Stepping Into Grace — A Soulful Encounter at Pashupatinath
I had just landed in Kathmandu, Nepal —the air heavy with incense and dust, my mind still floating somewhere between “home” and “adventure.” On my very first afternoon, I found myself at the gates of Pashupatinath, one of the world’s oldest and most sacred Hindu temples, perched on the banks of the Bagmati River.
A Threshold of Belonging and Exclusion
Only Hindus and local Nepalese may step past the outer courtyard into Pashupatinath’s inner sanctum. My friend, a fellow wanderer, had to wait outside. I slipped past the carved wooden gates alone, my heart pounding—not from fear, but anticipation.
A Portal of Presence
Inside, the six-hundred-year-old pagoda (rebuilt in its current form in 1692 CE after centuries of renovation) seemed to breathe with life. Legend says a herdsman discovered the original Shiva‐linga here when one of his cows poured milk onto the ground—divine milk pointing to its resting place.
The air, thick with the smoke of ghee‑lit lamps, felt electric. I was not a tourist checking off an icon—I was a pilgrim standing at a UNESCO World Heritage Site, one that’s been witness to thousands of cremation rites on the Bagmati’s ghats, where life and death flow together.
The Energy That Stilled Me
As I approached the sanctum’s four silver‑plated doors—each adorned with intricate carvings of Shiva and his consort Parvati—something shifted. The cacophony of outside life dimmed. The temple’s head priest (one of only four who serve here, selected for their mastery of the Vedas and Shiva Āgamas) was guiding a noon āratī.
I stood there, breath caught, and I started to chant—softly at first, then louder, tears trailing down my cheeks. Not from sorrow, but from an overwhelming sense of grace. I whispered, over and over, “Thank you… thank you… thank you.” What had I done to deserve this?
My Unscripted Ritual
I didn’t light a candle, I didn’t fold a perfect lotus mudrā—I simply let the temple hold me. A Rajbhandari caretaker placed a marigold garland on the lingam; it felt like a personal blessing. I bowed, not because I had to, but because every fiber of me resonated with that ancient energy.
Leaving with More Than Memories
When I walked back out, the sun was lower on the horizon. My friend met me with a gentle smile. I wasn’t the same. Kathmandu hadn’t greeted me with tuk‑tuks and tourist traps—it had introduced me to stillness.
“Some places don’t just show you new sights—they remind you who you’ve always been.”
Have you ever stood in a place that moved you to tears—before you even unpacked your bags? Share your sacred moment below.
