After Kufri (Part 3): Under Hanuman’s Shadow & The Evening Shimla Glowed

Ever since walking down Mall Road on our first day, I couldn’t stop noticing something in the distance—a towering statue of Hanuman rising above the thick blanket of trees. It would quietly peek out from the mountains, almost hidden, yet impossible to ignore. It felt distant then, almost unreal, like something you admire from afar and leave it at that, but now, as we left Kufri, that same statue wasn’t just part of the background anymore, it had become our next destination.

As we made our way towards Jakhu Temple, our driver naturally slipped into storytelling mode. He began telling us about Hanuman and the famous story of how he carried an entire mountain. During the battle in the Ramayana, Hanuman was sent to fetch a specific herb called Sanjivani to save Lakshman’s life. But unable to identify the exact plant, he lifted the entire mountain and carried it back instead. It’s one of those stories that sounds almost unbelievable, but when you’re surrounded by mountains like these, it oddly feels… possible. He then pointed out the bright red flowers we were starting to see on certain trees along the way. According to local belief, these are connected to Hanuman as well. They symbolise strength, devotion, and sacrifice. The red stands out sharply against the green mountains, almost like little reminders of the stories tied to the land. As we passed under the first tree covered in these flowers, my wife suddenly said, “Oh My God.” I turned around and saw it, just one tree branch, reaching over the road covered in these vivid red blossoms against the backdrop of the mountains. It looked almost placed there on purpose. The drive itself wasn’t exactly relaxing. The roads were narrow, winding, and full of sharp turns, but our driver handled them like he’d done this a thousand times before. Other cars squeezed past from the opposite direction, somehow making it all work. My mum, however, was not convinced. Her quiet prayers started almost immediately and continued for most of the drive, just in case. As we got closer to the temple, the driver gave us one final warning, don’t carry anything loosely, keep your belongings close, and absolutely do not hold food in your hands. Why? Because the monkeys here… are on a different level.

We bought four tickets and stepped onto what felt like the largest, most elevated escalator I had ever been on. Then came a second one. We just kept going higher and higher, slowly rising above the trees and the mountain itself. As we handed our tickets to the staff and stepped outside, something felt… off. The sunlight that had been hitting me suddenly disappeared. For a second, I thought a cloud had passed over.
Then I looked up.
The Hanuman statue stood right above me—towering, overwhelming, almost unreal. It wasn’t just tall, it dominated everything around it. Rising over 100 feet into the sky, it stretched far beyond the tree line, its deep orange colour glowing even without direct sunlight. From where I stood, I couldn’t even properly see the top without tilting my head all the way back. It felt less like looking at a statue and more like standing at the base of something alive, watching over the entire mountain. The trees around it looked small. Even people walking around seemed insignificant in comparison. I just stood there in silence for a moment. It wasn’t just the size, it was the setting. How something this massive was built right on top of a mountain, surrounded by nothing but forest and sky, didn’t make sense to me. And yet, there it was. I couldn’t comprehend it. It was stunning.

We walked further up, staying alert because the warnings about monkeys were not exaggerated in the slightest. There wasn’t a single one that wasn’t watching someone. Eyes locked onto bags, hands, even hair (yes, they will pull your hair), just waiting for an opportunity. Some looked calm, others looked like they were planning something. The baby monkeys wandered around innocently, but right behind them were their parents far more alert, far more protective, and definitely not to be messed with. We made our way to the shoe room, left our shoes inside, and continued up towards the mandir. As we stepped in, everything shifted. The noise, the tension, the alertness... it all faded. We received tikkas on our foreheads, the priest gave us his blessings, and we were handed prashaad. The priest also tied a kalava thread on our wrists, A red and yellow cotton thread tied during Hindu rituals to symbolise divine protection. It is typically worn on the right wrist (for men and married women) to ward off negative energy and welcome health and blessings. Afterwards, we sat quietly in a corner for a moment. It was peaceful. There’s something deeply humbling about places like this. The idea that people have carried faith, stories, and devotion into places this high, this remote, this difficult to reach just to honour something they believe in. To build something meaningful in the middle of mountains, surrounded by nothing but nature, speaks to a kind of dedication that goes beyond logic. It’s not just about religion—it’s about belief, effort, and the human desire to create something lasting in places where it almost feels impossible and sitting there, high above everything else, it just made sense.

