Still Waters: A Day of Renewal at Renuka Lake

By Narinder
December 31 — a sunny Saturday after days of gloom

It was the 31st of December—a sunny Saturday that broke through days of gloom like a quiet promise. Bopa felt a spring in his step as he drove Mohini toward the lake in Chandigarh. Sukhna Lake welcomed them first: the familiar path, the shops that suddenly looked new, the grass and bushes freshly bathed after rain. Everything carried a sense of renewal, as if the world itself was conspiring toward a decision that needed to be yes.

They walked 3–4 km along the shore, then sat for a quick portrait—15 minutes, framed and ready. Posed, clicked, and off they went for gol gappe, laughing over plans. Bopa suggested the vast white salt flats of the Rann of Kutch, flamingoes in pink clouds. Mohini smiled softly: “I’d prefer a river or lake. Let’s go to Renuka Lake in this cold—feed those giant carp. Remember how one jumped clean out and snatched the bun from your hand? You fell back on your bum. This time, I’ll catch you if you fall… right into my lap.”

That gentle tease carried them through the drive—about 110–130 km of winding hills—to Renuka Ji in Sirmour district, Himachal Pradesh.

The largest natural lake in the state, circumference around 3.2 km, cradled at 672 m above sea level. Legend says it embodies Goddess Renuka herself—wife of sage Jamadagni, mother of Parashurama (Vishnu’s sixth avatar). When the tyrannical king Sahasrarjuna killed her husband and tried to abduct her, she threw herself into the waters in despair. The gods revived her, and the lake formed as her sacred shape: often described as a reclining woman, a profile of quiet sacrifice and maternal grace. Every year on Prabodhini Ekadashi, Parashurama is believed to reunite with his mother here in a joyous fair.

Renuka is a Ramsar wetland, ringed by dense pine, oak, and sal forests that perfume the air—especially crisp in winter. A mini-zoo nearby shelters deer, leopards, bears. But what lingers most is the water itself.

Not the bright, naughty blue of beaches with frothy edges and sunlit play. This is deep water—muted emerald green, sometimes verging on shadowy blue-green where forest shadows pool. Fed by underground springs and 21 streams, it holds depths up to 10–13 m in places, yet the surface stays remarkably still. No strong currents, minimal wind in the sheltered valley. In cold months, mist drapes the hills at dawn, turning the lake into a flawless mirror—green-tinged, absorbing light rather than scattering it. It doesn’t demand attention; it invites you to sit, to feel held by something ancient and wordless.

That evening they stayed in a guest room by the lake—wide open, warmed by blankets, fresh linen, and an evening fire from the staff. Bopa, tired from the drive, dipped his feet in warm water. He felt aether—prana—flowing out of his chest and legs, tiredness seeping away, replaced by fresh lightness rising from his feet. Suddenly he remembered: Renuka lies on a ley line of power, a place blessed by the Goddess. His heart rolled open at the sight of Mohini, too tired now, settling into bed. He helped her, then lay beside her, the stillness of the lake outside seeping in.

And those giant carp? Over decades of tourist buns, atta balls, and ritual feedings, they’ve grown massive—catfish and turtles joining the party. Stories abound of them surging aggressively to snatch food right from your hand, causing hilarious backward tumbles. In the stillness, though, it feels intimate: a slow rise from the depths, deliberate, almost reverent.

Renuka resonates where stillness abounds. It’s the kind of water that mirrors inner quiet—deep, non-blue, enveloping. Not flashy adventure, but restorative hush. Bopa and Mohini found something there: a place where ordinary days turn sacred, where a yes can arrive as gently as mist on green water.

If you seek renewal, not in crowds or spectacle, but in the wordless hold of deep stillness—Renuka waits. Feed the fish, sit by the ghats, let the pine-scented air and glassy surface do their quiet work.

What draws you to such waters? The myth, the carp’s playful leaps, or simply the feeling of being held by something profoundly calm?

🌿💚