Author: Priyanka Murarka

Chartered Accountant I Company Secretary I Personal blogger I Mudra Therapist I Wellness & Transformational Healing Coach I Spiritual Seeker

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Eternal Love: A Mother's Legacy

A Daughter’s Farewell – Heart, Love, Soul, and Devotion

A few months before her departure, during a conversation about death, she had told me something profound. She said that if one writes Ram with sandalwood 108 times on the body after death, the soul attains moksha and reaches Baikunth Lok. She shared that people in olden times believed and practiced this, but in today’s world, no one has the time or devotion to do it anymore. Her words etched themselves into my heart without me knowing why. I did not utter anything to her then but I made up my mind quite do that when time comes. But I had no hint that it would come so soon then.

Despite her critical illness, I prayed with every breath, but destiny had already written a different script. When I saw her body in the ICU, I couldn’t believe she was no longer there. For the first time in my life, I stood so close to death. It felt as if the ground beneath me collapsed, and my whole universe crumpled into pieces. In that moment, it felt as though the Lord had taken away my very reason for living in this realm. Also, it didn’t feel like a body—it felt like the remnant of a soul, her divinity—like a calm, an aura, or a sense of stillness.

I remembered her words and thought of arranging sandalwood to write Ram 108 times on her body. But my emotions, my love, and my devotion could not wait for hours. Instead of waiting for hours for her body to be discharged by the hospital, I longed to write with the depth of my soul—the purity of love I held for her—using the very fingers she once held, with the same love with which she had nurtured me. So, with trembling hands, I wrote Ram 108 times on her body—each stroke filled with love, prayers, and devotion, even as my heart shattered into pieces. Every ‘Ram’ was a prayer, every stroke a tear, every letter a surrender.

I stood firm, determined to perform all her rituals—even those traditionally reserved for a son in Hindu tradition—and my family, too, agreed, recognizing the depth of my love for her. In their acceptance, I felt the world acknowledging my bond and devotion towards her.

Later in the afternoon, while we were waiting for the insurance formalities to be cleared so we could take her body for the rituals, I got my cycle. I never believed in this tradition—in fact, I have always seen the cycle as purely biological. But for my Mumma’s upliftment and for her soul to rest in peace, I did not want to become an obstacle from the perspective of tradition.

Her body was fragile, covered with wounds and water was oozing out from her skin. Even in that fragile, wounded body, I saw the strength with which she had lived and loved. The hospital authorities did bandage most her body before releasing. I had witnessed her suffering so closely, but most people must have lost their senses—it was unbearable to see her in such a terrible condition.

As per Hindu tradition, I was not allowed to perform the ceremony, and in that moment, I realized something deeper: the Lord and my Mumma had already accepted my pure devotion and love.

In that moment, I knew, irrespective of my cycle, it was impossible to write with sandalwood on her body and with certainty: what I had done earlier—writing Ram 108 times with my own fingers, with love and prayer was accepted and truest of rituals already performed through these hands.

In that truth, I found peace—knowing the Lord and my Mumma had already accepted my devotion, that her soul had reached where it was meant to be, and that our bond would remain unbroken for eternity.

With every breath, I know—I’m on my way to the eternal Home, where Mumma waits, and love lives forever.

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Eternal Love: A Mother's Legacy

Mother – The Highest Manifestation of the Divine

When my mother was ill, I picked up the Bhagavad Gita for the very first time and read it from beginning to end. The strongest message it gave me was this: the soul never dies. At that time, I did not know it was part of her plan — Krishna’s plan — to prepare me for what was to come.

Without warning, at an unexpected moment, she left this world. Looking back, I realize her departure was not just an ending but a divine teaching. Through her, Krishna made me live the truth of the Gita — that while the body perishes, the soul remains eternal.

She carried the weight of suffering her whole life, and even in her final weeks, it intensified to an unimaginable level. Only later did I understand — her suffering was not just hers. It was a lesson for me: to let go, to surrender, and to accept the eternal journey of the soul.

In those moments, I prayed that all the punya (merit) of my Gita reading be offered to her. My only wish on her departure was that she never returns to this realm again, for she deserves liberation forever. If it takes me countless births to balance her share of suffering, I am ready. Her story, if ever written, must be told as the story of a Goddess — for she was nothing less.

And then a deeper realization arises within me: perhaps it was Krishna Himself who had taken form as my mother, untouched by the bonds of this earthly plane. She must already be liberated, already merged into Krishna — the all-pervading, eternal presence.

