After some time, Akshatha slowly opened her eyes.
For a moment, she didn't move.
She just looked ahead—
at the long road stretching endlessly in front of them.
Something about it felt familiar.
A quiet ache rose within her.
In her past life…
There were times she had looked at roads like this and silently prayed—
"Let this journey never end."
Not because she loved traveling…
But because she didn't want to reach where it led.
Back then, after visiting her parents,
when it was time to return to her in-laws' house…
Her heart would grow heavy.
That place—
it had never felt like a home.
It's more like a cage.
A place where she had to adjust, stay silent, endure…
So during those journeys, she would sit quietly,
watching the road,
hoping it would just keep going…
Without an end.
Without a return.
A small breath escaped her lips.
The memory faded slowly.
The sound of voices inside the car returned.
Laughter. Conversations.
Manu is saying something loudly.
She blinked once…
and came back to the present.
This time, she wasn't going back to a cage.
She was sitting beside her father—
safe, supported.
Without realizing it, her hand lightly held onto his arm.
And for the first time…
That endless road ahead—
didn't feel like an escape.
They reached the temple just as they had planned. As soon as they arrived, everyone got down from the vehicle one by one and left their slippers inside the car, since footwear was not allowed in the temple premises, especially as they had to climb up the hill.
Their journey began at the Kalyani, also known as the Pushkarini, a sacred water tank. some even took a holy dip, believing it purified the body and soul before entering the temple.
Nearby, they bought some puffed rice to feed the fish. Akshatha got the packet, and her father bought some pooja samagri. Then, I led the group ahead.
Akshat, manu, and her two younger cousins, ramya and sowmya, started to throw the food for fish. This simple activity brought unexpected joy. The younger children were excited, laughing as they tried to grab more puffed rice and throw it into the water, watching the fish rush towards it.
However, her two elder cousins stood aside, feeling that such excitement was childish and beneath them. They didn't want to be seen fighting over puffed rice like little kids.
But Akshatha was different. Though young, her soul felt older—far more mature than her age. Yet deep within, she felt that in some forgotten past, she had missed out on these simple, joyful moments. So, instead of holding back, she let herself enjoy freely.
It was Manu who truly embraced the moment, laughing, playing, and feeding the fish with pure happiness. Soon, the two younger cousins joined Manu, and together, they turned the simple act into a memory filled with joy.
The Pooja (Pyeyar) Ritual
Began
First, they took three small stones nearby, then washed them, then carefully arranged on the ground. These stones symbolized the divine presence. Before placing them, the area was cleaned.
Once cleaned, turmeric (arishina) and vermilion (kumkuma) were gently applied to the stones. This act transformed the simple stones into sacred representations of God.
Next, betel leaves (viyadele) were placed neatly in front of the stones. On top of these leaves, bananas were kept as an offering (naivedya). Sometimes, flowers or a little coconut might also be added, depending on tradition.
Then the pooja began. Hands were folded, prayers were offered, and the family stood together in devotion. The atmosphere became calm and spiritual, contrasting with the playful energy at the Kalyani.
Finally, after completing the ritual, they went to Dasappa. He applied "gandha" (sandalwood paste) on their foreheads, marking the completion of the pooja. This was considered a blessing, a sign that their prayers had been offered and accepted.
Once they come back, Mr Nagaraju paid the vendor for poojasamagri after returning the basket, which they took to the pooja.
Then Next, they began their journey up the hill to visit the sacred Yoga Narasimha Temple. As per tradition, all the devotees climbed the steps barefoot, feeling the roughness and warmth of the earth beneath their feet, reminding them of the sanctity of the path.
The pathway itself was carved out of large, ancient stones, uneven yet strong, carrying the weight of countless devotees over generations. Each step felt like a connection to the past.
As they climbed higher, the path became lively. On both sides, small vendors had set up their stalls, selling handmade crafts—colorful bangles, wooden toys, tiny idols, and souvenirs. Their voices blended with the sounds of footsteps and temple bells from afar.
A little further up, buttermilk vendors sat with large pots, offering cool relief to the tired climbers. The buttermilk, simple yet refreshing, was a blessing for many who paused to catch their breath. For these vendors, the steady flow of devotees brought income, but in today's competitive world, their earnings were only a small share despite the effort they put in.
At the beginning of the climb, all the children, along with Akshatha, were full of excitement. They ran ahead energetically, laughing and racing each other up the steps. But as the climb continued, the steepness and heat began to take their toll. One by one, their pace slowed.
Soon, the running turned into walking. Breathing heavier now, they quietly moved closer to their parents, matching their steady pace. The earlier excitement softened into determination as they continued the climb together.
After completing their visit to the hill shrine and descending back down, they made their way to the main temple—Cheluvanarayana Swamy Temple.
This temple is the heart of the town, dedicated to Lord Krishna in the form of Cheluvanarayana Swamy. Unlike the climb to the hill temple, this visit felt calmer and more grounded, as the temple stood gracefully amidst the settlement, welcoming devotees from all directions.
As they entered the temple premises, the atmosphere was filled with devotion—the sound of bells, soft chants, and the fragrance of flowers and incense. The architecture reflected its ancient heritage, with beautifully carved pillars and a sense of timelessness in every corner.
Standing in the queue, they slowly moved forward for darshan. When they finally reached the sanctum, the sight of Cheluvanarayana Swamy was mesmerizing. The idol, adorned with rich decorations and flowers, radiated a divine charm and serenity that instantly drew everyone into a moment of silence and reverence.
For Akshatha, this moment felt deeply peaceful. After the playful joy at the Kalyani and the tiring climb to the hill temple, this darshan brought a sense of completeness—as if every part of the journey had led to this calm and sacred connection.
The family stood together, offered their prayers, and received the blessings before stepping out, carrying with them a quiet sense of fulfillment.