“Once you immerse yourself in Bhagvat Bhakti, you will feel a kind of joy that is hard to explain,” says a bearded man with over 60 per cent of his hair turned grey, speaking with quiet intensity. “You must have gone to disco bars with your friends dancing freely, enjoying without worry. I dance like that too, but for my Bhagwan. If He is my companion, I need no one else.”
This man, Prakash Choudhary, is on a yatra and is walking on foot from Gangotri to Rameshwaram. Yes, walking the entire journey, alone and on foot.
As someone who routinely reports on brutal hate crimes, stories of women being chopped into pieces, bodies set ablaze, and dismembered torsos, I have seen things that leave scars. These stories must be told, so I report them, but they do take a toll. I am no longer the same person I was before stepping into this work. At times, it feels like we are chronicling our own downfall, documenting pain without end or impact.
And then, I meet people like Prakash Choudhary, the same man who urged me to dive into Bhagwat Bhakti to truly understand its magic.
I chuckled at first, unsure what to make of his words. But what always leaves me in awe is the energy and unwavering dedication of those in saffron, the sadhus, the devotees, the yatris. In a time when VIP darshan has become the norm and every other person is busy dialling contacts to bypass queues for a glimpse of the divine, people like Prakash keep walking, praying, and believing, without shortcuts, without expectations.
I first saw him while I was recording a video at a temple in Madhya Pradesh (location withheld for privacy). A man in saffron entered the premises, backpack secured, a yoga mat and umbrella in one hand, a carry bag in the other, a circular cloth draped over his bag. A scarf was tied around his head. Just a glance, and I knew he was on a journey.
Unable to contain my curiosity, I approached him after my darshan and asked, “Are you on a yatra?”
He smiled and replied, “Yes, I am walking from Gangotri to Rameshwaram.”
In that moment, I knew I had to speak to him more.
I introduced myself quickly, and he warmly agreed to talk. We found a quiet corner in the temple where he sat down on his saffron scarf. But before that, he asked, “Where can I place the Gangajal?” I directed him to the Garbha Griha. He had two containers tied around his waist with cloth, the same Gangajal he had carried all the way from Gangotri.
“I can’t put it on the floor,” he said gently, settling down. “It is Ganga Maiya. I brought her with me.”
As we sat, he shared, “This is the 33rd day of my yatra. I will keep walking for two more months and reach Rameshwaram in Sawan. I will offer Jalabhishek there and complete my journey.”
What struck me most was the scale, walking from Gangotri to Rameshwaram, a distance of 3,170 kilometres, on foot. I asked, “Don’t you get tired?”
“Not at all,” he replied with a smile. “I feel pure and happy. I can easily walk 45 to 50 kilometres a day.”
Prakash is not a sadhu or someone traditionally seen as overtly religious. He is an ordinary man, like you and me. When I asked about his background, he said, “I am from Indore district, Madhya Pradesh. In my youth, I was a weightlifter. Later, I worked as a bodyguard for a politician. Then I started a tours and travel business, but it didn’t succeed. Now, I have two vehicles left, and I drive one myself to make a living.”
He continued, “I am married. My wife is on dialysis. We have a daughter who’s in Class 10.”
Even with these personal challenges, Prakash takes time out for such a yatra every year. Last year, he walked from Har Ki Paudi in Haridwar to Mahakal in Ujjain, a distance of 909 kilometres. Each year, he carries Gangajal from a sacred Ganga ji spot and walks to a Jyotirlinga, offering it with reverence and love. He does it all alone. No entourage. No support. Just faith.
And perhaps, that’s what keeps him going.
About His Yatra
It was his thirty-third day on the road, and I was filled with questions—how did he make it this far? What kind of people had he met? What did he eat? Where did he sleep? How did he cross forests alone? My list of curiosities was endless.
He had entered the temple around 2:30 in the afternoon. The heat outside was unbearable. The breezy winds that blew a few weeks back in Madhya Pradesh had been replaced by suffocating heatwaves. Sweat was dripping from his forehead, the temple had no fan, yet his face radiated joy. There was a glow, a childlike happiness, as if he had just accomplished something profound. His body language, too, reflected that inner bliss.
