Foreword
A deep draw towards spirituality has been present from early in life, with an even stronger pull towards the Devi. Long before the language or the lineage existed for it, something within was already leaning in Her direction, already listening for Her. It is perhaps because of this that when VinitaSri arrived in 2024, the recognition was immediate. There are encounters that defy the ordinary logic of time. Though we had known each other for only a short while, something in the quality of her presence, depth, steadiness and luminous relationship with the Devi made it feel as though our connection stretched back across many lifetimes. In the world of Shakti sadhana, this is simply how grace works.
VinitaSri initiated me into Sri Vidya and without hesitation, this can be named a turning point in my spiritual life. It did not merely add a new practice to my day it reorganized something at the center. My love for the Devi deepened. My understanding of Devi's many forms and energies became less intellectual and more lived. For this, there is only gratitude.
It is through VinitaSri that Ma Varahi entered my life and that arrival
has been nothing short of transformative. Ma Varahi occupies a commanding position in the tantric pantheon as one of the Sapta Matrikas and as the Shakti of Vishnu's Varaha avatar, yet she remains among the least written-about, least understood of the great Devis. Her energy does not announce itself softly. It arrives as a rearranging force burning through obstruction, removing what does not serve, and replacing it with something far more solid: courage, clarity, health, and a fearlessness that does not feel borrowed but truly one's own. At the same time there is a wrapper of motherly comfort to all that she brings.
Preface
Journey to Odisha.
There are places on this earth where the veil between the seen and the unseen becomes porous. For me, one such place is Odisha, a land that does not merely preserve Tantra in its stones, but breathes it through its soil, air, rivers, people and places. I embarked upon a journey to the eastern part of India as part of the Shiva-Shakti tour. Our earlier travel as a group had taken us through the ancient temple towns of Tamil Nadu, but this year, the path led us to Odisha. What began as a visit with a small group of dedicated Sri Vidya sadhakas, brought together by serendipity and shared interests, turned out to be far more than a pilgrimage. It became another turning point in my life.
Our journey began with a visit to the Jagannath temple in Puri. I arrived in Odisha with no particular expectations. It does not fall within my familiar ambit of Shakti worship, and so I assumed my response would be one of an observer. I was unprepared for the impact of the famed Jagannath temple, even from a distance. The scale of the architecture, and the unmistakable force of its energy were palpable even from afar. The temple is a long walk from the parking area, and the easiest way to reach the precincts of the temple is by hiring an open rickshaw. This ride through the narrow lanes of Puri was, unexpectedly, a test of faith. First we had to deal with the rickshaw drivers competing fiercely for passengers, voices raised with tempers running high. Some of these drivers resorted to open aggression, deflating a rival's tyre even as we were all watching. There is no courtesy here, no illusion of civility, only the hard economics of hunger and daily earning playing out in a holy town.
The lanes through which we rode were cramped and noisy. The road was less a road and more a series of potholes loosely connected by intention.
Every few feet, the wheels dipped and lurched. and at any moment, one misjudged turn could send us straight into a stagnant puddle, brown with rain and slush. And yet, this was Puri. A sacred town. A place associated for thousands of years with holiness, a Char Dham, where every Hindu is called upon to visit at least once in a lifetime.
The contrast is jarring. One moment you are holding the idea of spiritual bliss in your heart; the next, your body is bracing itself against a violent jolt, your mind calculating whether you will arrive in one piece, undamaged from an accident. Sri Vidya, Shiva, Shakti and the lofty language of transcendence felt very far away from these lanes where life was stripped to its bare mechanics.
But perhaps that is the teaching. That spiritual life is not lived in the sterile environs of a hermitage or ashrama. It is not felt in the silence of a nature-filled forest or riverside on a mountain. It is tested in chaos, in discomfort, in the inability to control the world around us. Faith in Odisha was not accompanied by a feeling of calm and bliss. It was a test to see if we could stay open and unresentful while everything outside was conspiring to unsettle.
Once we entered the sprawling temple campus, we were surrounded by relentless crowds, pushing, shoving, bodies pressing into bodies; this chaos is simply a way of life here. There we were in the garbhagriha, just moving with the wave of humanity pushing us along and forward. I do not even remember how I got close to the altar, when all of a sudden, the head priest reached out, held my hand, and drew me right up to the rope that separates the deities from the devotee. Now I was so close to the mighty Jagannath and the priest was asking me my name but I could not remember. My gotra no recollection. As if my mind was completely blank, my identity dissolved and only the feeling of a presence that was vast and all-consuming remained. The rest of the day is a blur. All I remember is the feeling of intense connection with the Srishti.
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