The Heart That Came Back Softer!
I did not go to Kamakhya asking for anything. Not powers, not visions, not an altered state. Only grace. That is what I had told myself before I climbed Nilachal Hill — that whatever came, I would not chase it.
The spiritual grandeur of the Dasa Mahavidya shrines stayed in me. So,did the dark, ancient weight of the inner sanctum of Ma Kamakhya. But alongside all of it, refusing to be set apart or set aside, stood the animals — abandoned to the weather once they had served their purpose — that I could not stop looking at...the goats, sheep, pigeons... huddled and sick, left standing in the rain after the rituals were done.
I know the verse. "Ahimsa paramo dharmah". Non-harming is the highest dharma. I also know that the Shakta tradition carries centuries of sacrifice within it, layered with a theology that I have not fully earned the right to judge. Devotees across this country have argued the question for generations — some holding to the old form, others offering pumpkins, gourds, coconuts, symbolic bali in place of blood. Neither position empties the other of sincerity. But theology was not what moved through me on that hill. Compassion did. And I have come to think that this, too, was Her answer.
The Mother who is Chinnamasta — who cuts off her own head, who is terror made form — is also the Mother who lives inside every frightened creature standing in the rain. "Ya Devi Sarvabhuteshu Daya Rupena Samsthita" — the Devi who abides in all beings in the form of compassion. Daya is not incidental to Her nature; it is one of Her names. If the first thing that rose in me after darshan was grief for hungry, shivering animals, then perhaps that grief was not a distraction from worship. Perhaps it was worship, arriving in a shape I hadn't thought of.
I bought bananas from a fruit vendor nearby and gave the animals water in plastic bowls. They ate and drank gratefully. It solved nothing — not really. But I said something quietly, standing there, that I want to remember: "Ma, if this pain has arisen in me, let it become kindness. Wherever I cannot change the world, let me at least not become indifferent".
I keep returning to the thought before the trip even began-- Bless me with Your Grace! I understand now that I received exactly that, and it did not look like ecstasy. It looked like a heart that refused to harden in front of suffering it could not fix. Śiva without Śakti is pure consciousness. Śakti without compassion is a fire with nothing to warm.
I don't know what karma those animals are living out. No one does. But I know that for a few minutes, in the rain, their hunger was smaller because I was there. That much is certain, and it is enough.
When I stand before Ma Kamakhya again — I don't know when -- possibly, years from now — I want to carry no guilt, no unresolved argument about doctrine. Only this: "Ma, let my devotion never separate itself from compassion. Let every being I meet leave me a little kinder than I was".Sometimes the deepest prasad a pilgrimage gives you isn't rapture. It's a softer heart, carried back down the hill.
Jai Maa Kamakhya ❤️
Note:(pics from internet for illustration only)
-SunheriSufi
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