Today, I breathe with this prayer: My breath is to her, from her, and for her. I ask the Almighty — give me pain, give me suffering beyond imagination if needed, but never let her endure another life of struggle.

Her life was my scripture. It taught me that while the body perishes, love does not. While grief shatters us, surrender heals us. And while we mourn loss, the soul journeys onward — free, eternal, untouched.

Every mother is that divine manifestation — higher than the Lord Himself, as even the scriptures remind us. Through her, I have seen the eternal truth: Mother is the purest form of God, and her love is the closest reflection of eternity.

Her liberation is my prayer.
And every breath I take is her legacy.

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Eternal Love: A Mother's Legacy Krishna's Devotee!!! Personal Triumph

The Last Scene I Wish to Carry in My Heart

As I journey deeper into awareness, I realize one eternal truth — everything in this world is an illusion. All relationships are fleeting shadows. Yet, amidst this great illusion, there is one bond in human form that shines with unmatched love and light, guiding us unfailingly towards the Divine — the bond with Mother.

Even the father’s love is profound, but it is the mother’s embrace, her sacrifices, her unconditional grace that is supreme. In her, I see the living altar of divinity.

Before I leave this world — before I transcend this illusion — the last scene I wish to hold in my heart is this:

My mother as Anjani Mata, myself as Hanuman Ji, and before her stands Lord Ram. As per the sacred katha, Lord Ram, the very embodiment of dharma, bows before Anjani Mata with folded hands and says:

“Dhanya, dhanya ho Anjani Mata,
jinhone aise Lal ko janm diya.”

Blessed indeed is Anjani Mata, who gave birth to such a son.

For me, Krishna is everything — the all-pervading presence. But in my heart, when I live this scene, I see Him not just as the Creator, but as the Lord of love, the eternal guide of the soul. In that divine vision, the Lord Himself bows at my mother’s lotus feet, honoring her love, her sacrifices, and her nurturing presence that shaped me into who I am.

Sometimes, I even meditate on this very scene — as if rehearsing my final moment as a human. Each time, it draws me into a transcendent state, where tears of gratitude and devotion flow. In that stillness, I feel an immense motivation: to be good, to do good, and to live in service.

And so, in my final breath, I pray that the last image I carry is of this divine scene:

My mother, radiant as Anjani Mata.

Myself, ever her Hanuman, forever in her service.

And the Lord Himself — as Krishna, the Creator — bowing in reverence at her lotus feet.

For in truth, to be born of such a mother is itself God’s greatest blessing.
And the feet of the mother will forever remain the first temple where Divinity dwells.

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Personal Triumph

The Circle of Love and Light

Teachers are not always the ones we meet in classrooms. They appear in many forms—sometimes as parents, mentors, friends, or even as life itself. Each of them shapes us in their unique way, leaving behind imprints that guide our journey. Today, I feel deeply grateful as I write about the teachers and guides who have made me who I am.

The Guiding Light of My Life

My mother was my very first teacher, and her lessons began even before I was born. From the time I was in her womb, she nurtured me not just physically but at a subtle, spiritual level. She was the one who taught me my alphabets, and I still remember the one and only time she ever slapped me—when I wrote the letter “C” incorrectly after doing it correctly before.

But she was more than just a mother. She was my friend, my sibling, my companion who played with me after school, as my timing with my elder sisters often differed. She instilled discipline in me from a young age and emphasized the importance of independence. At the same time, she pampered me with love, care, and little joys that made my childhood so special.

Her contribution to my life cannot be measured in words—her sacrifices, her strength, and even the pain she endured shaped me into who I am today.

For me, she was not just my mother; she was, and will always remain, my Guru, my Krishna. Before I bow to any divine form, I bow to her—for the values she inculcated in me continue to serve as my eternal guide.

My Dad and Sisters

Alongside my mother, my father and sisters have also been my teachers. Their love and pampering added warmth to my journey, making me feel cared for and supported at every step. Being the youngest in the family, I often received the privileges of their sacrifices—things I did not notice as a child. It is only after growing up that I truly realized how much they gave up so that I could have a better life.

My family has been my strength, silently shaping me with their love, care, and values. Whatever I am today is not just because of me, but because of them. We have always moved together as a team, and my roots, my security, and my courage come from the foundation they built for me.

