Yatra at Tirupati - Saumya Ganji (9th Grade)

Tirupati was beautiful, with roads lined by flowering trees arching over them, monkeys playfully fighting or looking to steal the next banana from a distracted devotee, and the sound of “Govinda, Govinda!” ringing through the air every few seconds.

Last summer, my family and I visited Tirupati—not for the first time, but the only time I’m old enough to remember. I vividly recall being exhausted after hiking up the Srivari Mettu, a staircase that spans 2.1 kilometers in length. Devotees had painted all 2,388 steps with turmeric and vermilion, starting from the very first one. All around us, people chanted the names of Govinda at the top of their lungs. The amount of devotion was inspiring and encouraging. Monkeys watched the pilgrims pass by, perhaps hoping to scavenge a Frooti juice box or simply observing the commotion. Time-worn trees stood like guardians along the path, protecting the magnificent temple that awaited us at the peak.

After three hours, my family finally reached the top of the Srivari Mettu. We still had a couple of hours before our ticket inside the Tirupati Balaji Mandir, so we headed to the prasadam hall. Rows and rows of devotees sat with banana leaves for plates as buckets of prasadam were carried down the rows to serve a feast. My cousin’s tired whining finally faded after the pleasing prasadam, which made me quite happy with a small but beautiful reminder that Krishna truly satisfies all hunger, both material and spiritual.

By the time it grew dark, we were standing in front of the gates to the Mandir. I held onto my cousins’ hands, reminding them to stay close. Inside, there were rooms numbered from highest to lowest, with room number one being the closest to the darshan of Sri Venkatesh Balaji. The lines moved quickly—until they didn’t. In fifteen minutes, the only progress we made was shuffling halfway into the next room. My legs ached, but the loud chants of “Govinda!” kept everyone going. Sometimes the lines stopped completely, forcing us to sit on the floor and wait another hour before moving again. At other times, I felt like I was in a stampede, surrounded by pushing and shoving from every direction.

After nearly four hours in the long, winding lines, we finally reached the altar of Balaji. I was awestruck. I can’t find words that fully describe the beauty of the smiling Lord. His expression was so gentle and so infectious. He was decorated in jewels and flower garlands—so many that I could hardly see his face at all. My mom counted over six garlands: some made of tulasi, some of jasmine, and some bright multi-colored flowers.

I stood mesmerized, pressed between other devotees. The pujaris hurried us along, urging us not to stop, and I quickly prayed before my moment of darshan completely passed. With the crowd pushing me forward, I took one last glance at the dazzling figure of Balaji, his garlands swaying softly in the temple light. 

In that instant, the aching steps, the long waits, and the exhaustion all faded away. What remained was gratitude. The journey, every hardship, every delay had been an offering. And standing before the Lord, I understood that when effort is made for Krishna, nothing is ever lost. Everything becomes meaningful, eternal, and filled with joy.