In the heart of Maharashtra, nestled in a quiet village near Pandharpur, lived a woman named Sumitra Deshpande. A respected philosophy professor from Pune, she was known not only for her brilliance but for her unwavering discipline and compassionate heart. She taught Vedanta and Indian ethics, but within, she longed for something deeper — a direct experience of the Divine.
After her mother passed away, Sumitra began to withdraw from worldly noise. One morning during Ashadhi Ekadashi, she joined the Wari — the great pilgrimage to Pandharpur, walking with lakhs of Varkaris chanting “Vitthala Vitthala!” It was during this sacred walk that she had a vivid dream: a divine figure, towering and serene, adorned with jewels, stood before her — Lord Venkateswara of Tirumala.
He raised his hand in blessing and said softly:
“Come to me, child. Leave knowledge behind. Walk the path of devotion.”
Awakening with tears on her face, she knew her life had changed forever.
Soon after, Sumitra shaved her head — not in grief, but as an act of liberation. She donned a radiant Paithani saree, rich with the woven culture of Maharashtra, and set out on a padayatra to Tirupati Balaji. Along the way, villagers offered her food, and children touched her feet, sensing something otherworldly in her silence.
She walked through the ghats of Nashik, the temples of Tuljapur, and the forests of Chandrapur, chanting “Govinda! Govinda!” with each step. As she approached Tirumala, the journey became more inward than outward.
When she finally stood before Balaji’s sanctum, the air itself seemed to still. The golden crown, the lotus eyes, the eternal smile — it was the form she had seen in her dream. She folded her hands and whispered:
“I came with questions. I return with silence.”
From that moment, she became a living flame of devotion.
Returning to her village near Pandharpur, she did not resume her academic life. Instead, she became known as "Balaji Tai" — a guiding light for women, youth, and seekers. With her tilak, her shaved head, and her ever-present smile, she radiated inner strength. She would speak of Sant Dnyaneshwar, Tukaram, and Namdev, tying their wisdom with her love for Lord Venkateswara.
Her small courtyard became a place of satsang. She sang abhangas in the morning and recited Vishnu Sahasranama at dusk. Her message was clear:
“Maharashtra’s soil has always known bhakti. When heart and mind unite in love, Lord Balaji himself walks beside you.”
And so, in that humble village, surrounded by sugarcane fields and temple bells, people believed:
“Satyayug lives again — not in time, but through her.”