The Trip I Never Wanted To Take: Golden Temple
Apoorva Goyal
©
Copyright 2026 by Apoorva Goyal
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I
am a banker, and I do not just go on trips.
Ask
anyone who knows me. When I travel, I plan. I research, I book, I
make lists, and then I check the lists. A journey, to me, is a
project with a deadline and a budget. So when my husband said, “Let’s
go to Amritsar,” on a long weekend that I had reserved entirely for
doing nothing, I was shocked.
It
had been a long, hectic week at work. My only plan was to stay at
home and rest. I wanted my own bed, my own quiet, and no alarm
clocks. And now, in the middle of that peaceful plan, I was being
asked to travel. Suddenly. With no preparation at all.
I
will be honest: I was irritated. But he was sure, and he had that
look that says the decision is already made. Three hours later, we
were sitting on a train.
Those
three hours were a blur. I spent one of them packing, which for me is
a strange thing to say, because I normally pack for days. This time I
simply threw things into a bag: my traditional wear, my favourite
pair of baggy pants, a few t-shirts, my shoes and my chappals. My
husband handled the tickets. I carried my phone, my charger and some
cash, and nothing else, literally nothing else. I had not even eaten.
“We’ll eat or order something on the train,” he said, and I
felt more irritated than before.
But
I have learned that things go smoothly when God has plans for you. I
did not know yet what those plans were.
*****
The
train began to move, and somewhere between the first station and the
second, something strange started to happen to me.
I
do not usually eat chocolate. It is simply not something I crave. But
on that train, I wanted a chocolate so badly that I turned to my
husband and asked him for one. He looked at me in surprise. He knows
me, and he knew this was not like me.
Then,
at one of the stations, I saw the tea sellers moving along the
platform, and I wanted station wali chai with a strength I cannot
explain. I should tell you that I never eat anything alone. If my
husband is not having something, I avoid it too. It is a habit,
almost a rule. But this time, my craving was so strong that I did not
wait. I did not even ask him. I went and got my chai, and I drank it
happily.
After
that, the whole journey became a food adventure. At one station, we
had samosas and chai. At the next, bread pakoras. Then Amritsari
chole kulche, followed by biscuits, then cake, then more chocolates.
My husband, who was enjoying the show, ate along with me. And then
there were the soft drinks. I am an addict of soft drinks. Normally,
I would never refuse one. But on that train, I rejected every single
one, straight away, and held on to my chai.
It
was very strange, and I remember noticing it. But I was too busy
enjoying myself to think about it. The train rolled on through the
night, and I was, for the first time that weekend, completely happy.
*****
We
reached Amritsar close to eleven at night.
I
had expected the city to be sleepy at that hour. It was not. Crowds
filled the streets, people moving slowly and talking softly. The
temple was already closed for entry that night, and for a small
moment I felt disappointed. We had come all this way, so suddenly,
and the doors were shut.
But
I was not ready for what I was about to see.
We
came around the corner, and there it was: the Golden Temple, glowing
in the middle of the water like a jewel someone had gently set down
in the dark. The lights fell on the gold and the water carried the
glow back up, so that the temple seemed to shine twice, once in the
air and once on the surface below.
I
stopped walking. I do not think I decided to. My feet simply stopped.
I
felt mesmerised, and then something deeper than that. I felt numb,
but in the gentlest way a person can be numb, as if every worry I
carried had quietly set itself down. All around me the crowd was
moving and murmuring, and inside me everything had become completely
still.
And
then the calm came.
I
have never been able to describe it properly. It washed over me,
slowly, from somewhere I could not name. It was not excitement, and
it was not exactly happiness. It was peace, the kind that asks
nothing of you.
My
husband and I sat down on the steps. We did not speak. For a moment I
thought I should say something, that a moment this big deserved
words. But no words came, and I understood that none were needed. We
sat side by side, looking at the temple on the water. Nothing else
was wanted. Nothing else was missing.
For
the first time in a very long time, I was not thinking about the next
thing. I was not planning or worrying or hurrying. I was simply
there, and being there was enough. It is a feeling I will never
forget for the rest of my life.
*****
The
next morning, I was very excited to go inside.
But
it was Guru Parv, and the whole city seemed to have come to the
temple. We joined a line that stretched farther than I could see, and
we waited for almost five hours, moving forward inch by inch. Only
twenty people were allowed in at a time. I, who plan every minute of
my life, stood there with no idea how long it would take, and
strangely, I did not mind.
