The temple courtyard was still wrapped in the softness of early morning light when Meera arrived.
The stone floor was cool beneath her feet, and the scent of incense drifted gently through the air. Bells chimed from inside the sanctum, each note echoing through the quiet hills. Today was not just another visit — it was a day of offering, of surrender.
She had made a vow months ago.
Now, seated beneath the shade of an ancient peepal tree inside the temple complex, she felt her heartbeat steady as the temple barber prepared his tools. Around her, women whispered prayers, children watched curiously, and the rhythmic chants of priests blended with the distant call of birds.
Her long black hair, thick and flowing down her back, had always been admired. It was part of her identity — braided for festivals, adorned with jasmine for celebrations. But today, it was an offering.
She closed her eyes.
The first gentle section of hair was gathered in the barber’s hand. There was no fear in her expression — only devotion. As the blade glided carefully, the weight she had carried for months felt like it was lifting strand by strand.
Locks of glossy black hair fell softly to the stone floor.
A breeze brushed against her newly exposed scalp, cool and unfamiliar. She inhaled deeply. With each careful pass of the razor, her head grew lighter. The sounds around her faded, replaced by an inner stillness.
It wasn’t about losing beauty.
It was about letting go.
When the final strokes were done, the barber poured warm water over her head. Droplets traced down her temples, catching the morning sunlight. Meera opened her eyes slowly and touched her smooth scalp. There was vulnerability there — but also strength.
She felt renewed.
Not defined by her hair. Not attached to vanity. Only grounded in faith.
As she walked toward the sanctum for darshan, her sari shimmering softly in the golden light, she carried no adornment — yet she felt more adorned than ever.
In surrender, she had found peace.