There are journeys we take for peace, and then there are journeys that pull us for reasons we can’t explain — journeys that feel like homecomings, even if we’ve never been there before. My recent trip from Varanasi to Chitrakoot was exactly that — not just a journey through distance, but one that moved something deep within me.
It began in Varanasi, the city where every street breathes divinity. I arrived just before dawn, and the city was already awake — priests chanting mantras on the ghats, the Ganga flowing with a quiet rhythm, and devotees standing with folded hands, as if in conversation with the river. I remember sitting at Dashashwamedh Ghat, sipping on a small kulhad of chai, watching the sun slowly rise over the water. Time felt slower here, almost sacred.
But as much as Varanasi holds your soul, something within me stirred to move forward — to follow the trail of faith and find where it led. That trail pointed toward Chitrakoot.
The drive from Varanasi to Chitrakoot was around 6 hours, but the landscapes in between told their own tales — mustard fields, small villages, kids waving from the roadside, and the occasional sight of a temple dome peeking through trees. It felt less like a road trip and more like a spiritual unfolding, where even silence had something to say.
Arriving in Chitrakoot, I was struck by how peaceful everything felt — like time had taken a pause. The stories of Lord Rama echoed through the air. It’s said he spent 11 years of his exile here with Sita and Lakshman, and walking through Ramghat, I could feel the legends breathe through the stones. Unlike the bustle of Varanasi, Chitrakoot is quieter — its energy softer but just as sacred.
At Kamadgiri, I joined the slow-moving line of devotees walking barefoot around the hill, chanting quietly. It wasn’t just religious — it felt deeply personal. Everyone there, including me, was walking with their own stories, prayers, and hopes.
On the other hand, sitting by the Mandakini River at sunset, as I spent time at the Ganga in Varanasi, was what influenced me. Despite the two towns and rivers, there is an odd, divine continuity. It opened my eyes to the fact that spirituality doesn't belong to a single location but rather involves times like these when you feel a connection without having to communicate.
This journey from Varanasi to Chitrakoot wasn’t about ticking places off a list. It was about surrender — to the past, to faith, to silence. I left with no grand souvenirs, only a notebook filled with scribbled thoughts and a heart that felt just a little lighter.
Some places change you. Not loudly. But deeply.
Varanasi awakened something in me.
Chitrakoot calmed it.
And somewhere in between, I found a version of myself I hadn’t met before.