When
we finally reached the entrance, I was allowed in, but my husband was
held back. The doorman was strict, and I understood that those were
the rules. But after all that waiting, I could not bear to go in
alone. I turned to the doorman and asked him to please let my husband
come with me. Generally, they do not. But he looked at me, and
something in my eyes must have reached him, because he stepped aside
and let my husband in.
We
walked in together.
I
still remember it clearly. It felt like entering a palace filled with
jewels. Everything gleamed with gold. Every person I passed had a
look of calm on their face, as if the world outside did not exist.
The chaos of the crowd, the long wait, the noise, all of it had
stayed outside the doors. Inside, it felt like being carried into a
different world altogether.
I
learned later that the Golden Temple was built to welcome everyone.
It stands at ground level rather than on a raised platform, with a
door on each of its four sides, because Sikhism teaches that every
person is equal, whatever their caste, religion or wealth. Its
foundation was laid by a Muslim saint, and Maharaja Ranjit Singh
later covered it in gold, which gave it the name the world knows it
by. Inside rests the Guru Granth Sahib, the holy book, which Sikhs
honour as a living Guru.
I
folded my hands and closed my eyes. I did not ask God for anything. I
only said thank you.
My
husband and I had eloped. When we decided to marry, no one in our
families agreed to it, and we went ahead and married anyway. Since
then we had been happy together. Standing in that glowing place, I
felt how much I had to be grateful for, and I thanked God with my
whole heart that we had been able to marry and to build a life
together.
*****
When
we came out, we went to the langar, the community kitchen of the
temple, and I understood why people speak of it with such respect.
The
langar was begun by Guru Nanak, the first Sikh Guru, to end the
divisions between people. Everyone sits on the floor in long rows,
side by side, whether rich or poor, and everyone eats the same simple
meal. Volunteers, called sewadaars, serve the food and even wash the
plates afterwards, and they do it with a quiet cheerfulness. It is
said that around a lakh of people eat here every day, and the dining
hall seats several thousand at a time. Yet there was no pushing and
no fuss. It was orderly and clean, and everyone was fed.
The
meal was simple, with rotis and dal, and it tasted wonderful. After
the long hours in the queue, I do not think any meal has ever felt so
well earned. Sitting there, I felt that this, truly, was what the
temple stood for.
Before
we left, we received the kada prasad, the temple’s sacred offering.
It is a halwa made from wheat, pure desi ghee and sugar, and it is,
to my mind, among the most pious and the finest sweets in the whole
world. After all my cravings for chocolates on the train, this was
the sweet my heart had really been asking for. It was rich and soft
and full of ghee, and I ate it slowly, because it felt like a
blessing and not just a sweet.
*****
We
had a wonderful time in Amritsar. It was one of those trips that
feels easy from the first moment to the last, when two people are
relaxed and happy together and nothing needs to be perfect.
But
somewhere along the way, a quiet thought had begun to grow in my
mind. The strange sense of smell. The hunger that would not go away.
The chocolate, the chai, the soft drinks I had refused. I could not
ignore it any longer. I felt that I might be pregnant.
I
told my husband what I was thinking. He was startled at first. “Do
you really think so?” he asked, because it all seemed so soon to
him. I told him that I had a feeling, an intuition, and that I could
not explain it any better than that.
His
surprise did not last. Within moments he was very, very happy,
delighted and very, very excited. He could not wait for us to get
home so that we could do the test.
When
we got home, I went to get tested.
I
waited for the result with a heart that felt too big for my chest.
And then it came.
It
was positive.
I
looked at it for a long time. I thought of the steps, the water, and
the golden light. I thought of the calm that had washed over me that
first night, and I wondered whether some part of me had already
known. I will never be able to prove that, and I do not need to.
What
I know is this: I did not want to go to Amritsar. I had a plan to
rest at home, and I was irritated when it fell apart. But a trip I
never planned, taken on my husband’s sudden decision, gave me the
most peaceful moment of my life, and then became the beginning of
something I had not imagined.
I
did not plan that journey. I am so grateful it happened anyway.
Apoorva
Goyal is a banker by profession and a mother. This is her first story
written for publication, and she has no previous writing credits. She
is from Dehradun, a valley in India.
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*****
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