“I took a train from Indore to Gangotri,” he began. “There, I did darshan, collected Ganga ji, performed puja, and started my journey. I have met so many people along the way, and I must say, this is the best way to truly know your country. You feel blessed to be born here when you experience it through a yatra like this.”
He continued, “I have done the Kanwar Yatra before. You can call this a Kanwar Yatra too. But there’s a difference, going with a group is one thing; walking alone is something else altogether.”
“Thankfully,” he said, “the people I met have been kind. Almost everyone offered me water, food, fruits and even money. Because of how I am dressed, many think I am a sadhu. Such is the innocence of this land’s people. Why should I walk in fear?”
I asked him to share his daily routine.
“I usually find shelter in temples and ashrams. I begin my day with worship and walk until it’s time to rest or until I find another ashram. I don’t stay in hotels, and I never cross the door of a grihastha’s home. If I am in a forested area, I find a house with a shaded area and sleep beneath it.”
I then asked about his diet.
“In the beginning, I would take phalhaar (fruit-based meal) in the afternoon and fast afterward. I continued that for about 15 to 20 days. But eventually, I started feeling dizzy and weak. Since then, I have been eating a simple meal in the morning and night as well. I eat only satvik food, with no onion, no garlic. I carry fruits and a packet of biscuits for days when I have to walk through forests.”
When I asked how it feels to walk like this, he paused and said, “It feels magical. I find myself dancing and singing bhajans as I walk. I have devoted myself completely to Mahadev. I am a Shiv and Hanuman bhakt. I know He is looking after my family while I am in his service. Back home, my life is filled with struggles. But during the yatra, I feel peace. It’s a kind of peace I can’t put into words.”
When I asked about fatigue, he said, “Yes, sometimes I get blisters on my feet. There are minor injuries too. But none of that matters. My goal is to reach Rameshwaram and do abhishek in Sawan. That’s all the motivation I need to keep walking, just the thought of seeing my Mahadev.”
I asked, “Some people call kanwariyas hooligans who create noise. What do you say to that?”
He smiled and replied, “That’s not hooliganism, it’s their joy. Yes, I once met a man who abused me. He was a Muslim. But it doesn’t matter. When you are in Bhagvat Bhakti, everything else feels like background noise. We are kanwariyas, and we will continue to take such yatras every time, without fail.”
Speaking about the challenges, he recalled, “Recently, I walked through parts of Uttar Pradesh where only Muslim food outlets were available. It was difficult for us to find food. I also read about boys being attacked with stones just for carrying flags,” he was referring to the Bahraich incident “But attempts like these won’t stop us.”
He added, “I have a small temple outside my office in Indore. We bring jal there too. This has been happening since I was a teenager. If it has continued till now, no one can stop it.”
Finally, I asked him, “Would you recommend young people like me to go on a yatra like this?”
He looked at me and said with conviction, “Absolutely. Go. Devote yourself to Bhagwan. Give Him the same time and attention you give your friends. Only then will you feel the magic. There is no better way to connect with both God and the country than through a yatra. It changes you from within. Changes you never imagined start taking root. And that’s what keeps us going.”
What did I learn?
I ended the conversation there. Just as we wrapped up, a woman sitting nearby quietly approached Prakash and offered him a Rs 50 note, bowing gently before him. She mistook him for a sadhu. He politely refused, his hands folded, but she left the note anyway and walked away without a word. There was something sacred in that silence, an unspoken reverence that needed no explanation.
I stayed there a little longer, watching him. I thought Prakash would take some rest after the long walk, maybe stay back at the temple for the evening. But before I could even gather my things and step out, he had already tied his shoelaces and was ready to move again.
His next milestone? The Chhattisgarh border. He hoped to reach it by nightfall.
He spoke of the southern leg of his journey with childlike wonder. The change in language, the different flavours of food, it all fascinated him. He was curious, open, and unafraid. “I want to do another yatra next year too,” he said, with the same calm determination that had already carried him over a thousand kilometres.
And in that moment, I understood something deeper. This is the power of Dharma, not just a path of devotion, but a force that restores your faith in the world. Its grace lies in such simple encounters, in meeting people like Prakash, ordinary men with extraordinary resolve.
This meeting stirred something within me. It reminded me that no matter how dark the world may sometimes seem, there are still souls walking in light.
I wish to meet many more like him in this life.
That day, without a doubt, was one of the most beautiful days of my life.
Comments