Journey to the Centre of the Womb

It took all of twenty one years to bow down to her, but she made sure I came back, and she also made sure that I stayed close enough for her to watch over me. In 2002 on a project site visit to the North East Network (NEN) in Jorpukhuri, I was advised to go take darśan at the nearby Ugratārā shrine. Having never heard of her, I did not pay heed. Two decades ago I was more interested in adventure as compared to a staid temple visit, or so I thought! Over the years I was often told of how powerful mā is at Ugratārā and that it is one of the śakti pīṭhas where Sati’s navel fell as per Kālika Purāṇa. That it is a strong tantra centre, as important as Kāmākhyā at Nīlācala. On subsequent visits to this idyllic town, the gateway and headquarters to the North East, for one reason or another it was not feasible to make my way to her, despite best efforts.

So it was quite a surprise and what a coincidence, that on a recent trip to Guwahati, I found myself in a homestay on Lamb Road, which happens to be right in front of this very temple that I was somehow unable to visit for decades. When the time is right, when we are ripe, we get the calling.

As soon as I landed from Hyderabad, I took bath and crossed the road to enter her premises. Ugratārā is all red, the temple is similar to the temples of Assam, the Nīlācala building style. They are simple with clean domes, not too busy architecturally yet they evoke instant devotion. A few stray goats crossed my path, their necks styled in red gold bands. I would later learn that these goats had been offered to the goddess. Not for bali, but freed in her name. They bleated about happily at the excess of food at their disposal. Lots of grass and young plants to feed on. Someone has just planted fresh greens.

Smt. Jyoti Das goes about planting saplings in the vicinity of her house which is a fixture on Lamb Road, house number 13 is her residence as well as the homestay where I was put up. She, very graciously, took me for morning walks pointing out the landmarks, and the who is who of this city, along with introducing me to the wonders of Uzan Bazar. She regaled me with stories of how it was in its heyday, of the old connections and the lost times. Of Nowjan; when the king rowed his boats from Sibsagar all the way down the Brahmaputra and then the canal right to maa Ugratārā’s doorstep to offer his salutations.

We were walking on the very same ‘canal’. Now all tarred up. The freed goats have their fill, and Jyoti ji is satisfied with her day’s work. ‘Once the roots catch the ground I do not need to water the saplings as much’ she says, confident words from someone who has been greening this area for a while now. How true for humans too I think, once our customs and rites are ingrained deeply into our psyche we can be left alone and don’t need too much looking after, we are no more a burden to anyone.

Jyoti ji is from an old well known Guwahati family and reminded me of royalty; rooted in the local customs, graceful, refined, with a strong sense of commitment to the public. She invited me home for tea and I was only too glad to meet a local on home ground. She is the author of fourteen books on Assamese cooking and culture, and one of them ‘Ambrosia’ published by Rupa, has a foreword by Victor Banerjee.

Jyoti ji on her own volition called up Prof. Gautam Sarma, HOD English (retd) from Cotton University in my presence, while sipping Assam CTC Tea, and requested him to speak with me for a few minutes. Generous and hospitable as they are in these parts, the good professor ended up inviting me home for a tête-à-tête. Meanwhile CTC Tea versus Leaf tea is a debate that is as serious as Red versus White wine, and if you are visiting this region, please know and cross your teas.

I would have walked to the Professor’s house in Rehabari from Lamb Road, but the humidity got to me. I was bathing three times a day already, unable to handle the sweat, and also having to look professional. If I walked forty minutes to Gautam ji’s house I would be drenched from head to toe and unable to concentrate on the job at hand, so I took a rickshaw. Autos, Uber/ Ola ply here along with old fashioned manual cycle rickshaws too, which have totally disappeared in cities like Hyderabad.

