We Are All Fighting a Battle Unknown

 We Are All Fighting a Battle Unknown

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In the bustling heart of deogarh the temple town, amidst the dhua of agarbatties and light of artis and the murmured prayers, a quiet truth floats through the air—unspoken, yet deeply felt. 

Every person here is carrying something. A wound. A hope. A silent prayer.

The auto driver navigating the chaos of pilgrims. The man at the shoe stand, quietly collecting and returning pairs without fuss. The beggar, hand outstretched, eyes hollow. The pilgrims jostling for a glimpse of the divine. The panda guiding with professional hands, the pandit chanting with wavering focus, the co-devotee brushing past you whispering mantras in every language known—they are all here for something.

For some, it is livelihood. For others, it is like submitting an application—to the universe, to the divine, to fate. 

For a few, it feels like reporting for duty, fulfilling a long overdue obligation. And for many, it’s an offering of gratitude, a return to the source after having received.

But behind each face is a story unknown. Each heart carries pain alien to the next. We are all wounded in different ways. Some of us wear our strength like armor, moving forward with heads held high. Others falter, give in, or retreat into themselves.

Still, all of us are in a hurry—to be seen, to be heard, to be helped, to be reassured that things will be alright.

And yet, strangely, we have no time for one another.

Perhaps what we need, more than miracles or answered prayers, is a moment of stillness. A breath. A gesture of patience. A listening ear. An open heart.

Because while our battles are different, the pain is the same.

And sometimes, healing begins simply by acknowledging that we’re all fighting something similar.