I arrived in Rishikesh on Maha Shivratri, after nearly twenty-four hours of travel that felt like shedding an old skin. There’s a weight you carry without realising it, layers of routine, worry, and expectation. Stepping onto the grounds of Parmarth Niketan Ashram, that weight began to melt away. I knew I was exactly where I needed to be.

The air vibrated with chanting. Bells rang in the distance. The sacred Ganga flowed with quiet power beside me, holding centuries of devotion in her currents. That first evening, I met Arminda, my dear friend who had arrived ahead of me, at Ganga Aarti. Thousands of people gathered on the ghat. The sound of ‘Om Namah Shivaya’ rose and fell like breath itself. I found myself swept away, lost in the mantra, heart full.

We heard the story of Shiva holding poison in his throat, the blue-throated one, reminding us that through focus and stillness, we can hold what feels unbearable without letting it consume us. I sent my lamp floating downstream, its tiny flame carrying prayers for strength, for clarity, for those I love, those I am yet to meet, and those I will never know.

The days that followed unfolded in ritual and rhythm. Mornings began with hawan, the sacred fire ceremony, led by the rishikumars. The flames danced, carrying offerings skyward. Mantras filled the air. I found comfort in repetition, in the simplicity of showing up each day and offering something of myself.

Our yogasana practice with my teacher Stew each morning, worked through the chakras. We began at muladhara, building foundation, and ascended all the way to ajna and sahasrara, clarity, intuition, connection. It wasn’t just physical practice. It was energy moving, emotion surfacing, release happening in subtle ways.

We were blessed with a private satsang with Pujya Swamiji and Svadhiji. Svadhiji’s words will stay with me always. She spoke of santosha, not just contentment, but satisfaction. A steadiness that doesn’t rise and fall with fleeting happiness or sadness. She spoke of forgiveness, of the burden of carrying pain and resentment. She said: you are on the train, yet you still hold on to your heavy suitcase. Why not place it down and let the train carry it for you? In that moment, I realised how tightly I had been gripping old hurts. I quietly promised myself to start letting go.

One day, we walked to a small Shiva temple tucked away from the busyness of town. We performed puja with the priest, received blessings, and each held a sacred thread in our hands. Being there, I felt devotion rise in me like a tide. It had always been there, but I had never known how to fully touch it. Now I did. I knew then that mantra and chanting would become part of my daily sadhana, alongside breath and movement.

Even meals became sacred. The canteen was a place of joy, filled with delicious vegetarian food, dum aloo and tadka dal becoming favourites. You placed your order, waited for your token number to be called over a megaphone, collected your food, and joined the hum of shared satisfaction. Before leaving, a bell waited by the door. Ringing it three times signaled gratitude, and each time the canteen would erupt in applause and cheers. I rang it every time, smiling, my heart full.

On my last day, I knew what I needed to do. I walked to the banks of Ma Ganga, stepped into her cool, steady embrace, and dipped seven times. Each immersion felt like a release, a prayer, a promise. I emerged lighter, changed. The river seemed to whisper: you are on the right path.

I return home now with something intangible yet solid. Devotion that lives in my breath, in the spaces between thoughts. I don’t know how it will shape my life yet, but I feel its presence in everything. I trust that it will reveal itself in time, in practice, in how I meet the world.

Om Namah Shivaya.

My Sacred Journey of Devotion & Transformation

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