Almora always surprises me. You think it’s just another town in the Kumaon hills until you start walking its bazaar lanes. They curl and climb, every turn offering a new smell fried pakoras, spices, wool, incense drifting from somewhere unseen. And proper in the center of this noise and existence sits the Nanda Devi Temple.
If you’re not seeking it out, you may miss it. The gateway isn’t large, and there’s no tall tower pronouncing itself. You simply walk some steps, push through the bustle, and suddenly you’re in a courtyard wherein everything feels quieter. Almost just like the outdoors, the globe has been dimmed.
An Old Story That Still Breathes
People argue about when exactly this temple was built. Some say it’s a thousand years old, tied to the Katyuri kings. Others claim it came up later with the Chand rulers when they made Almora their capital. Honestly, who knows for sure? What topics are those that no one in Almora recollects a time without?
The idol of देवी नंदा stands interior, draped in flora. The sanctum is small and easy. Stone walls darkened with age, carvings which have blurred over time but nonetheless keep their shape if you look intently. The feeling is heavier than the size of the area, just like the stones themselves have absorbed centuries of prayer.
What It Feels Like Inside
Take off your footwear, step on the bloodless stone ground, and the shift is instantaneous. The priest doesn’t chant loudly; his voice is smooth, nearly like he’s speaking only for himself and the goddess. A bell jewelry from somewhere inside the courtyard, sharp and surprising. A woman ties a लाल धागा, whispering her prayer under her breath. A child pours जल quickly before running back to hold his mother’s hand.
And yet, from beyond the walls, Almora still hums. The bark of a canine, a scooter horn, the faint shouts of shopkeepers. But inside, all of it feels a long way away, muted. The courtyard is its very own world, cut off from the town around it.
When the Mela Arrives
If you've ever seen the temple on a quiet day, you may think that’s all it is, stillness, bells, gentle chanting. Then September comes, and the Nanda Devi Mela turns everything on its head.
The bazaar overflows. Stalls pop up everywhere. Dhol beats are delivered across the hills. Women in bright red and golden saris pass in rhythm, making songs passed down for generations. Kids run with goodies in one hand and wooden toys in the other. The goddess is not simply within the sanctum. She is inside the colours, in the song, in the laughter.
And then, as fast as it comes, it goes. The stalls vanish, the noise fades, and the temple sinks back into its calm. The shift is almost shocking the same courtyard that couldn’t hold everyone a few days ago is quiet again. But you can still feel the festival in the stones, like an echo waiting for next year.
The Bond With the People
Ask anyone in Almora about the temple, and you’ll get different answers, but all tied by the same thread. Farmers bring their first harvest here. Families come before sending a child off for studies. Travelers bow before heading further into the hills.
One old man once told me, “यहाँ देवी माँ अपनी लगती हैं, कोई दूर की देवी नहीं.” He didn’t mean it as poetry. He said it simply, like stating a fact. And that’s the thing you realize people don’t come here out of obligation. They come because it feels like visiting someone close.
The Hills as Witness
Step outdoors and look up; the Kumaon hills stretch forever and ever. Terraced fields step down the slopes, pine timber whispers when the breeze turns, and the air consists of that mix of earth and incense you only get here. In iciness, mist curls round rooftops. In the summer season, the stones glow warm in the sun.
The temple doesn’t stand above this world. It blends with it. It feels like the hills have been looking over it for as long as the temple has been looking over the human beings.
The Little Things That Stay
- What lingers most are not grand rituals but small moments.
- The priest is tying a pink thread on a toddler’s wrist.
- The sound of bhajans sung softly with the aid of a set of girls watching for their turn.
- The smell of incense escaped into the road, blending with the frying snacks from a dealer nearby.
- The echo of a bell rolling out into the valley, carried in addition to what you assume.
These are the memories you remember without understanding.
Leaving, But Not Really
When you stroll away, you note you’ve bogged down. Maybe it’s the sound of the bell; nevertheless, in your ears, maybe it’s the calm that settled in whilst you stood there. The bazaar feels noisy again; however, the temple hum stays with you.
Go within the morning, and the sun paints the rooftops golden. Go inside the night, and the courtyard glows with lamps against the darkening sky. Either way, you don’t go away empty.
Nanda Devi Temple doesn’t try to impress. It doesn’t call attention. It waits. And when you finally pause and step inside, you understand why people here never stop returning.