Prof. Sarma’s house is welcoming and aesthetic. Just as I was mesmerized with the beauty of everyday houses in Colombo - orchids, anthuriums amidst batik paintings, lace curtains and rattan furniture, here too the houses display a certain kindred look. Bamboo or wood, with palms, and handlooms hung as paintings or used as table mats, and tray cloth. There is a pride in one’s heritage that is hard to miss. Smt. Sarma, a Phd. in Education, came by to exchange pleasantries before excusing herself. The easy hospitality of offering ‘laal sa and biscuits’ to all guests on a tray with treats delicately balanced in glass bowls, resting on local handwoven textiles, is a religion in itself. A long lost one that we in bigger cities have replaced with hurried and harried crassness.

Mā has blessed this land with ample fertility. The produce here is diverse and abundant in the markets - flowers, fruits, vegetables. greens. After all this is the land where she is resting as a creator. One can still find local vegetables - red moolis, green papayas, banana flowers, lotus stems, vegetables that have all but disappeared from supermarkets in the rest of the country replaced by broccolis and avocados of the world. The streets are tree lined and there is only green all around in myriads shades, stopped only by the blue of the Brahmaputra, which turns red during the monsoons.

Guwahati’s similarities with Kerala are aplenty. The munḍu set being similar to the mekhela chador, the cuisine which is coconut and banana heavy, the humidity, the traditional thāravāḍu like houses with a courtyard in the centre, the clean and neat look with bamboo, brass and above all the love for mā, for śākta worship, the heart that beats for Bhagavatī.

Kerala and Assam (along with Bengal and parts of Odisha) share a unique love for tāntrika practices. Bhagavatī temples in Kerala and Kālī, Durgā, Devī temples in the erstwhile greater Assam region all of them follow śākta traditions and customs, which are also known to offer bali. To know more about tantra, Gautam ji suggested I meet his cousin - everyone from Nīlācala is related in one way or another - Śrī. Riju Rajib Sarma.

It was on Prof. Gautam Sarma’s suggestion that I decided to climb up Nīlācala by foot. He was born on this hill and his family is bordeuri (family priests) of Bagalamukhi temple, he surely knows his way around here. He told me that there are four ways to climb this hill, and that only two are functional at the moment, and the easiest closest one was right next to the motorable road that plies automobiles daily. Tuesday is the day I fast, not having to eat means not wasting time looking for cafes or restaurants which serve vegetarian fare, not worrying about where to eat. One’s mind is focussed totally on the task at hand. So I set out towards Kachari from Lamb Road, hoping to catch the bus to the top of the hill which costs only Rs. 20. Not that money was an issue, but public transport, especially local buses are a great source of information about any place and they offer access to locals in great proximity.

I was soon asked by a six seater tempo driver if I wanted to go to Kāmākhyā, I said yes, and hopped into his ‘van’ in the front, since time was of the essence and there was no bus in sight, and I was already drenched in sweat. Guwahati for all its charms gets terribly humid by seven in the morning. People therefore rise as early as four and get done with morning walks and breakfasts by eight am at the most.

Soon, eager to make my way to the top, standing on the opposite side of the hill where I was dropped off, I cross the road with confident strides. A train track and the recently opened flyover (Malegaon to Nīlācala) stand tall over me and I criss-cross the not so heavy traffic to the other side asking for directions to the steps that would lead me to the temple. Most people here speak Hindi, not English, and it is easy to get by.

I was directed to a small narrow path next to a pīpal tree and a śiva linga. I asked a few more people to make sure that I was headed in the right direction and started off solo. Little did I think of ‘what if’. The steps were narrow, not too high, and not traversed much either, there was moss growing on most and due to the heavy rains, they were also slippery. Steep and slippery. I could easily spot the horizon on top, so I knew that the climb would not take me more than thirty minutes so I hopped, skipped, and jumped my way through the thicket of various shades of green watching out for snakes and leeches. What I had forgotten about were vānaras!

There, right before I could join the tar road at the top near the ‘viewpoint’, rested a big mama monkey with her baby suckling at her breast. I could have dealt with a male monkey perhaps but a young mother with a younger baby is dangerous. I hid my cloth bag under my large kalamkari dupatta and opened my palms out, showing those who wished to see -especially the monkey - that I had nothing to offer. I stood there quiet, hardly breathing, looking out for a stick to scare it away if it dared come closer. Chanting the Hanumān Cālisā, I bided my time patiently, sweating profusely, in no shape to do darśan at the daśa mahā vidyā shrines.

