We spend much of our lives listening to the world around us, but how often do we pause to listen to the voice within?
Four months ago, a close friend returned from Chennai after visiting the sacred Kapaleeshwar Temple. As she described the experience, I could almost visualise the ancient temple through her words. Quietly, a wish arose within me.
“Someday, I too must visit the Lord.”
But life has its own rhythm. Meetings, projects, responsibilities and deadlines have a way of convincing us that there will always be another day.
So, I left the wish with Him.
“If You call me, I will come.”
In the first week of June this year, my voice suddenly became weak. It seemed like a minor health concern, yet something within urged me not to ignore it. Without much deliberation, I decided to undergo my annual health check-up at Apollo Hospitals, Greams Road, Chennai.
Looking back, I realise I believed I was making a medical decision. Perhaps it was a spiritual invitation.
Lipsa Rout accompanied me. Years ago, we were simply neighbours. Somewhere along life’s journey, we became good friends and sisters. Some relationships are not born through blood; they are born through trust. And a relationship of trust, I have learnt, often runs deeper than blood itself.
After two days of comprehensive medical investigations, the reports were yet to be finalised. The following morning, we decided to visit Lord Kapaleeshwar. Neither of us knew much about the temple or its rituals. We carried no elaborate offerings—only one simple wish: to have His darshan, to sit quietly, and to pray.
We first bowed before Lord Ganesha, then Lord Murugan, and thereafter entered the sanctum of Mother Karpagambal (Maa Parvati).
As we stood silently at a distance, a priest looked towards us and gently called us forward. For nearly fifteen minutes, we stood before the Divine Mother. No hurry. No crowd. No interruption. Only silence. Only gratitude.
The same grace awaited us inside Lord Kapaleeshwar’s sanctum. Once again, we were invited closer, away from the crowd, than we had ever imagined. We sat quietly before Him. Words disappeared. I could not even remember a Stuti or Shloka that I used to chant every day. Only silent prayer remained.
In that profound silence, I felt as though the Lord Himself was whispering, “Listen to your heart. Listen to your body.”
Later that afternoon, Dr. Sudeepta Swain and Dr. Krishna Bharati patiently reviewed every investigation and explained not merely my reports, but my body. At the end of the consultation, he smiled and said, “Just listen to your body and do what it asks. Ninety-nine per cent of your health issues will get resolved. The remaining one per cent, Lord Kapaleeshwar will take care of.”
For a few moments, I sat in silence. The same message had reached me only hours earlier—not through words, but through the quiet language of the heart.
As we walked once more around the temple, my eyes rested upon a beautiful stone sculpture of a peacock before a Shiva Linga, beside Goddess Parvati. Legend says that Mother Parvati came to Mylapore in the form of a peacock to perform penance until She was reunited with Lord Shiva. Standing before that sculpture, another thought quietly emerged. Even the Divine Mother had to pause. Even She became a seeker. Even She had to listen before wisdom could be received.
Perhaps that is the lesson hidden within this ancient temple.
Listening is itself an act of worship. Listening to God. Listening to the heart. Listening to the body. Perhaps our body is not merely a biological machine. Perhaps it is the first temple God has entrusted to us. Long before illness appears, the body begins to whisper. Long before the mind understands, the heart already knows.
This August, I will turn sixty.
Looking back, I no longer believe the Lord called me to Chennai merely for a health check-up. He called me to slow down, to become aware, and to rediscover something I had gradually forgotten while building projects, leading organisations and fulfilling responsibilities.
As I boarded my flight home, I realised I was carrying something far more valuable than medical reports. The doctors had examined my body. The temple had examined my heart. Both had arrived at the same diagnosis. Slow down. Listen. Heal.
Perhaps that is how God speaks—not always through miracles, but sometimes through a friend, a priest, a doctor, or the quiet voice within ourselves.
Today, I return home with no great miracle to narrate. Only a simple prayer. May I always remain humble enough to listen. Because when we truly listen to our body, perhaps we are also listening to God.
