It was early morning when we arrived in the small village of Rishikesh, nestled along the banks of the Ganges River. The sun had just begun to break through the mist, casting a soft, golden light on the temple spires that dotted the landscape. The air was crisp and filled with the faint sound of chanting, as devotees gathered at the river for their morning prayers.
In one of the narrow, winding streets near the temple, we came across an old, weathered bookshop. The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with silver hair and a gentle smile, welcomed us inside with a soft bow. Shelves were crammed with dusty scrolls, faded manuscripts, and piles of sacred texts, each holding a piece of history. It was here, between stacks of old scriptures, that we discovered a journal—its leather cover cracked and worn, its pages stained with age.
The shopkeeper noticed our interest and spoke softly, “This journal belonged to a priest from the village, passed down through generations. My grandfather spoke of him often—he was a man of great wisdom and devotion. His words are said to hold the secrets of the sacred rituals and the mysteries of the divine.”
Opening the journal, we were greeted by the delicate hand of an old Sanskrit script. The pages told the story of a life lived in service to the temple and the divine. The first entry, dated December 12, 1865, began with a quiet reflection:
“The morning bell calls the faithful, but my heart is always already at peace. I offer my prayers not with words, but with the stillness of the soul.”
As we flipped through the pages, the entries grew deeper, revealing the priest’s meditations on spirituality, the seasons of the Ganges, and the subtle teachings of the ancient texts he studied daily. In one particularly moving passage, he wrote:
“In the silence of the temple, amidst the incense and the prayers, I have come to understand that the true offering is not in what we give, but in how we receive. To accept life as it is—without fear, without expectation—is the highest form of devotion.”
The shopkeeper watched us closely, her eyes soft with memory. “He passed away many years ago, but his spirit lives on in these words. You can take it, if you wish. It is meant to be shared.”
Moved by the profound humility of the priest’s words, we gently accepted the journal. It felt as though we were holding a piece of the divine itself—a sacred offering, passed down with love and reverence. The journal of an Indian priest, filled with wisdom, grace, and quiet devotion, found its place within Selfless Living. Its journey from one hand to another, from one heart to another, reminded us of the timeless power of sharing knowledge, without expectation, and with pure intention.
