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Some journeys are not planned around convenience; they are planned around calling.
This one was exactly that.
In today’s world, asking someone to travel with you often means negotiating calendars, priorities, and compromises. Everyone is busy, and aligning someone else’s time with your own is no longer easy. So, I chose to travel alone—not out of loneliness, but out of clarity. With limited leave from office, only a Sunday at my disposal, I decided to answer a long-pending inner urge and visit Baidyanath Dham, Deoghar, one of the sacred Jyotirlingas of Lord Shiva.
On Saturday afternoon, I boarded the Jana Shatabdi Express (Train No. 12023) from Durgapur at 3:43 PM. The journey was smooth, and by 6:00 PM, I reached Jasidih Junction, the gateway to Deoghar. As soon as I stepped out, the familiar scene unfolded—auto drivers circling the station premises, calling out to tourists, quoting inflated fares for full autos. Experience teaches you small wisdoms while travelling alone, and one of them is simple: walk a little, ask locals.
I stepped outside the station area and enquired about shared auto services. Just a few steps ahead, I found a line of autos patiently boarding passengers. When the driver asked where I was headed, I said, “Tower Chowk.” He nodded—it was a common destination. The ride took about 20 minutes, and I paid just Rs.20, feeling quietly satisfied that the journey had already begun on the right note.
Tower Chowk is the heart of Deoghar—busy, alive, and only a short walk from the temple. I had already noted a few nearby hotels, so I began enquiring. One hotel had no single rooms available. No problem. The next one offered a single room for Rs.700, and I checked into Hotel without hesitation. The plan was clear: temple visit at 4:00 AM.
Food, for me, is always part of travel. Being from Varanasi, I carry a deep affection for the street food culture of UP, Bihar, and Jharkhand. In this short trip, I knew I had to try litti chokha, and as fate would have it, there were a few stalls right there near Tower Chowk. Simple, rustic, comforting—it tasted like the land itself. Later, I had dinner at Anamika Restaurant, where the food surprised me with its mild spices and balanced flavors—a welcome change.
That night, sleep came early.
At 4:00 AM, I woke up. By 4:30 AM, I stepped out of the hotel. The main door was unlocked but unattended—clearly, the town understands pilgrims’ routines. The air was cold, wrapped in light fog. The streets were mostly empty, with just a few figures moving quietly, as if the town itself was still half-asleep.
I didn’t know the exact entrance to the temple. Yet, something divine guided me.
As I walked straight ahead, a powerful chant suddenly filled the silence—
“Har Har Mahadev… Har Har Mahadev…”
The sound was rhythmic, enchanting, and it echoed from a narrow lane to my side. I paused, turned back, and followed the voice. A few steps inside, I saw devotees moving in and out, faces glowing with purpose. I knew instantly—this was the way.
At the main gate, I left my slippers behind and stepped inside. Almost immediately, the pandas approached—
“Darshan kara de.”
“Udhar nahi, idhar aao.”
I had already decided: no panda assistance. I wanted to experience the darshan as it was meant to be, without shortcuts or pressure. Unfortunately, the behavior of many pandas was disappointing—rude, misleading, and relentlessly focused on money. If a proper queue system exists, if flower shops and arrangements are already in place, one wonders why devotees must still be harassed.
I asked locals for guidance and was directed to the general queue entrance. There was also a paid queue, but I chose not to enquire. By 4:48 AM, I joined the general line.
What followed was patience.
The queue moved slowly. Very slowly. The paid and general queues eventually merged near the inner walkway, making the distinction almost meaningless. At least 50 people entered ahead, reducing the real difference to barely an hour of waiting.
Finally, at around 7:30 AM, I stood before Sri Baba Baidyanath. Inside, the crowd management was harsh—pushing, shouting, rushing people like cattle. I strongly feel aged devotees and small children should be spared this ordeal.
But In that moment, nothing else mattered—the noise, the pushing, the waiting—all dissolved. I touched the sacred space, bowed my head, and received Baba’s blessings. That alone made every discomfort insignificant.
By 8:00 AM, I exited the temple complex. Only a few sweet and food shops had opened by then. I walked back to the hotel—just five minutes away. The hotel was Hotel Yatrik.
I changed my clothes—and let me share an important tip: do not wear white inside the temple. Your clothes will inevitably collect red sindoor stains from countless hands brushing past.
After freshening up, I went out for breakfast. The hotel reception had opened, and I asked about good kachori. The suggested shop wasn’t open yet, but nearby I found another—an old establishment with seating arrangements. I ordered one plate of hot kachoris, and trust me—it was real kachori, the kind that speaks of generations and unchanged recipes.
Back at the hotel, I packed my bag and rested for an hour. My return journey was scheduled on the Patna–Howrah Vande Bharat at 10:43 AM. At 10:10 AM, I took an auto to the station. The train was slightly late, but smooth as expected. By 1:10 PM, I was back in Durgapur, carrying silence, blessings, and satisfaction.
This journey marked the completion of two Jyotirlingas for me—Baidyanath Dham and Kashi Vishwanath, as Varanasi is my hometown.
The journey does not end here.
The remaining Jyotirlingas await.
And when the next calling comes, another story will follow—until all twelve are complete.
Har Har Mahadev.
#HarharMahadev #Baidyanathdham #BabaBaidyanath #deoghar #jasidih
