Why Not Me, Mahadev?

Why Not Me, Mahadev?

26 August 2026 — Gyirong Immigration Facility, Tibet

I turned sixty on the 19th of August.

I was meant to celebrate this milestone
with Shiva—
to make my way to Kailash,
to walk towards the mountain
where I have long imagined
I would finally meet You again.

Months ago, I had planned the journey.
Then my friend Menka persuaded me
to wait for another yatra,
one beginning on the 2nd of September.

So I waited.

For months, I waited for the permits
that would allow an Indian passport holder
to cross into Tibet.

I was assured they would come.

I waited, and waited, and waited.

Until one day before my birthday
I was told:

The permit has not come.

You will not go to Kailash this year.

And I thought—

Good thing?
Bad thing?

Who knows?

Perhaps Mahadev wishes to meet me somewhere else.

So I turned towards Muktinath—
to the Lord who grants mukti,
freedom from the cycle of rebirth.

Perhaps this too was Your way
of calling me.

And then, yesterday morning,
the news came.

A glacier burst.
Floodwaters broke upon
the Gyirong immigration facility in Tibet.

Pilgrims returning from Kailash
were swept away.

People who had made the journey
I had longed to make.

People who had crossed the threshold
I had been waiting to cross.

People who were returning home
to parents, partners, children,
to ordinary lives
that were waiting for them.

And suddenly,
I could not breathe around the question.

Why not me, Mahadev?

It has taken almost forty-eight hours
for the shock to sink into my body.

The numbers are still uncertain.
The losses are still unfolding.

Families are searching desperately
for news of the people they love.

And I stand here alive.

Bewildered.

Horrified.

And asking You—

Why did You spare me?

You have told us, Shiva,
that while we are alive,
You live within us.

And when we die,
we live within You.

We are told that those
who die on pilgrimage to Kailash
have returned to You.

And Shiva, You know this:

There is nothing I have wanted more
than to be with You.

At sixty,
I feel complete.

Shashti Purti is said to mark
the completion of an adult life—
and everything after sixty
is somehow bonus.

I have lived.

I have loved.

I have lost.

I have struggled.

I have healed.

You have set me free
in so many ways.

There are no great encumbrances left.

I could have gone back to You.

You could have taken me home.

And yet—

You didn’t.

I do not feel survivor’s guilt.

I do not believe
that my life was more deserving
than theirs.

I do not know
why one person is taken
and another remains.

I will not pretend
to know the mind of Mahadev.

But I am wounded
by the mystery of being spared.

A part of me asks:

Why not me?

Why was I not among those
returning to You?

Why am I still here
when others who were awaited,
who were loved,
who had plans for tomorrow,
did not make it home?

And perhaps this is the question
I am being asked to live with.

Not:

Why did they die?

But:

Why did I live?

I had thought that turning sixty
would mean that the great river of my life—
with all its tumultuous highs and lows—
had finally reached calmer waters.

I imagined becoming
a joyful, lazy river,

held in Your arms.

But perhaps I misunderstood.

Perhaps I thought sixty meant arrival.

Perhaps You have chosen continuation.

And if You have chosen
to leave me here,

then I must receive this life
as Your gift,

Your blessing,

Your grace.

Not because I understand it.

Not because I know what comes next.

But simply because
I am still here.

I was willing to die.

You allowed me to remain.

So what is this remaining life for?

I do not know.

And for now,
I don’t need to know.

I only know that
every breath is suddenly precious.

Every ordinary morning
is a blessing.

Every person I love
is a blessing.

Every day that arrives
is a day I did not have to receive.

And so, Shiva,

I will live another day.

And another.

Until You call me.

Until the river finally
finds its way back to the ocean.

Until I return to You.

Today my prayers are not for myself.

They are for every soul
that left its body yesterday.

May they be safely
in Your loving arms.

May their journey home
be peaceful.

And may You hold close
the families and loved ones
who are searching, waiting, grieving,
and trying to understand
the unbearable.

Take care of them, Mahadev.

There are no more words.

Only this:

You did not take me.

So You have chosen
to keep me here.

Longer.

For reasons I cannot yet see.

Then never, ever leave
Your presence
from inside my being.

This river of my life
is Yours.

This body is Yours.

This breath is Yours.

This remaining time is Yours.

I release the right
to decide what it should become.

Do with it as You will.

I am Yours.

Entirely Yours.

Yours alone I am, Mahadev.

And this life—

Shiva’s and Shakti’s,
the Divine Mother and Mahadev’s—

is Yours alone.

— Nilima Bhat