Varanasi Part 1…. Gaya…. Rishikesh....
Our journey began in Varanasi, the city where spirituality seeps through every alley and ghats echo with ancient chants. My mother had always spoken about Varanasi with a certain awe and experiencing it by her side brought her words to life. We walked along the ghats, watched the flickering lamps of the Ganga Aarti at Dashashwamedh Ghat, and took a serene boat ride at sunrise—where the first rays of light touched the Ganges like a blessing.
We visited Kashi Vishwanath Temple, one of the twelve sacred Jyotirlingas, and despite the crowd there was a strange calm in the chaos. My Mother's face lit up with devotion. I remember feeling an immense gratitude for sharing that moment with her.
After visiting the Ma Annapoorani, Ma Visalakshi, Sri Ganesha, Sri Durga and Sri Hanuman temples we looked the Ganges River with gratitude.
From Varanasi, we traveled to Gaya, an ancient city sacred to both Hindus and Buddhists. For Hindus, it is a place where "pind daan" is offered to ancestors to ensure their peace in the afterlife. We performed the rituals on the banks of the Phalgu River, guided by the local priests. I could sense a deep sense of fulfillment in my mother’s eyes as she offered her prayers for those who came before us.
We also visited the Vishnupad Temple, said to be built around the footprint of Lord Vishnu. The aura of the temple and the stories shared by the priests gave us a glimpse into the eternal cycle of life, death, and liberation.
We went to Bodh Gaya and worshipped the sacred temples and the peepul tree. A very peaceful feeling.
Next, we found ourselves in Haridwar (the gateway to the Gods), one of the oldest living cities in the world and a revered pilgrimage site. As we dipped into the holy Ganges at Har Ki Pauri, my mother whispered prayers under her breath, her hands folded in reverence. The evening Ganga Aarti there was a sight to behold—hundreds of diyas floating on the water, priests chanting, bells ringing in unison—it felt as if the entire universe paused in devotion.
Our final stop was Rishikesh, a place that seemed to exist outside time. We stayed at the serene Swami Dayananda Saraswati Ashram, located right on the banks of the Ganges. Surrounded by the gentle sounds of the flowing river and the rustle of trees, the ashram was a haven of peace.
The time we spent there was slow and intentional—early
morning meditations, evening Satsang's (Prayers) and simple yet nourishing meals shared
in silence. I remember walking with my mother along the riverbank, talking
about life, the past, and what lies beyond. It was during those quiet moments
that I felt the depth of her wisdom and the strength of our connection.
We visited Parmarth Niketan, saw the Ram Jhula and Laxman
Jhula, and explored the spiritual energy that hummed throughout the city. But
nothing compared to the stillness and clarity we felt at the ashram—a place
that allowed us to simply be.
Looking back, that trip in 2005 wasn’t just about visiting
temples or taking part in rituals—it was about returning to something
essential. It was about shared prayers, silent conversations, and the timeless
rhythm of the Ganges that mirrored the flow of life itself. Traveling with my
mother through these sacred lands not only brought us closer to our roots but
also to each other.
Even now, when life feels noisy and overwhelming, I close my
eyes and picture the sunrise in Varanasi, the sacred rituals of Gaya, the
glowing lamps of Haridwar, and the quiet banks of Rishikesh. And just like
that, I’m back on that journey—with my mother, in the heart of India’s eternal
soul.
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