Abha Miss – My Maths Teacher

Abha Miss was my mathematics teacher both at school and in tuition, but my bond with her extended far beyond academics. Her presence, support, and guidance have played a beautiful role in my journey. I will always remain grateful for the impact she had on my life.

Nisha Mam – My Spiritual Guide

After losing my mother, I crossed paths with Nisha Mam—a teacher who entered my life almost as if she had been sent by my mother herself. Her presence, her wisdom, and her way of guiding have been significant in my journey. She doesn’t provide ready-made answers; instead, she lights the path and allows me to walk it with awareness. Her presence itself is a guiding force that I often refer back to in moments of reflection.

Tony – My Mentor at Work

In my professional journey, I have been fortunate to have Tony, a senior mentor whose role has been pivotal in shaping me. He has always believed in my potential, yet never handed me solutions directly. Instead, he challenges me with direction, trusts me to put in the effort, and helps me discover my own way forward. His faith has instilled confidence in me, and his mentorship has been a true blessing

Nikhil – My Fitness Coach

And then there is Nikhil, my fitness coach, who taught me that fitness is more about mindset than just the body. On days when I dragged myself, he pushed me beyond limits, entertained even my smallest doubts, and supported me with patience. What inspires me most is his toughness and inner strength—it reflects in the way he trains and motivates. Through him, I have learned that resilience of the mind can truly transform the body, and that with the right mindset, I can do it.

The Silent Teachers – Critics and Heartbreaks

Not all teachers enter our lives with affection. Some come in the form of critics, disappointments, and heartbreaks. At the time, their presence may feel harsh, but in hindsight, they too were vital teachers. They pushed me out of my comfort zone, tested my resilience, and forced me to widen my boundaries.

The pain they caused became the fire that shaped my strength. Their criticism made me introspect, and their absence made me value presence. In their own way, they taught me lessons no book could ever offer: to rise after falling, to trust my own worth, and to keep growing even when it hurts.

A Bow of Gratitude

Each of these people—whether they brought me love, guidance, challenges, or even heartbreak—have been my teachers. Some entered through birth, some through circumstance, and some by sheer divine blessing. To all of them, I bow with gratitude. They remind me that life is a continuous journey of learning, and teachers are the guiding stars who help us shine.

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Healing and Spirituality Personal Triumph

Guided by Grace – My Artistic Ode to Love & Light

This painting emerged from a deep, meditative and spiritual experience —a gesture of wisdom and unity. It reflects the soul’s journey in this realm, moving from the gross to the subtle, from the material to the spiritual, returning to the realm where we truly belong.

It is a movement from darkness to love and light—the eternal reality as I have come to understand it. The planet in the painting may be seen as Earth, our present home, or perhaps Mars, my birth number, symbolizing a personal link to cosmic origins.

The direction of this journey is guided by my Guru, who leads me toward inner upliftment and truth. The path moves toward the sun—yet, in my vision, it stretches beyond, into the multiverse, the source from which the Milky Way itself was born, as echoed in the Big Bang.

While much of the emotion behind this work transcends words, it is my humble attempt to depict a soul’s flight toward its highest light.

In essence, this painting is my inner reflection cast into the outer world—a world of love and light, illuminated by the grace of my beloved Lord Krishna.

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Healing and Spirituality Krishna's Devotee!!! Personal Triumph

In the name of friendship – My search ends in Krishna

In childhood, I witnessed and encountered many situations I never spoke about—not with friends, not even with family. I carried them quietly, like invisible weights on my young shoulders.

There were moments when I heard people badmouthing my parents and siblings—saying things no child should ever have to process. And I stayed silent. Maybe because I didn’t know how to speak up. Maybe because I feared being misunderstood.

My father sacrificed his life at work, and my mother gave her all at home. Both were deeply devoted, intellectually inclined souls. Yet, the world still found reasons to disrespect them. And I, as a child, didn’t know how to handle that dissonance—between the love I felt and the judgment I saw.

There was also an age gap between me and my elder sisters. While they were growing into their own worlds, I often found myself alone. Not unloved—but lonely.

I didn’t have a friend I could truly call my own.

Back then, that “best friend” label meant everything. It was what every classmate flaunted. It was the norm, and not having that made me feel like I was missing something fundamental.

Looking back now, I realise the root of my loneliness wasn’t just about not having someone to talk to.

It was about not feeling understood.
It was about the emotional burdens I carried silently.
It was about being surrounded, yet unseen.

And most of all—it was about my yearning for true connection, a quiet hunger to be met with presence and compassion.

