A Peacock, a Necklace, and a Chance Meeting

I went to India with a purpose.

Alongside deepening my yoga practice, I was on a personal spiritual quest—visiting ashrams(spiritual hermitages or communities), temples, and immersing myself in Indian philosophy.

What I didn’t expect was how many small, meaningful “signs” would appear along the way.

As you may have read in my previous blog posts, I have been studying Indian philosophy intensively for some time now, and I felt ready to experience it more directly through visiting ashrams and temples in India.

This is simply a note of a few random incidents that I chose to interpret as signs during my trip.

One of the ashrams we stayed in was in Tiruvannamalai, in Tamil Nadu. It is Ramana Maharshi’s ashram, one of the most well-known saints of the early 20th century. They gave us a clean ensuite twin room and meals free of charge for two nights. It truly felt like typical Indian hospitality.

We spent most of our stay in silence, attending meditation and puja (ceremonies), and also walked barefoot to the holy mountain, as is the tradition. It was a wonderful experience.

On our last day, as we were getting ready to leave, I heard a loud bird call outside our window. When I opened the curtain, I saw a beautiful male peacock sitting on the window ledge.

The peacock is not only beautiful and auspicious, but is also regarded as a symbol of Krishna in India. You often see Krishna depicted with a peacock feather.

It felt as if Krishna had come to bid us farewell and bless us on our onward journey.

The next sign spans the whole of my trip.

At the beginning of my seven-week journey, the first place I stayed was Bangalore. The day after I arrived, I looked up what to do in the city and visited a newly built ISKCON temple about 30 minutes outside the city centre.

It was my first temple experience, and a gentle introduction. After visiting the main areas, I went into the temple souvenir shop. As this was the start of my trip and I was backpacking, I didn’t want to buy anything to take home. However, I decided to buy a necklace to wear during my journey. It was an inexpensive piece—a red beaded chain with a small medallion. The medallion had an image of a deity. Since it was a Hare Krishna temple, I assumed it was Krishna. I wore it casually throughout my trip (I’m not usually someone who wears necklaces).

After travelling around India for nearly seven weeks, my last stop was near Delhi, where I stayed with an Indian friend. On my very last night before flying home, my friend’s husband noticed my necklace and took a closer look. When I explained where I had bought it, he said, “This is not Krishna. It is Hanuman (the monkey god), who is the god of protection.”

That’s when I saw the meaning. At the very first stop, I had bought a Hanuman necklace in a Krishna temple—and only realised this at the very end of my journey. It seemed to me that Krishna had sent Lord Hanuman to protect me throughout the trip.

There’s a little extra anecdote to this. A couple of weeks after I returned home, my son came to visit from London. He was about to travel to South America for three months. When I showed him the necklace and told him the story, he wanted to take it with him for his trip. (He’s usually not interested in religion or spiritual things at all.) Whether you believe in divine protection or not, it’s comforting for me to feel that Lord Hanuman is now with my son.

The last coincidence happened just last weekend.

Before my trip, I was introduced to a British person who lives in India. She was so easy to talk to and gave me lots of tips and advice before I left. I also kept in touch with her while I was there, asking practical questions.

After I came back, I messaged her and we agreed to meet when she next visited the UK.

A couple of weeks later, my partner and I went for a long coastal walk on the South West Coast Path. It’s a well-known route, with serious walkers coming from all over the world, as well as us, the locals.

After walking for nearly two hours, we decided to sit in a field for a snack. As soon as we sat down and turned around, there she was—walking about 200 metres behind us. We recognised each other instantly and ended up chatting for half an hour. I didn’t even know she was back in the UK.

You can call them coincidences if you like. But coincidences seem to occur more often than they statistically should. And in any case, it is our minds that give meaning to these events—it is as if consciousness opens to allow us to see their meaning. For me, noticing these “divine signs” in random moments—like finding gold dust in the sand—feels both deeply human and quietly spiritual.