Acceptance in the Eyes — A Morning at Kedarnath
"When I started this work, I couldn’t even lift much weight. I’m poor. I don’t eat well or exercise. If I’m now able to carry 70 kg all the way to the Mandir, it’s only because of Mahadev’s blessings. I’m a nobody."
It was 4:30 AM. We had completed our darshan of Mahadev the evening before, and having woken up early, I had little to do. I stepped out for a walk along the temple street when a porter approached me, offering his services to carry me either down to Gaurikund or the short distance up to Kedarnath Mandir.
“I’m still fit,” I told him, smiling. “I walked up yesterday and can easily manage the downhill walk.”
“Aap ko kam mein kar denge, sir. Hamara boni ho jaayega. Karlo na.”
His eyes were kind, and the way he pleaded made me feel guilty for being fit enough to not need his help.
“Nahin yaar,” I said gently. “Ek time aayega jab hum aapke services ke laayak ho jaayenge. Tab zaroor aapka grahak banenge.” I really didn’t know how else to say no to his sincere offer.
“Hum kahan tab tak rahenge sir? Waise baat hamare laayak ban ne ki nahin hai, sirji. Jaisi aapki ichchha. Mahadev ki kripa aap par bane rahe.”
I felt like having a conversation with him, though I didn’t want to delay his boni — his first customer of the day. But I asked anyway. That’s when he made the remark about how Baba Kedar had transformed a poor, physically weak man into someone who could carry heavy loads over a 20-kilometre trek. Interestingly, his thoughts about Mahadev’s strength echoed my own, especially from a few days earlier in Tapovan.
"Aap kahan se ho? Ghar mein kaun rehta hai?"
"Nepal se hain, Sahab. Biwi hai aur do bacche hain. Abhi season khatam hone wala hai, toh waapis jaayenge. Chhe mahine baad fir aayenge."
"Bacche kya karte hain?"
"Bada beta twelfth mein hai. Chhota ninth mein. Chhota accha padhta hai — teacher bolte hain ki class mein first ya second aata hai. Bada bhi padhta hai, lekin sharaarti hai. Dekhenge... Mahadev ki ichchha."
There’s so much to learn from souls like him — about surrender, acceptance, and trust. While we often think about achieving those mindsets, their circumstances place them in it naturally.
"Do you make enough money to support the family?" I asked in Hindi.
"Depends on what’s enough," he smiled. "Whatever I earn is okay. Expenses here are high. Being a Nepali, we’re not allowed to build huts or even pitch our own tents. We pay rent for tents, just like you do. Daily expenses easily reach a thousand rupees — we can’t cook for ourselves and have to rely on local thelas."
"That’s quite a lot."
"Ho jaayega sir. Do-teen sawaari din mein ho jaayein toh bach jaate hain kuch paise. Aapne acche se baat kiya, toh subah-subah mujhe bhi accha laga. Jai Mahadev."
He didn’t want to chat further — his competition would be out soon. A horse handler approached just then:
"Ghoda kar loge sir? Kam mein le jaayenge. Hamara bhi boni ho jaayega."
I declined again, but before I moved on, I gave my porter friend a quick hug — for reminding me of Mahadev, and for making me hope, more than once, for His blessings.
One thing that stays with you throughout the Char Dham Yatra is the constant interaction with porters, doliwalas, and horsemen. At first, they feel like interruptions. But when you dig deeper, you realize — they are revelations.
I kept observing the horses — looking for signs of anger or frustration from being subjected to such strenuous labor. For humans, this is livelihood. For horses? They didn’t choose this life.
Their knees often buckle on the steep paths. They slip on the stone, unable to grip with their plated hooves. You wonder: why can’t part of the trail be left unpaved so they can walk more comfortably?
It's disturbing. But when you look into their eyes — all you see is acceptance. In all caps. That’s how much of it you can feel in them.
And I realized — the porter’s eyes were exactly the same.
Later that morning, as we hiked up to visit Bhairava, the kshetrapalaka (guardian) of Kedarnath, I saw a sadhu urging people to stop taking selfies and focus on the deity. He was moving briskly uphill. I followed.
"Swamiji, are you from here?"
He ignored me a couple of times. I kept at it.
Finally, he stopped.
"Yes. I live in one of the ashrams down there. Now chant the Lord’s name and move on."
"I will. But since you live here, I wanted to ask — don’t you find all this noise — the hotels, helicopters, shops, horses, porters — disturbing? Shouldn’t a sacred place be more peaceful and simple?"
"Why did you come here — to review God's creation or to immerse yourself in God's name?"
"No… I mean, from up here (at Bhairava temple), all of Kedarnath village is visible, and it doesn’t feel very spiritual. I just wanted clarity."
"You think all this isn’t Baba Kedarnath’s doing? He puts everything there — then sees whether, in the middle of it all, your mind can still stay focused on Him. Looks like you’re more worried about fixing the world than fixing your focus on Baba Kedar. Be careful, or your arduous trip will go waste."
"So… just accept and move on?"
"Yes. Worry about fixing the world when you go back. For now — feel the Mahadev."
