He was an unlikely priest at this distant mountain temple, he wore dark glasses and a hoodie, looked more like
a rapper than a pujari, but when the slow and steady stream of explorers, wanderers and tourists would come, he would transform, and with a deep silence he would perform the puja, accept whatever people chose to donate. He would only answer if people asked him questions. Otherwise, he would offer flowers and other gifts that people had brought for the Goddess at the temple, he would light the diya, the incense stick, offer the holy water while reciting some Sanskrit verses. Then he would give the prasad and the tilak to those offering prayers. Afterwards he would disappear again behind the dark glasses and the hoodie. He watched people come and go, some from more distant places than others, mostly he watched the clouds over the mountains it seemed and the silvery rivers snaking through the valley below. I wondered about his life, did he ever feel bored, did he need more people around him? But I somehow felt these were futile questions. He was simply being, he was not the wanderer, out searching, here he was just offering prayers and looking after the temple and he met all sorts of people, enjoyed amazing views nestled in pristine pine forests among the snow capped Himalayas. I'm sure it is not an easy life, especially in cold winter months and monsoons where supplies can be cut off. It is a life of pure surrender to the Goddess, to Silence, and to Nature. And it is enough, perhaps more than enough, to reach that state of being. Complete Contentment.