Once we left the temple, we noticed another building nearby with Langar being served. My wife and mum, being able to read Hindi, pointed it out to us. This was a first for us, seeing Langar in a mandir. Naturally, we went in. We sat down alongside everyone else and waited to be served. Looking around, I could feel a few curious glances. Across from us were other Hindus, probably a bit surprised to see Sikhs sitting there too. A lot of the women, like my wife, were wearing bright, dominant chooras suggesting many were newly married couples, most likely in Shimla for blessings. It made sense, especially considering how much cultural and religious importance this place holds. The servers came in carrying large buckets of food and began serving everyone. It was simple: dal and rice. Comfort food, and honestly something I really enjoy. The only issue? No spoons. Now normally, that wouldn’t be a problem at all, but earlier that morning, I had applied this anti-nail-biting chemical on my fingers - a strong, bitter solution designed to stop you from putting your fingers in your mouth. So as I took my first bite, using my hand to scoop the rice…
That was it.
My tongue instantly recoiled. I made a face that I can only describe as those babies trying lemon for the first time - pure shock, confusion, and regret. Every single bite tasted the same - bitter, sharp, just completely overpowering. It was unbearable. At that point, I wasn’t eating. I was surviving. I basically started swallowing the food without chewing just to get through it. Before the server could even offer me a second serving, I quietly got up and made my way out to wash my hands. I was quite upset I did not get to enjoy that as much as I wanted to. Standing at the sink, trying to recover, I suddenly heard a small shriek. I turned to my left and there was a monkey slowly approaching. We both froze… then both jumped back at the exact same time.Mutual fear. Fair enough, but I thought it was a baby in a stroller so my reaction is valid. An army officer quickly stepped in, gave the monkey some food, and guided it away, clearly this wasn’t his first attempt at entering the Langar hall. As we walked out, I took one last look up, and there it was again - the towering statue of Hanuman, standing in all its glory, watching over everything below. Whilst we face-timed my brother to show him the statue, we heard a sudden scream behind us. Once of the monkey's tried to grab her bag so she ran. Next target? My mum. My mum screamed too, ran towards me. Me? Me! I ran too. Then the monkey realised he was overpowered and alone so he ran off, and we went back down.

Later that day, after some rest and a quick, competitive game of Ludo we headed out again for an evening walk to Mall Road Bazaar. This time, we wanted to see it in a different light compared to the night before. The air was cooler, fresher. The monkeys, however, were still up to no good, casually eyeing people like they were planning something. The army officers were out on their routine walks again, bringing that same sense of order to the place. We decided to explore the lower part of the bazaar first but honestly, it wasn’t really for me. It was busier, louder, and felt more like a local market. Shops selling everyday essentials: clothes, home appliances, toiletries - lined the streets, and the whole place had a more rushed, practical feel to it. Naturally, my mum and I wanted to go back up. Which led us to… a staircase, and not just any staircase, one that looked innocent at the bottom but quickly turned into a full-on workout. Narrow stone steps climbed steeply between tightly packed buildings, with wires crisscrossing overhead like a tangled web. Small shop signs hung off the sides; hairdressers, beauty parlours while people casually walked up and down like this was nothing. Meanwhile, we were treating it like a mountain expedition, and so began what can only be described as a hilarious uphill battle. I held my mum’s hand and practically pulled her up step by step, while my dad and wife followed behind, all three of them coughing, breathing heavily, questioning their decisions. Just before the top, my mum gave up completely and sat down on the steps, somewhere between exhaustion and suddenly worrying about the situation in the Middle East, airline prices rising to £7,500, and life in general. Attempt number two began. This time, my dad took charge holding her hand and singing to motivate her up the steps. I don’t even remember the song, but my wife and I couldn’t stop laughing. It was the most unexpected form of encouragement I’ve ever seen. We stopped again… but this time, we were only about ten steps away from the top.
Then, in the middle of all this, my dad spotted a man with a weighing scale charging ten rupees. Naturally, he stepped on.
“85.”
Without hesitation, my dad said, “This is wrong.”
My wife and I laughed. My mum wanted to laugh but she was still trying to breathe and mentally prepare herself for the final stretch. When we finally made it back up to the top, it was completely worth it. The sun was beginning to set, and golden light poured down the steps and across the buildings, casting long shadows behind us. The narrow lanes opened up into wider viewpoints, and suddenly everything felt calm again.

We walked a little further than we had the day before and came across a beautiful viewpoint a small pavilion sitting right at the edge, overlooking layers upon layers of mountains fading into the distance. People sat quietly on benches, some talking, others just staring out, while one man stood at the edge taking it all in. The sky was soft and hazy, the hills rolling endlessly into the horizon, and for a moment everything just slowed down. It was peaceful.
It was one of those views where you don’t really say much you just stand there and let it sink in. By the time we made our way back towards the start of the bazaar, night had fallen and that’s when Shimla really came alive. From the hillside, the entire town lit up below us. Clusters of houses and buildings clung to the mountains, glowing with warm lights that stretched across the valley like a scattered constellation. The roads curved through the hills, marked by moving headlights and distant noise, while the sky above remained deep and quiet. From up there, it looked magical. Up close… still slightly terrifying, considering where some of those homes were built, but standing there, looking out over it all, it was the perfect end to the day.