On the 11th day of my Shri SwarnaAkashna Bhairava Sadhana, a day steeped in chaos where even the most ordinary tasks felt ungraspable, as if everything around me had descended into a dense fog of Tamas.
The woman who usually cooks our food arrived an hour late. The moment she entered, an unexpected cloudburst drenched the streets of Gurugram, flooding the roads completely. A worry began to rise within me. How would I feed the street dogs today? Would my Sadhana go unfulfilled?
Every day by 8:30 p.m., I begin preparations for my Sadhana, and by 8:45, it usually starts. But that night, the woman left our house at 8:40, and since our Poojagriha and kitchen are perpendicular to each other, I couldn’t begin as usual.
Still, somehow, I managed to complete my Nitya Sadhana on time. The rain continued to fall relentlessly. Listening to the downpour, I looked at Maa and worriedly asked if I had made some mistake in my Shri SwarnaAkashna Bhairava Sadhana, if this rain was a sign, an obstacle she had created for me. But Maa simply sat there, smiling, as if she had something else in mind.
Not willing to retreat, I offered raw flesh to Shri SwarnaAkashna Bhairava and began my Sadhana. As I looked at his image, I could see him smiling too, just like Maa, as if both of them were enjoying the divine drama unfolding.
After completing the Sadhana, I turned once again to Maa, asking whether I’d be able to find any dogs in this storm. Her smile remained, soft, silent, and reassuring, as if nudging me to step out and see for myself.
I live on a street where most people are vegetarian, and even the sight of meat is met with discomfort. Carefully, I took the bowl I use for offerings, covered it with two paper plates to shield the contents, and stepped outside.
The rain had mellowed to a drizzle, but the street was still submerged. Floodwaters were rising up to my knees. Wearing my usual slippers, shorts, and a T-shirt, I walked forward with the mantra repeating in my mind. Garbage, sewage, and filth floated in the water, brushing against my legs and clinging to my toes. In one hand, I held the offering bowl; with the other, I tried to balance myself as I waded through the mess, slipping over slopes and nearly falling into hidden potholes.
Midway, a young girl, perhaps 16 or 17, entered the road as well. Though others struggled through the waters, she moved with grace, almost as if gliding. Her hair was untied, and she was softly singing as she walked. I don’t know why, but in that moment, I caught a glimpse of Maa Adya within her.
After traveling some distance with the girl ahead of me, she turned a corner. At that very moment, I saw two black dogs in the distance, searching through the water for food. Knees submerged, I called out to them. One swam over. I placed the Bhog on a lifted stair using the plate, shielding it from the filthy water. The second dog followed, and both began eating eagerly.
As I stood there watching them with the mantra still pulsing in my mind, a wave of peace washed over me. I turned to walk back home.
But then… something paused within me.
I looked at myself. My legs were covered in the filth of Mrityu Loka. Blood was still smeared inside the offering bowl. I was soaked in stormwater and sewage, elements considered deeply inauspicious in the Vedic path.
And yet, what I felt was not disgust.
It was bliss.
A deep calmness filled me.
In that moment, I was no longer just a man.
I was Bhairava.
With the offering bowl still in my left hand and my body moving forward, it felt as if someone else was carrying me. The mantra grew louder in my head, almost like thunder echoing the cloudburst. I wasn’t walking anymore. Bhairava was walking through me.
As I retraced my path, I began to see everything in divine alignment. If the lady had not been late, I would’ve stepped out earlier, right into the height of the storm. If I had not waited, I wouldn’t have seen the girl or those dogs. Every delay was perfectly timed.
Maa and Bhairava weren’t smiling at my struggle.
They were smiling through it.
The entire night was a Leela.
On the way back, I spotted a heavy stone submerged in the water, large enough to trip someone. I don’t know where the strength came from, but I lifted it with my free hand and placed it safely to the side, removing a hurdle from someone else’s path, just as Bhairava silently removes obstacles from ours.
Returning home, I knew something within me had changed permanently.
I saw my family watching TV, but I felt no attachment to anything around me. The phone, which has become so important in our day-to-day lives, was in my shorts pocket throughout the walk, but not even for a moment did I feel any attachment to it. The detachment that had been quietly growing for weeks had now completely taken over.
I stepped back into the Poojagriha.
The bowl was still in my hand.
Maa’s image was glowing, radiant, as if she had just initiated me into Bhairava.
And now I ask myself:
Who walked back into the house that night?
Was it me?
Or was it Bhairava himself?
Jai Maa 🌺
- By Rohan Mathur Shisya of Gurudev Shri Praveen Radhakrishnan