I gave my all wherever I went—and yes, I expected in return. Because I’m human, not a saint. And human hearts crave mutuality.

But that giving often came with pain.
I was broken, shattered, betrayed, used.
And slowly, life taught me something essential:

That I was seeking at the wrong place.

Along the way, I met different people—friends who felt like answers, soulmates, companions.
Some stayed for a while. Others came and left like seasons.

And they taught nothing is permanent in life.

But with time and reflection, something shifted.

I now understand: it was never about having someone to share everything with.
It was about Being—
Being accepted.
Being seen.
Being held—not in performance, but in presence.

And my seeking ends here.

For I now seek everything in Krishna—
The friend I always dreamt of.
The one who was always there when I felt lonely.
The one I failed to recognise.

That divine presence within me—the quiet wisdom guiding me through the chaos—was Him.
He was assisting me in silence, watching over my broken moments, holding space in my solitude.

I thought I lacked a best friend.
But truly—I’ve always had the best one anyone could ever ask for.

My eternal companion. My Krishna.

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Personal Triumph

A Personal Story of Grief Beyond Words

Mom was a COPD patient and she was not keeping well, but we never thought we would lose her. She usually felt a little deterioration in winters.

Suddenly, one day she fell due to sudden dizziness, and that marked the beginning of her suffering moving to another dimension. For 10 days, she was at home under family care.

Me and my elder sister were not willing to admit her to the hospital because, subconsciously, we knew that if she got admitted, her health would deteriorate more.

But once we noticed blood in her urine channel, and she complained of being unable to pass urine, we had no choice. We called her doctor under whose treatment she was undergoing, but he denied admitting her to his hospital.

Our family doctor, who would always come to visit Mom whenever she was admitted before, also denied visiting, saying he was now too old and no longer visited hospitals.

Something did not seem right.

These eyes witnessed her suffering and crying in pain. Her hands were swollen like balloons, including her palms. Water was oozing out from her hands, and her skin looked stretched and fragile.

Her hands were restrained because there was a risk of her pulling out the ventilator pipe, which could have led to immediate loss of life. Her legs were restrained due to blood circulation issues. Her body started developing sores, and my teary eyes could do nothing but feel helpless.

Amidst all this, she was worried about me—because I was single, and she always thought of me as a kid. Even when she was not fully conscious, she was concerned about hospital expenses.

In the previous hospital admissions of my mom and dad, my sisters were the ones dealing with the doctors. They were more of the face to it.

But this time, for the first time, it was completely me.

One night, I was called at midnight by the doctors. They said they needed to put a central line (cannula) in her throat because her hands were swollen, had clots, and they couldn’t locate a vein. This central line goes directly into a major vein near the heart. I was shaken.

Three days later, she suffered a heart attack. The doctors managed to revive her, but she was then put on a ventilator.

Her suffering didn’t end there.

There is a medical protocol that says a person cannot be on a ventilator for more than a week. After that, they usually do a tracheostomy, where a hole is made in the throat so the person can breathe through it. After this, they can’t speak anymore.

It was a new term for us. We consulted many doctors—we didn’t want to go for it, but eventually, we had no choice.

In the meantime, during all those 28 days in the hospital, the doctors seemed reluctant and distant about her case. It felt like they were not taking her condition seriously. The doctor had a clear belief that she wouldn’t survive, but he did not communicate this to us openly until much later.

Ironically, he was the one who knew her case history the best. He was considered one of the top doctors in town, and her treatment was happening in one of the best hospitals in the city.

But I didn’t want to give up. I had read about near-death experiences. I wanted to leave no stone unturned.

Finally, on 24th January, her health reached a point where even the bladder, rice tube was not functioning. Her normal urine passage was blocked, and urine had to be drained through a tube inserted in her lower abdomen.

I saw blood coming out of her mouth when she tried to speak, and tears rolled down her eyes. All I could do was stand there, helpless.

She was semi-conscious, but I know my messages reached her. She heard me—and she acknowledged them in her own way.

During this time, I was pressured by many people to sign the consent form—the one that says no further treatment should be given, or that we should ask the doctors to remove the ventilator because of the hospital expenses.

But what would I do with money if I don’t have Mom?

My entire motivation to be and do something in life was through her and for her.

The reason I am something today is because of her.
She played the role of both mother and father for us. After my father’s cerebral attack, she hid all the problems and challenges from him. She never let him see the struggles she was facing.

