🛣️ The Long Road Back — Amritsar, Agra, Ujjain, and Home (15th–18th Sept)

Golden Temple’s langar, Agra’s lost sheen, Ujjain’s divine night, and finally, home through storms.

On 15th September, I left Srinagar at 5 a.m., aiming for Amritsar. The road tested patience again — snarls at Udhampur, long convoys of trucks, and nearly five hours lost. But by now, I was used to it. Late in the evening, around 8 p.m., I rolled into Amritsar and checked into a small hotel near the Golden Temple.

The temple was glowing under soft drizzle, the water shimmering in the lights. Devotees took dips in the sacred pond, chants echoed through the air, and the sound of kirtan floated gently over the rain. I finally fulfilled a wish left incomplete from an earlier visit — I had langar. Simple, warm, and served with devotion. That night in Amritsar stays etched in memory.

The next morning brought a small dilemma — Jaipur or Agra? With Vani’s birthday on the 19th, I had to be home by the 18th, so Agra it was. The drive was smooth, but honestly, Agra felt tired — crowded, noisy, and somehow less magical than before. The Taj Mahal closes by evening, so I didn’t attempt a visit. I checked into a decent hotel, rested, and prepared for the next push.

On 17th September, I began the drive toward Nagpur, but a diversion sign caught my eye: Ujjain. My wife had recently visited, and I’d missed joining her — why not now? One quick decision, a flick of the wheel, and I was headed there instead.

Midway, near Shivpuri, I stumbled upon something remarkable — a Shobha Yatra in honour of Maharaj Daksha Prajapathi. I had never seen or even heard of such a celebration. Daksha, the father of Goddess Parvathi, was being honoured with processions, music, and devotion. It was vibrant and unexpected, a glimpse into the depth of our living traditions.

By evening, I reached Ujjain, and despite heavy rain, managed to book an online slot for darshan at Mahakaleshwar Temple. The temple was alive with chants of Har Har Mahadev, dancers performing in the courtyard, and a current of energy everywhere. I was drenched in the rain, yet completely absorbed in the divine atmosphere. A quiet meditation in a corner sealed the moment.

That night, I checked into a small hotel nearby. Sleep didn’t last. Around midnight, restless and aware of my schedule, I checked Google Maps — NH44 was closed, but a diversion through the Chambal valley was open. Risky, but I couldn’t afford delays. By 12:30 a.m., I was back on the road — dark, forested, almost deserted, with signboards warning of wild animals. The Chambal valley, once infamous for dacoits, still carried an air of danger.

At one point, a huge truck blocked a narrow bend, lights glaring, a man waving me down. Instinct screamed don’t stop. I squeezed through a narrow gap and accelerated away, his shouts fading behind. Later, at dawn, I stopped at a roadside dhaba for chai. Locals casually confirmed — “Yes, looting still happens sometimes in those stretches.” My gut had saved me.

From there, the landscape softened — Betul, Nagpur, and the familiar roads of home country. The skies turned stormy again near Hyderabad, flooding a few roads, but nothing could stop me now. At 8:30 p.m. on 18th September, I rolled into home.
 

Vani welcomed me with a mix of relief and mock anger — “You should have halted somewhere!” But I knew why I hadn’t. After all those twists, delays, and detours, finishing the drive mattered.

“Leh may never happen by road, but this trip — with its rains, risks, and right turns — gave me enough stories for a lifetime.”