“Jai Maa Adya” – Chamatkaar or Chamakta-Aakar?

Eleven-year-old Lalita sat quietly in the courtyard, her eyes fixed on her mother’s tear-streaked face. Softly, she heard her whispers directed at the younger daughter:

“Maa koi chamatkaar kardo… meri beti ko beta banado…”

Lalita’s heart skipped. Was this truly possible? Could a mother really transform fate or destiny by uttering those words? She wanted to ask, “Maa—is it real?” But between her mother’s heavy silences and the unspoken sadness in her gaze, Lalita held back.

From that day on, those words floated in her mind. “Maa koi chamatkaar kardo.” She spoke them under her breath at school, before tests, in moments of doubt—innocently, unknowingly, filled with hope.

Miraculously—or so it seemed—Lalita began to shine. She topped her class. She earned scholarships. She became her father’s pride. In each difficult moment, she’d only whisper:

“Maa, koi chamatkaar kardo.”

She dreamed big: one day she’d become a doctor, heal the world, take away pain. She studied endlessly. But first attempt? She failed. The night was dark and painful—her fortress crumbled. No matter: she resolved to work twice as hard.

She did—but even then, despite better scores, she couldn’t secure a seat in a government medical college. Only private colleges called—and with fees her family just couldn’t manage. Devastated, Lalita’s faith faltered. “No chamatkaar… What a foolish belief.” She questioned her dreams, her mother’s wishes, her Devi’s grace.

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Part II: Rebirth of Hope

Time, they say, is the greatest healer. Lalita enrolled in engineering. She made friends, found a new rhythm. But when campus placements loomed and rejection hit again—one interview after another—she collapsed under the weight of broken expectations. Soon after, she reluctantly accepted an arranged marriage, silence filling the gap between her dreams and reality.

Marriage followed swiftly. Bangalore became home. A job, a husband, a baby girl—they were stepping stones in rebuilding joy. Constant juggling between family and work, trying to prove she is worthy, followed by an emptiness she could not share it with anyone.

Then came her baby boy—her first son. Joy returned, especially during the trying COVID days. Then came an alarm she never expected: her two year old son stopped speaking, showed signs of screen addiction—and was diagnosed with mild autism. It felt as though the ground vanished beneath her feet. Her husband dismissed it. Her cries choked her. Alone, she knelt at midnight, calling:

“Maa koi chamatkaar kardo…”

Her faith rekindled in her darkest hours.

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Part III: The Real Miracle

Days bled into sleepless nights—naturopathy, homeopathy, alternative paths—all offered no relief. She stepped away from her career, pouring her soul into finding answers. Therapy began. Progress was slow, but real. Yet loneliness gnawed. Only her parents stayed by her side as she once again whispered to the divine:

“Maa koi chamatkaar kardo…”

One day, on her phone, she stumbled upon a short video—Mr. Praveen Radha Krishnan speaking about Vairava upasana. His imagery—cows, dogs—stood out. Days later, another youtube shorts flashed: “Devi before prana pratistha and after.” Her heart trembled. This—this felt like the magic she’d been seeking.

She immersed herself in his teachings and vigrahas of Devi Adya. Words she had never learned before entered her world—the Fifth Head of Brahma, Vairava, Adya-Kaalika…The darkness behind every light… each lesson struck her like a revelation.

Gradually, she realized the long hidden meanings behind her suffering: born in 1988, under Saturn’s gaze, on Purva Phalguni nakshatra(11th nakshatra)—to fulfill her karma, not as a doctor, but as a singer of Devi’s praises, part of the Adya Kali sampradaya. Her husband’s name traced back to “Bheemasen”. Her son, Mahi, echoed Devi’s name. Temples and timings around her always whispered of Kali—even before she recognized it.

Like her guru says: “If life brings you constant pain, remember you are Panchali—and through you, the Mahabharata will unfold.”

she understood: mother’s tears, her broken dreams, her years of struggle—they were never meant to break her. They prepared her purpose. She wasn't meant to ask for a miracle (“chamatkaar”), but to become light—a shining form (“chamakta aakar”) to sing Maa Adya’s eternal glory.

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*Jai Maa Adya Om Gurubhyo Namah*