Bodhgaya — A journey of spirit, strangers, and soul bonds 

I had gone to Gaya to perform the last rites of my beloved husband. Once all the rituals were complete, I made my way to Bodhgaya, a small town just 12 kms away. I had no plans, just a pull. 

The moment I entered Bodhgaya, I felt something shift. The town seemed wrapped in a blanket of peace. Buddhist temples and monasteries lined the streets, saffron-clad monks walked serenely past prayer wheels, and gentle chants floated through the air like a whisper from another world. I instantly knew—I would return. 

And I did. The following winter, I came back with my children. 

Bodhgaya, though small, is a deeply sacred town. It houses 29 Buddhist temples and monasteries, each unique and representing a different country- Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Japan, Thailand, Nepal, China, Tibet, Bhutan, Vietnam, Korea, Myanmar, Cambodia, Laos, Sikkim, Taiwan, and more. The architectural diversity was awe-inspiring, each monastery echoing the art and soul of its nation. 

The heart of Bodhgaya is the Mahabodhi Temple complex, home to the sacred Bodhi Tree under which Prince Siddhartha attained enlightenment to become the Buddha. Nearby stands the majestic Great Buddha statue, towering in silence amidst the spiritual hum of the town. 

We visited each monastery, soaking in the culture, colour, and quiet energy. Each one told its own story through carvings, paintings, rituals, and structure. The Thai monastery, adorned with multi-coloured glass and crystals, looked like a celestial jewel. That night happened to be a full moon, and as its silver light kissed the temple, the entire structure glimmered as if made of stars. Even my camera couldn’t capture its divine magic. 

We stayed at the Mahabodhi Monastery, simple in comfort but powerful in vibration. For three days, we explored, meditated, and absorbed. Every morning, while the children slept, I would quietly slip out and sit under the Bodhi tree, meditating in its ancient shade. It felt like I was being silently held by centuries of awakened wisdom. 

Later in the day, we would browse the little curio shops in the temple complex. There were silk scarves and pyjamas, soft woollen blankets, Tibetan carpets, crystals, shawls, and vibrant local crafts, loved especially by the foreign visitors. 

One shop in particular stood out. It was run by three young Muslim brothers, humble, kind, and full of warmth. The youngest, Adil, was a student in Class XI. He volunteered to take us to Sujata Kuti and the Dungeshwari Cave, about 25 kms away, where Buddha had meditated for six years. He arranged a car and acted as our guide. 

The cave itself, where Gautama Buddha starved his body almost to death before Sujata offered him porridge, was powerful and humbling. A skeletal sculpture of the Buddha rests inside the cave, marking the extremes he endured before discovering the Middle Path. The climb was short, but the view from the top was breathtaking. Inside, the energy was subtle yet potent, like a silent thunder. We sat there and meditated. I felt empowered. Transformed. 

Back in Bodhgaya, I noticed many beggars near the Mahabodhi complex. I asked Shalal, the middle brother, if we could feed them. Without hesitation, he and his friends arranged stoves, gas cylinders, and ingredients. Together, we cooked and served a grand meal to 500 poor people in a nearby Hindu temple. My heart’s longing, to feed the hungry, was fulfilled through their generous spirit. 

While I performed rituals inside the Mahabodhi Temple, the brothers lovingly kept the children entertained with their own kids. They weren’t just strangers anymore, they felt like extended family. I trusted them fully. 

When it was time to leave, we boarded our train from Gaya station. Since I was carrying two Tibetan carpets along with our luggage and traveling with small children, Adil was asked by his elder brother to accompany us for help. As the train approached, Adil stepped away, saying, “Didi, I’ll be back in two minutes.” I assumed he was using the restroom. 

The train arrived. We boarded. Adil joined us, settled us into our seats, and chatted casually. As the train started moving, I looked at him in surprise, “Adil, the train’s moving, get down!” He smiled and replied softly, “I’m not getting down. I bought my ticket in advance. I’m coming with you to Kolkata. I couldn’t let you travel alone with two children and so much luggage. You’re like my sister.” 

 I was speechless. This was a big act of kindness from a teenage boy, for someone he had known only for a few days. Who does that? 

He travelled with us overnight, helped us reach our apartment in Kolkata, had breakfast with us, and left immediately, saying, “Though it’s Sunday, I have school tomorrow. I need to be back.” 

That trip to Bodhgaya was not just a spiritual journey, it was a chapter of human connection, soul union, and divine design. Though we came from different faiths and parts of the country, our hearts aligned. Over time, the bond deepened. 

Shalal, especially, became more than a friend, he became my eternal brother. He visited us multiple times, including once during the COVID-19 pandemic when he drove 1,200 kms non-stop from Bodhgaya to Dehradun with his cousin just to check on our well-being. He refused to stay in our home, fearing he might unknowingly bring infection, and instead booked a nearby hotel to stay, just to ensure we were safe and had everything we needed. 

On another visit, when a guest made me uncomfortable with persistent, inappropriate glances, it was Shalal who confronted him directly and fiercely: “We are two pillars for our sister,” he said. “If you ever look at her that way again, you’ll have to pay a heavy price!” 

Since then, we have been family. Not by blood—but by something far stronger. These are relationships born not out of coincidence, but divine orchestration. 

They are the threads that remind us that humanity, when unfiltered and unconditional, becomes the greatest blessing of all. 

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