Day 8 – Triveni Dawn & Epilogue
We woke to a river-scented morning at Gajendra Moksha
Divya Dham, where the confluence of three rivers felt like a living hymn.
The Narayani, Swarnabhadra, and Purnabhadra met in a slow, deliberate embrace,
their currents whispering of the Varah Purana and the rescue of Gajaraj.
In the courtyard, the idol of Narayana on Garuda stood resplendent,
draped in bright cloth and heavy garlands that swung gently with the breeze.
Students from the Vedic school chanted in measured cadence, their voices
layering into a steady field of sound that made the whole place hum with calm
energy.
Morning Rituals and Quiet Offerings
Inside the sanctum, the light was soft and golden. Suma
moved through her routine with the ease of long practice, offering vastra
and naivedya as if folding an old prayer into cloth and food. The priest
promised to dress the deity in the cloth the next day and, true to his word,
sent a photograph later, the next evening. Watching the students perform their
daily recitations felt like witnessing devotion as a living craft, each gesture
precise and unhurried.
Crossing Borders and the Forest Walk
Our route to Valmiki Ashram required a curious border
dance: a brief crossing into India and then back into Nepal along a forest
track. There was a small entry fee for vehicles, a reminder that even sacred
paths have practicalities. We parked and set off on foot, the last 750-800 meters
a damp, green corridor where sunlight filtered through leaves and the rivulet
at the end gleamed like a silver thread. Vasu hoisted Nagendra on
his back and carried him across the shallow water, a small, human kindness that
felt emblematic of the day.
Valmiki Ashram and Living Myth
The ashram sits like a memory made visible. Small idols of Rama, Sita, Lava, Kusha, Valmiki, Nandi, and Shiva occupy the sanctum, each figure placed with reverence and a storyteller’s care. The idol of Lord Hari Hara is quite an exquisite one – on the right bottom of the idol, we can see Mata Parvati, Kumara, Nandi, and Rishi Valmiki, and on the left, we can see Mata Sita, Luv, Kush, and Vanadevi (who was Mata Sita's sakhi). The priest guided us through the site, pointing out a stub of stone said to mark where Lava and Kusha tied the Ashwamedha horse, a large pit used for havans, and the very spot believed to be where Sita entered the earth. Walking those worn paths felt like moving through an epic: every stone and hollow seemed to hold a line from an old poem, and the air itself carried the hush of long-told stories.
Some interesting pics: Place to keep water vessels, Havan Kund, Grinding Stone, Stump where Ashwameda's horse was tied by Lava and Kusha, and the place where Maa Sita went back into the Earth.
Roadside Moments and Small Joys
On the drive toward Gorakhpur, the landscape opened into
fields where a flash of blue announced a kingfisher, and the roadside
vendors poured sugarcane juice that tasted of sun and soil. We stopped for a
late lunch; Suma and I ate our pre-packed khichadi while others lingered
over plates at a restaurant. The pause felt restorative – a simple, human
counterpoint to the day’s mythic places.
Geeta Press and the Archive of Devotion
Our detour to Geeta Press was quietly moving. The
grand entrance led into an exhibition of prints and publications that span a
century, images of gods and goddesses rendered in styles that trace the history
of popular devotion. The retail outlet opposite sells religious books in many
languages at modest prices, and the whole place felt like a cultural heartbeat:
modest, industrious, and deeply influential in how devotion is seen and shared
across households.
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Homeward Bound and Final Reflections
We regrouped at Gorakhnath Temple and then made our way to the airport. A miscommunication with the tour operator and the drivers, about the vehicle rental charges, added a final, anxious note. Still, the flight home was uneventful, and we landed in the small hours.
Looking back, Day Eight stitched
together ritual and wilderness, quiet devotion and practical travel. The trip
as a whole had been generous with challenges – missed timings, rough roads, and
improvisations – yet those frictions sharpened the small acts of kindness and
the clarity of the moments we did not miss. We returned with pockets full of
photographs, bottles of river water, and a quieter, fuller sense of why people
keep coming to these places: to touch stories that have been held by stones and
rivers for generations.
Notes, Appreciation, et al
A few observations stayed with me. Nepal’s cleanliness surprised and impressed us: no litter-strewn roads and a visible system for garbage collection in even remote villages. The religious fervor of local people is palpable and sincere, and their care for shrines and rituals is a living culture rather than a tourist spectacle.
A group with different personalities and characters, blended together with a common cause, over the last week or so, naturally had different dynamics. Squirmishes erupted, time and again, and were doused quickly, in a mature manner, without precipitating the matter.
I want to acknowledge our drivers, Rajneesh and Kamlesh, for their skill on difficult terrain and my fellow travelers for their company and patience. Timekeeping remained our main challenge and cost us a few visits, but the trip’s unexpected detours and human moments made the journey memorable in ways a perfect schedule never could.
Epilogue
And so, dear friends, as the curtain draws to a close,
twelve weary pilgrims take their bow – grateful, humbled, and just a little
amused. For the Almighty, in His infinite wisdom, not only opened the doors of
His sacred shrines but also kept us safe through every twist and turn. Even at
Muktinath, when anxious moments had us clutching our beads tighter than our
backpacks, His grace turned panic into punchlines.
What began as a solemn pilgrimage blended with a comedy of faith
and fellowship: one moment we were whispering prayers, the next we were
whispering, “Did anyone pack extra eatables?” Each challenge was met not
just with courage, but with laughter – the kind that makes fear look small and
friendship look grand.
And now, as the lights dim and the echoes fade, we leave the
stage with gratitude as our encore. The applause, definitely, belongs to Him, but the
chuckles and memories – those, definitely, belong to us. For we discovered that even in the holiest of
places, a little humor is heaven’s own way of saying: Relax, you’re in good
hands.
The journey ends, the story lingers, and the curtain falls… with a wink.
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