It began on a snowbound night, in a temple no map remembers.

Caught by the storm

One of our co-founders has spent years walking the high trails of the Himalayas. On one of those treks the sky turned in the space of an hour. The light went grey, then white. The wind came down off the ridge so hard it pushed the breath back into his chest, and the snow began to fall sideways, filling the path in front of him faster than he could follow it.

Somewhere below, through the swirl, he saw a small flicker of orange. It was a diya, burning in the doorway of a stone temple no bigger than a village house, its slate roof already heavy with snow.

A cup of tea, a quilt, and a long night

The pujari did not ask who he was or where he was going. He took one look at the stranger at his door, stamping frozen boots, and pulled him inside next to the fire. Within minutes there was a steel glass of ginger tea in his hands, so hot he could barely hold it. Then came rotis from the tawa, a bowl of dal, and one blanket after another, until finally a thick cotton quilt that smelled of woodsmoke and old camphor.

Outside, the storm roared against the walls all night. Inside, the two of them talked. The pujari spoke about the temple his family had looked after for generations, the festivals the whole valley still climbs up for, and the sadhus meditating in caves further up the mountain. Through every winter he carries food up to them, on paths that most people would not walk in summer.

Hardly any pilgrims ever come, he said, smiling. The buses go to the famous shrines. Up here it is only the mountain, the bell, and whoever the snow sends to the door.

The morning the village carried him

By dawn the storm had passed and the whole valley shone. He set off down the trail, but a few hundred metres on, the fresh snow gave way on a hidden patch of ice, and he went down hard. His leg would not take his weight.

The village came to him before he could even call out. Someone ran for the pujari. A grandmother warmed turmeric and mustard oil and wrapped his leg in a cloth. Young men cut him a walking stick from a deodar branch, and between them they helped him, step by careful step, down to the road. Children ran ahead to clear the snow from the steepest turns, and at every bend someone new was waiting to take his arm.

Nobody asked for anything in return. When he tried to pay, they laughed and pressed a packet of prasad into his hand instead.

The temples the pilgrim routes forget

On the long drive home, he could not stop thinking about that temple. Over the months that followed he went looking, and he found it was not alone. All across the Himalayas there are small temples of Shiva and Parvati, of Vishnu, of Ram and Sita, of the gentle mountain Devis, each with its own old tradition, each kept alive by a pujari and a village who ask for nothing.

Ordinary pilgrimage never reaches them. And the people who keep them alive face the hardest winters in India, with no road in the snow and very little income, while still feeding the sadhus in the caves above.

So we built Aum Fe

Aum Fe exists to bring those temples to you, and to give something back to the people who keep them alive.

Our small crew travels deep into the mountains, carries the camera up the trail, and sets up beside the altar. The temple's own pujari performs your havan or puja with your sankalp in your name and your gotra, with your wish and the names of your family, exactly as if you were sitting beside him. We live stream it when the mountain network allows, and we always record the whole ritual, so the video is yours to keep. Dry prasad from the temple is packed the same day and couriered to your door.

Every booking gives a Himalayan pujari and his village a fair, steady income through the long winters, and a way to share a lifetime of devotion with families far away. It is our way of returning a cup of tea on a snowbound night.

Why Aum Fe?

Our name joins two words from two worlds. Aum — written ॐ and also spoken as Om — is the ancient Sanskrit syllable that Hindu tradition holds as the sound at the heart of every prayer. Fe is the plain word for faith in Spanish and Portuguese. The East has Aum; the West speaks of faith. Aum Fe is where the two meet: a home for anyone, anywhere, who wants to take part in a havan or puja performed with devotion in the Himalayas.

For families far from home

Many of the families who book with us live far from India, in the UK, the Caribbean, Fiji, Mauritius, North America and beyond. Some have never seen the Himalayas. Through Aum Fe, a grandmother in Port of Spain or a family in Leicester can hear their names spoken at a mountain temple, and watch the fire rise with the snow peaks behind it.

What we promise

• We only work with positive temples: Shiva and Parvati, Vishnu, Ram and Sita, Krishna and the gentle Himalayan Devis. No animal sacrifice, no dark or cult practices, ever.
• We only perform benefic rituals. No fear, no curses, no “do this or something bad will happen”.
• We never promise outcomes. A havan is an offering and a prayer, not a guarantee.
• A fair share of every booking goes to the temple, the pujari and his village.
• What you see is what you pay. And if the mountains delay your video or prasad, we tell you on WhatsApp and by email.

That night in the snow, a stranger was with our co-founder when he needed it most. Now we would like to be with you, and with them.