Legendary Head Shave Tales
Shravani, a soft-spoken Kannada teacher in a private high school, had always lived a quiet, sincere life. Strong in will and rooted in spirituality, she wasn’t one to chase trends or follow the chaos of her generation. When her father fell seriously ill and her mother met with a near-fatal accident, she was left shaken. In those sleepless nights, she made a silent vow to God—if both her parents recovered, she would shave her head at Dharmasthala as an offering of gratitude.
There was no tradition compelling her, no ancestral custom demanding this sacrifice. The idea came from a co-worker who once shared stories of people fulfilling vows through tonsure at sacred places. That thought stuck in Shravani’s heart. But when she shared her decision, the world around her trembled. Friends warned her it would ruin her career. Some said no one would marry a bald woman. Even her own parents, though touched, tried gently to dissuade her. Yet, Shravani had made up her mind.
One early morning, she boarded a KSRTC bus bound for Dharmasthala. The cool breeze fluttered her dupatta as she found her window seat. A young man, Param, offered a polite nod as he sat beside her. There wasn’t much talk at first—just a quiet understanding. They shared a bottle of water, passed the landscape in mutual silence, and folded hands at distant temples along the way. A few hours into the journey, Param asked softly, “Dharmasthala, for darshan?” Shravani nodded. “Yes… I made a vow.”
He simply nodded again. He didn’t ask what or why. And that silence felt safe. As the journey stretched, they shared stories—light ones. She spoke about her school, her students. He mentioned his job in a small office and how he liked long bus rides to temples. When the driver stopped for tea, Param bought two cups and handed her one without asking. She smiled. “Thanks… it’s been a while since I had bus tea.”
As the bus approached Dharmasthala, Shravani leaned towards the window, eyes widening. Nestled between lush green hills, the temple town felt like a world away from everything she knew. She’d only heard about this place from her coworker—how it was known not just for Lord Manjunatha’s grace, but for its deep sense of justice, charity, and devotion.
The towering gopuram came into view, the golden top gleaming under the afternoon sun. People walked barefoot, heads bowed, some with shaved heads and coconuts in hand. “So this is Dharmasthala,” she whispered to herself, her heart fluttering with awe and a quiet nervousness.
She walked alone through the narrow streets, scanning signboards until she found a modest lodge. The man at the counter gave her a puzzled look when she booked a single room, but she ignored it, calm and firm. “One night,” she said. After freshening up, she made her way to the tonsure hall. As Shravani stepped into the tonsure hall, the quiet buzz of razors and murmurs filled the air. She waited her turn. When her name was called, she sat down with folded hands, eyes lowered in respect.
The barber, an old man looked at her thick, oiled hair. “First time, amma?” he asked. She nodded. “Then you must know,” he said, pretending to be serious, There’s an old tradition here. When you shave your head at Dharmasthala for the first time, you leave a small tuft of hair behind.” Shravani blinked, confused. “A tuft?”
The barber nodded, his voice low. “It’s said to carry the blessings of Lord Manjunatha. The tuft connects you to the temple’s protection, keeping you safe and prosperous. Without it, you might lose the blessings.” Her eyes widened, unsure. “Is that true?” He smiled mysteriously, tying a small section of hair at the crown. Without fully understanding, Shravani nodded, and the barber began. The razor gleamed as he began the first stroke, and she immediately felt the coolness against her scalp.
With each movement of the blade, her thick, dark hair fell away, leaving her scalp exposed and vulnerable. The weight of her long hair lifted, and a strange emptiness settled in its place. As the razor moved swiftly from front to back, Shravani’s heart raced, the sound of her hair hitting the floor echoing in her ears. Her hands gripped the armrests tightly, the feeling of each stroke both freeing and surreal. She had never imagined this moment would come.
In a few minutes, all that remained was the tuft, standing alone at the back of her head. Shravani hesitated, feeling awkward about the thick, long tuft left. “Can you shorten it a little?” she asked, her voice uncertain. The barber nodded and carefully trimmed the tuft down to neck length. As the last strand fell, Shravani touched the newly shortened hair, feeling a sense of relief. The awkwardness was gone, and now, it felt just right. The barber wiped her clean, and Shravani touched her bald scalp, her fingers grazing the smoothness. It was done. The ritual was complete.
