accidentally died on a shift that pays $1.20 an hour. As a result, the longer-than-a-decade building of the temple transformed into a dispute after workers accused their volunteer service as forced labor and a violation of human rights. When proud New Jerseyan Gio Sotomayor on our Bum Diary staff informed us about the temple’s existence, we knew we had to trek into the grim suburban world known only to locals as Robbinsville, New Jersey. 

It was a chilly Saturday morning in lower Manhattan. Gio picked up Ben and I in his blacked out Kia SUV. We munched on everything bagels and drank black coffee all while blasting Future up the Jersey Turnpike. About 45 minutes later we pulled off Exit 10 onto a lonesome asphalt road that looked like it would only lead you to the warehouse of a state prison’s manufacturing plant. Gio’s Kia followed a turn in the road. We approached the most beautiful thing we had ever seen as United States citizens: a parking lot. A parking lot we would not have to pay for.

The three of us parked and then approached an even more astonishing sight: the BAPS Swaminarayan Akshardham Hindu Temple. The architecture alone blew my mind. Every pillar, ledge, and doorway contained carvings of prominent Hindu figures, characters, and concepts. It is always impressive being in a massive Catholic cathedral that is a couple centuries old, but this place of worship chose not to physically celebrate and express its stories with two dimensional painted murals on the ceilings or stained glass windows. The act of designing and carving Hindu beliefs into the building’s stone transforms their religious thoughts into becoming a tangible integral component of the religious structures. Thickening the layers between the building’s existence, labor, and tragedy, the mere fact the brand new campus existed as the second largest in the world felt like a phenomena to someone used to outdated Baptist churches in the Bible Belt. 

The three of us explored the religious campus. It’s fully free to attend, with the organizations’ operations stuck somewhere between place of worship and sustainable art museum. The campus includes a plaza, steppe pond, welcome center, cafeteria, and a merchandise store. There’s also a 49-foot gold statue of a young yogi in the front entrance. I truly was not expecting this much to be a part of the experience. 

We first entered the Welcome Center. The calm interior layout physically transforms from Hindu temple to outdated mall to airport convenience store. Thanks to the incense and surely-fire-hazard-levels of candles, the entire building was dimly lit and smelled amazing. We started with a video introduction of the campus that highlighted how volunteerism is a big part of the Hindu community, before mentioning how the art of welcoming guests is a sacred practice in Hindu tradition. That hospitality factor was present throughout the entire day. Even though it was a cold spring morning, the Swaminarayan Akshardham’s inclusivity created a warmth bolstered by the fact that people came from all around the world to Robbinsville.

Ben, Gio, and I ventured inside and out the campus for a few hours. In the center stage of the property sits the Akshardham Mahamandir, the grand centerpiece of the Hindu temple campus. In general, a mandir is a place of Hindu worship that contains the essence of tranquility for one’s soul to discover their inner peace. This traditional Hindu Mandir was like no other, where each carved corner of the temple’s architecture was vivid, stagnant, and heavily layered. In order for us to enter and explore it, we had to take our shoes off. We slid in our socks on the smooth reflective surface. It felt uncomfortable and vulnerable at first, but once I explored the mandir’s ornate stone carvings and sacred images I felt like my relationship with the temple’s physical and spiritual space strengthened. 

Whenever you walk through a cathedral with shoes, there’s a high chance that is the only thing you will hear. Especially if the floor is tile. The strength and the weight of your foot does not matter. When you walk down a church aisle wearing shoes you instantly disrupt the space’s sonic serenity. The removal of shoes in the mandir allowed myself to audibly blend in. I felt closer to all the sacred carvings and visual attempts of the divine. Sliding around in our socks with a bunch of random strangers quietly emphasized guests to bring respect and tranquility into the space. 

When sacrifices are made for a greater purpose, it is difficult to distinguish the lines between offering, respect, and exploitation. I think all three of those boxes are checked when it comes to this situation. The religious offerings from volunteers pouring their effort into being a part of the building’s construction. The universal language of respect, heard everywhere but never spoken, from visitors from around the world. The exploitation of labor by taking advantage of morals to save money. These various factors are why it is so important for this temple to simply exist in the United States in 2025. There is also the ‘second largest in the world’ aspect to add. It is a great fact, but honestly, I think that is the most trivial part of the whole story. The second largest Hindu Temple in the world is in a random town in New Jersey––so what, do they want a trophy? What’s more important is that the building not only serves as a global hub for Hindu culture, but also as an educational experience for anyone outside of the religious community. If you don’t believe me, you have to go check out the campus yourself. Just remember: the temple’s reflection in the steppe pond only gets murkier the longer you look.