The bus wound slowly up the seven sacred hills of Tirumala, the early morning mist brushing against the windows like a blessing. Urvashi Vaijwade pressed her forehead gently to the glass. Below her, the world felt heavy — expectations, fears, silent prayers she had carried for years.
She had promised herself this journey after the hardest year of her life.
Not as a bargain with God…
but as surrender.
The temple bells echoed long before she saw the golden gopuram. Pilgrims walked barefoot, some chanting, some crying, some smiling — each carrying a different story but the same hope.
When she reached the Kalyanakatta tonsure hall, her fingers instinctively touched her long hair. It had been her pride since childhood. Her mother used to braid it every morning before school. Festivals meant flowers. Weddings meant compliments.
Letting it go felt like letting go of time itself.
The barber looked at her gently — he had seen thousands of emotions on that floor.
“Govinda?” he asked softly.
Urvashi closed her eyes.
“Govinda.”
The first lock fell.
For a moment she felt shock — not regret — just silence.
Then relief.
With every stroke of the razor, memories loosened:
fear… comparison… heartbreak… the need to control everything.
When it was done, she touched her head — unfamiliar, light, free.
Tears came, but not of loss.
Outside, the breeze touched her scalp for the first time in her life. She laughed unexpectedly. The weight she carried for years was never in her hair — only in her mind.
Standing before Lord Venkateswara, she didn’t ask for anything.
She simply said:
“I came to give, not to get.
Whatever you choose for me now, I accept.”
And for the first time, faith didn’t feel like hope.
It felt like peace.