And suddenly, I understood what he meant. The horse’s eyes. That’s exactly what the sadhu was trying to get me to see.
Har Har Mahadev.
It was 4:30 AM. We had completed our darshan of Mahadev the evening before, and having woken up early, I had little to do. I stepped out for a walk along the temple street when a porter approached me, offering his services to carry me either down to Gaurikund or the short distance up to Kedarnath Mandir.
“I’m still fit,” I told him, smiling. “I walked up yesterday and can easily manage the downhill walk.”
“Aap ko kam mein kar denge, sir. Hamara boni ho jaayega. Karlo na.”
His eyes were kind, and the way he pleaded made me feel guilty for being fit enough to not need his help.
“Nahin yaar,” I said gently. “Ek time aayega jab hum aapke services ke laayak ho jaayenge. Tab zaroor aapka grahak banenge.” I really didn’t know how else to say no to his sincere offer.
“Hum kahan tab tak rahenge sir? Waise baat hamare laayak ban ne ki nahin hai, sirji. Jaisi aapki ichchha. Mahadev ki kripa aap par bane rahe.”
I felt like having a conversation with him, though I didn’t want to delay his boni — his first customer of the day. But I asked anyway. That’s when he made the remark about how Baba Kedar had transformed a poor, physically weak man into someone who could carry heavy loads over a 20-kilometre trek. Interestingly, his thoughts about Mahadev’s strength echoed my own, especially from a few days earlier in Tapovan.
"Aap kahan se ho? Ghar mein kaun rehta hai?"
"Nepal se hain, Sahab. Biwi hai aur do bacche hain. Abhi season khatam hone wala hai, toh waapis jaayenge. Chhe mahine baad fir aayenge."
"Bacche kya karte hain?"
"Bada beta twelfth mein hai. Chhota ninth mein. Chhota accha padhta hai — teacher bolte hain ki class mein first ya second aata hai. Bada bhi padhta hai, lekin sharaarti hai. Dekhenge... Mahadev ki ichchha."
There’s so much to learn from souls like him — about surrender, acceptance, and trust. While we often think about achieving those mindsets, their circumstances place them in it naturally.
"Do you make enough money to support the family?" I asked in Hindi.
"Depends on what’s enough," he smiled. "Whatever I earn is okay. Expenses here are high. Being a Nepali, we’re not allowed to build huts or even pitch our own tents. We pay rent for tents, just like you do. Daily expenses easily reach a thousand rupees — we can’t cook for ourselves and have to rely on local thelas."
"That’s quite a lot."
"Ho jaayega sir. Do-teen sawaari din mein ho jaayein toh bach jaate hain kuch paise. Aapne acche se baat kiya, toh subah-subah mujhe bhi accha laga. Jai Mahadev."
He didn’t want to chat further — his competition would be out soon. A horse handler approached just then:
"Ghoda kar loge sir? Kam mein le jaayenge. Hamara bhi boni ho jaayega."
I declined again, but before I moved on, I gave my porter friend a quick hug — for reminding me of Mahadev, and for making me hope, more than once, for His blessings.
One thing that stays with you throughout the Char Dham Yatra is the constant interaction with porters, doliwalas, and horsemen. At first, they feel like interruptions. But when you dig deeper, you realize — they are revelations.
I kept observing the horses — looking for signs of anger or frustration from being subjected to such strenuous labor. For humans, this is livelihood. For horses? They didn’t choose this life.
Their knees often buckle on the steep paths. They slip on the stone, unable to grip with their plated hooves. You wonder: why can’t part of the trail be left unpaved so they can walk more comfortably?
It's disturbing. But when you look into their eyes — all you see is acceptance. In all caps. That’s how much of it you can feel in them.
And I realized — the porter’s eyes were exactly the same.
Later that morning, as we hiked up to visit Bhairava, the kshetrapalaka (guardian) of Kedarnath, I saw a sadhu urging people to stop taking selfies and focus on the deity. He was moving briskly uphill. I followed.
"Swamiji, are you from here?"
He ignored me a couple of times. I kept at it.
Finally, he stopped.
"Yes. I live in one of the ashrams down there. Now chant the Lord’s name and move on."
"I will. But since you live here, I wanted to ask — don’t you find all this noise — the hotels, helicopters, shops, horses, porters — disturbing? Shouldn’t a sacred place be more peaceful and simple?"
"Why did you come here — to review God's creation or to immerse yourself in God's name?"
"No… I mean, from up here (at Bhairava temple), all of Kedarnath village is visible, and it doesn’t feel very spiritual. I just wanted clarity."
"You think all this isn’t Baba Kedarnath’s doing? He puts everything there — then sees whether, in the middle of it all, your mind can still stay focused on Him. Looks like you’re more worried about fixing the world than fixing your focus on Baba Kedar. Be careful, or your arduous trip will go waste."
"So… just accept and move on?"
"Yes. Worry about fixing the world when you go back. For now — feel the Mahadev."
And suddenly, I understood what he meant. The horse’s eyes. That’s exactly what the sadhu was trying to get me to see.
Har Har Mahadev.
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