The morning sun filtered softly through the courtyard of the old house. Incense drifted in the air, and the quiet chanting of “Navkar Mantra” created a peaceful rhythm.
Raksha sat on a small wooden stool in the center of the courtyard. Her long black hair, usually tied in a braid, fell over her shoulders today for the last time.
Around her sat family members dressed in white, the traditional color of simplicity and purity.
Her grandmother gently placed a hand on her head.
“Hair grows again,” she whispered, “but humility and discipline must grow inside.”
A Jain monk visiting the family temple had explained earlier that mundan symbolized letting go of attachment. Hair was seen as a small symbol of vanity, and removing it was a reminder of simplicity.
The barber arrived carrying a small cloth bundle. Inside was a straight razor, shining in the sunlight.
Raksha felt a tiny flutter in her stomach—not fear, just awareness that this was an important moment.
Her father poured a little warm water over her head. Her mother applied sandalwood paste and whispered a blessing.
The barber worked slowly and carefully. With each gentle stroke of the razor, strands of hair slipped away and fell onto the white cloth spread beneath her.
No one spoke loudly. The only sounds were:
the soft chanting
the birds in the neem tree
the quiet scraping of the razor
Raksha closed her eyes.
She imagined letting go of pride, anger, and small worries—just as her hair was being released.
Soon the barber finished.
Her head was smooth and cool in the morning breeze.
Her grandmother smiled and placed a small mark of sandalwood on Raksha’s forehead.
“You look lighter,” she said.
Raksha touched her shaved head and laughed softly.
And somehow, she really did feel lighter.