Shravani walked back to the lodge, feeling the cool breeze on her smooth, bald scalp. The tuft at the back of her head swayed with each step, drawing attention she wasn’t used to. Shravani entered the lodge room, her hands instinctively touching her smooth, bald scalp. It felt strange, yet liberating. She stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over her head. Without her hair, the water felt lighter, more freeing.
As she ran her fingers over her scalp, she realized the weight of her past worries had vanished, replaced by a peaceful clarity. The simplicity of the moment was unlike anything she had known before. She smiled softly, embracing the freedom that came with her baldness.She quickly got ready in a vibrant pink silk saree, the fabric shimmering against her smooth skin, her bald head and the long tuft at the back now an unusual but powerful contrast.
As she neared the temple, an old woman caught her attention. With wrinkled hands, she reached up, gently touching Shravani’s bare scalp. “Apply this turmeric paste, child,” she insisted, her voice carrying an ancient weight. “It protects you, it’s said to shield the soul.” Shravani hesitated, but something in the woman’s eyes made her accept. The paste felt cool against her skin, an odd but calming sensation.
Once done, she joined the queue for darshan, As she waited, her gaze met Param’s across the line. The connection was instant—his eyes lingered on her smooth, bald head, and the long tuft flowing behind her. Shravani felt the bond, a shared understanding. As they smiled at each other.
The next day, as Shravani walked towards the bus stand, she noticed a familiar face. It was Param, standing near the ticket counter, looking around. “Good morning!” Shravani greeted him, feeling a bit shy but relieved to see a friendly face. Param took a step closer. “How was the darshan? Felt good to have completed your vow?” he asked, his eyes naturally drawn to her smooth scalp and the tuft that remained. Shravani nodded, a peaceful glow in her eyes. “Yes, it felt… freeing. I didn’t expect this change to feel so light.”
She ran a hand over her bald head, feeling the smoothness once again. “And this,” she paused, smiling slightly, ” Shravani raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t all this just a trick to trap new visitors?” she asked, looking at the turmeric paste and the tuft of hair at the back of her head. Param shook his head with a smile. “No, it’s not a trick,” he said. “There’s science behind it. The tuft is said to help improve focus and mental clarity. It’s believed to stimulate the nervous system, keeping your attention sharp.”
He continued, “As for the turmeric paste, it’s a natural antibiotic. After shaving, it helps heal any small cuts or scratches on the scalp. It’s been used for centuries because it works.” Shravani nodded, now understanding the reasoning behind the rituals. “I see,” she murmured, feeling a bit more at ease. They sat beside each other, sharing prasad, the temple bells echoing in the distance.
When Shravani returned home, her parents were in shock. Her mother gently touched her bald head, a mix of concern and pride. “You did it, but the tuft… why keep it?” she asked softly. “It’s part of the tradition, amma,” Shravani replied, her voice steady. “It holds meaning for me.” At school, Shravani walked in with confidence, her bald head shining and the tuft swaying. The students stared, some whispered, but none dared to question the strength she radiated.
It had been twenty-one days since Shravani’s head shave. The soft fuzz had begun to bloom across her scalp, a gentle contrast to the long, thick tuft still trailing down her back. As Param’s family sat with hers, sipping tea and smiling warmly, that tuft had become a silent symbol—of strength, of devotion, and of the journey she had walked. Later, as Shravani and Param stood quietly near the veranda, he gently brushed a stray breeze-blown strand from her tuft.
“Will you keep it?” he asked, his voice low and fond. She smiled. “Just until the 41st day. I made a vow to remove it only then. It’s my way of completing the journey fully.” He nodded, admiring both her conviction and grace. “When you do… let me be there.” Their fingers brushed. A soft silence wrapped around them—complete, understanding, and deeply connected. The path ahead was clear. Their love had already begun to bloom, just like the soft hair on Shravani’s head.