Her strength, her sacrifices, and her unconditional love are the foundation of whatever I have become.

I refused to sign the consent form. I wanted to wait till the very last moment—until I saw her organs starting to fail one by one. At that point, she was alive in body, but gone in spirit—only her breath was moving. She was living, but it was as if life had already left.

We lost her on the morning of 27th January (Friday) due to septic shock and a heart attack.

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Personal Triumph

FACING THE FEAR – A SILENT BATTLE

A couple of weeks ago, someone told me,
“Once you’ve lost one parent and dealt with it, you become prepared for the loss of the other. You stop fearing it.”

I was under shock—astonished and surprised. I mentally said, God bless you, ended the conversation, and hung up.

Consciously, I did not remember that thought, but it seems it stayed with me in my subconscious mind.

For the past one week, I noticed myself feeling an undercurrent of fear that I couldn’t quite name—until now.

It’s the fear of losing my father.

Maybe this fear developed during that conversation or perhaps it traces back to my childhood, when my father had a cerebral attack. I don’t know. But what I do know is this:

Losing a parent is not something you get “used to.” Even after one loss, the thought of losing the other can be just as overwhelming—if not more. When one parent is gone, the surviving parent often becomes a living reflection of both, carrying shared memories and silent comforts. That bond makes the idea of further loss even more delicate, not less. This is that relation where the last strings are attached—for both of them.

I’ve also come to realize that when people speak about grief, they often reveal their own coping mechanisms, not universal truths. The person who shared this thought with me is going through a broken relationship and battling their own depression. Maybe distancing themselves from emotional attachments feels safer to them right now. Sometimes people try to minimize future pain as a way to survive current pain.

But grief doesn’t follow a formula. Love cannot be systemized. Each loss reshapes us differently.

Grief is not something to overcome, but something we learn to carry. It doesn’t go away, but it shifts and changes form with time. The love remains—and maybe that’s what helps us keep going.

Maybe the real courage isn’t in preparing for loss—but in allowing ourselves to love fully, despite knowing its impermanence.

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Healing and Spirituality

The Fire Within – A Journey of Inner Transformation

My intention behind this painting was to portray the Sun — the ultimate source of light and love in the universe. Just like love, sunlight is warm and nourishing, making us feel held and alive from within.

But when I looked at images of the Sun from NASA and ISRO, I noticed something deeper — explosions of fire constantly erupting within it. That visual struck me.

The Sun burns itself to give light to others. It sacrifices itself so that life on Earth can exist. That selfless act became a symbol for me — of inner fire, of love, and of transformation.

From the perspective of the five elements, especially Agni (fire), this element represents transformation. And so, I chose to reflect that intense, almost desperate urge for inner transformation — which then radiates outward as the beauty we see in the world.

This painting is a reminder:

The fire within — though explosive, painful, and raw — is what gives rise to light, life, and outward beauty.
Our inner world, with all its chaos, becomes the very reason the outer world begins to shine.

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Healing and Spirituality

The Universe Within Us: From Darkness to Radiance

For the longest time, I held a vision — a desire to paint the silent, stunning dialogue between the soul and the cosmos. Finally, it found its voice on this canvas.

This artwork is more than colors or shapes.
It’s a whisper to the grieving heart. A call to those who feel lost, heavy, or too weary to take another step.
It’s a reminder that there’s beauty within you — as vast, radiant, and luminous as the universe.

As a Mudra Therapist, I often share that our body is a replica of the universe. What we hold inside — be it pain, peace, or potential — reflects outward. When we begin to heal, reflect, and realign within, our external reality transforms in response.

This painting is a celebration of that sacred alignment.

I could picture the skies in a place near the Himalayan range. Sometimes, thick clouds and rain hide the beauty. But we wait. Because we know — once the rain stops and the skies clear, magic happens.

We finally get that breathtaking glimpse we came for — the snow-capped peaks, the sparkling stars, the vast, open sky. That one clear moment makes all the waiting worth it.

Life is the same.
The grief. The chaos. The numbness. These are temporary clouds. If we sit with them, breathe through them, and gently honor their presence, our inner sky begins to clear too.

Healing is not a destination — it’s a homecoming to your own light.

So, if you’re feeling broken right now, pause. Breathe. Look within.
Like in the painting — the airplane doesn’t run from the dark; it moves toward the light. And that’s our path too.

Face your storms. Fly through them.
Because beyond the darkness… a new sun is always waiting to rise.