Some travel memories fade with time, while others are replaced by photographs and videos. But there are moments you remember not because they were beautiful, but because they left behind fear and unanswered questions. My 'that' moment happened outside the Kamakhya Temple in Assam, just days before the famous annual Ambubachi Mela.
The Ambubachi Mela
For those unfamiliar, the Ambubachi Mela is one of the temple's biggest annual festivals, marking the symbolic menstruation of the presiding deity. It celebrates feminine power and fertility. During the festival, the temple remains closed for three days. The mela also attracts ascetics, sadhus, and practitioners of various Tantric traditions from across India.
The Incident That Left Me Shocked
A few years ago, I traveled to Guwahati to explore Northeast India. My best friend lived there. Kamakhya Temple had always been on my bucket list. It is one of India's most powerful Shakti Peethas, where Sati's yoni (reproductive organ) fell. The place is deeply associated with ancient Tantric traditions. My friend agreed to take me there and arranged for us to meet her family priest, who would help with rituals and ensure a smooth darshan. The day of our visit was Amavasya, the new moon day, which carries an aura of mystique, especially at Kamakhya, where spirituality, folklore, and centuries-old practices coexist.
As I entered the temple, the energy shifted. It was unlike anywhere I had been before. White pigeons, echoing chants, and the sweet fragrance of incense filled the air. The crowd was manageable.
The Market Outside
After darshan, we thanked the priest and stepped into the vibrant market surrounding the temple complex. Like many temple bazaars, it overflowed with religious artifacts—idols of goddesses and packets of famous vermilion associated with Kamakhya. Back then, I had thick, healthy, shoulder-length curly hair, which I wore loose. My friend and I stopped at an open shop selling colorful bangles. The market was packed, with people brushing past constantly.
Suddenly, a teenage boy sitting with the shopkeeper shouted angrily in Assamese at a woman standing beside me. My friend, who understood Assamese, turned around. Standing incredibly close was a woman in a colorful saree, with exceptionally long hair hanging loose below her waist. I looked into her eyes—she seemed disturbed and detached. In one hand, she held a small razor blade. In the other, she held a thick lock of curly hair—my hair. The memory still gives me chills.
In the market chaos, she had cut a small portion of my hair so quietly that I didn't notice. The boy had been the only one to see it. Before we could process, my friend struck the woman's hand, and the lock of hair fell to the ground. The woman didn't say a word and disappeared into the crowd. I stood frozen.
The old shopkeeper urged us to tie our hair. Through my friend's translation, he explained that incidents involving people trying to obtain hair or personal belongings were not unheard of at crowded pilgrimage sites. Whether due to superstition or personal beliefs, he advised keeping hair tied at places with such powerful energy.
I never found out who the woman was, and I don't want to know. Perhaps she was struggling with mental illness, or it was an isolated incident. But the experience felt deeply unsettling.
Travel often teaches lessons—sometimes about respecting local customs, sometimes about staying alert in crowded places. To this day, whenever I visit busy pilgrimage sites or crowded festivals, I make sure my hair is tied up. While some journeys leave you with souvenirs, this one left me with a lifetime mystery.
(Disclaimer: The views, observations, and experiences described in this article are solely those of the author and are based on a personal incident. The Times of India does not independently verify or endorse the personal opinions or experiences expressed by the author.)
About the Author: Priya Srivastava, from Lucknow, explores life through journeys to unexplored destinations and knitting travel stories. She believes in creating memories, eating like a local, talking to natives, understanding their way of living, and capturing their smile in her camera.
