I was a teenager, an atheist (or so I believed) when my family decided to join a large group of some known, some unknown families on the Vaishno Devi yatra.
A train bogie booked, snacks packed, bhajans and aartis filling the air, we began our journey. We reached Katra, trekked nearly 12 kilometres where I was convinced that the bhajans were just noise and the rituals were just habits. In true sense, I was the observer, never the participant. Anyhow, we did our darshan and after stepping out of the Devi’s shrine, while walking towards the prasad area I noticed a small sign: Praachin Shiv Mandir. Ahead were steps going down, wedged between houses on both sides. Curious, I asked my parents and sister if we could check it out. My parents bailed, they were exhausted and we still had to head to Bhairon temple but my sister and I bought ourselves some time, fixed a meeting point and started climbing down. It wasn’t easy after a long uphill trek since morning, but curiosity won. A few twists and turns later, after nearly a hundred steps, we reached what felt like a gufa (a cave-like) mandir. Outside was a small pond, alive with frogs croaking and leaping from one corner to another. The mandir itself wasn’t man-made, it felt carved by nature. Inside, a small shivling rested quietly. My sister went in first while I stood outside, oddly captivated by the rawness of the scene - the frogs, the stillness, the absence of polish. When she came out, I stepped in. That’s where it happened. Without realising, tears started flowing. I just wanted to hold the shivling, to sit there and cry. Time disappeared. Then suddenly, I snapped back, aware that my sister must be wondering what was taking me so long and I stepped outside. What I saw then is still impossible to put into words. Right in front of me stood a majestic mountain range, opening into a valley so deep it felt immeasurable. Back then, there were no grills, no barriers, one could have easily slipped, fallen, dissolved into that vastness. We rushed back, silent. I couldn’t explain what I had felt. What made it harder was that my sister, a believer felt untouched, while I, the atheist, had been undone. Year after year, we returned to Vaishno Devi and I never missed going back to that Shiv mandir, often alone, the way I preferred it. The first year, we were the only ones there. Slowly, a few more people began finding their way down. One year, I insisted my parents come along. It was more crowded then and I missed the solitude. Incidentally, that was also the last year we went to Vaishno Devi as a family, after eight consecutive years. The Vaishno Devi group dissolved, life took over and the trips stopped. Whenever I heard of people visiting Vaishno Devi, I selfishly never told them about the mandir. I wanted that feeling intact and untouched until recently. A few months ago, I asked a friend to visit it for me to bring back photos, maybe even a live darshan. She FaceTimed me from there. The mandir was now more crowded, the valley fenced with shiny metal grills so no one could fall or trip. She sent videos that became precious keepsakes but something had changed. It was no longer that untouched place I wanted to protect in silence. It was still powerful, still sacred but different. That space where divinity and nature once felt like one, where we were the outsiders, had shifted. What remained was the memory of a feeling I have never felt again. A feeling that was pure, overwhelming and impossible to process. Until I find my praachin Shiv mandir again...