Was no one coming up this path at all? Would I have to wait forever? I was on my fourth round of chanting vāyuputra’s names when I spotted a few men pass by on the top, going downhill. I called out to them to help me and one of them very graciously walked down the steps with a large stick in hand and escorted me to the main road near the hair pin bend, a bit below the main temple. I thanked him profusely, he was here from Bihar, a construction worker.

Later when I met Riju Rajib Sarma ji on the hill, he asked me if I was not scared of running into monkeys, walking all alone by myself in the forest, only then did I realize that I had taken an adventurous but foolish step (or steps) of bashing on regardless, although thankfully mā took full care.

Rajib ji and his wife Bandana run the Foundation of History and Heritage Studies, their office is right behind the multi storied parking lot. Their shop assistant told me that sir and madam would be late today.

Interestingly they were in Hyderabad while I was here in Guwahati from Hyderabad. Having arrived by the late evening flight from there, they seemed to suffer from cold, cough and fatigue. Yet they made time for me. They showed me the website they maintain - kamakhya.org, they showed me their fabulous collection of manuscripts and books pertaining to Nīlācala and tantra. They were also getting ready almost three hundred and ninety seven varieties of indigenous rice from the North East to showcase at a farmers conference in Delhi that was coming up. And these would be documented and preserved with the National Gene Bank.

Rajib ji has also written a book on Kāmākhyā in Hindi, bringing the oral to the written form, making it easier for the millennial seeker to find all the requisite information pertaining to this pīṭha (the land where the goddesses resides) in one place;

Śrī Śrī Kāmākhyā Devī aur Kāmrūp ka Mahatya

The couple are also founders of the ‘Centre for Tantra Studies’ at the same space which apart from other activities also mentors Phd. scholars from other countries to work on topics related to tantra. Rajib ji and his wife Bandana are pūrṇābhiṣekas (a certain level, and type of śākta upāsakas), having taken dīkśā from a local guru a few years back. He is also the co- producer and co-writer along with Vikram Seth and Ricky Kej of ‘Who is Baul’, a documentary on Bauls.

I had an audio cassette growing up, by Purna Das Baul. I wonder where it is now. I was an avid collector of cassettes on folk songs from every region of India with songs for every occasion. The songs in that cassette have stayed with me for their soulful renditions and the meaning they conveyed. A few years later thanks to Google I learnt of the tāntrika origins of the Bauls, their dinacaryā, their madhukorī, their concept of the one divine in everyone; the moner mānuṣ. So I was exceptionally happy when all this and more was picturized in the documentary film. It is very well made with high production values and pulls us in with its visuals and music instantly.

Belonging to the traditional families who administer the temple and its rituals here at Kāmākhyā, called the bordeuri, Rajib ji spoke of various unique customs and traditions associated with this pīṭha. Unlike the temples of the south, this kṣetra and its management is not controlled by the government via the HR&CE (Hindu Religious and Charitable Endowments Department). Instead it functions by traditional management, via the families in whose care the various pūjās are conducted. When the time comes for Rajib ji to take over his familial temple duties, he said he will be ready for it, until then he would like to do something for mā in his own way.

One of the few naysayers against the proposed development on the Nīlācala parvat and the temple precincts, he is of the opinion that this area is full of temples, many visible and many more hidden. It would be a pity to lose them to mindless development which is being done mainly to attract tourists from all over, many of whom may not even be aware of the power of this pīṭha, nor are keen on śākta sādhanā.

He has a point, many of the people I met, especially women from other communities be it Marwaris, Punjabis, Jains, Shankar Dev’s followers, even some Muslims, all of whom consider mā Kāmākhyā as a cultural icon and the pride of Guwahati, if not the whole of Assam. Yet most of them are not aware of the actual traditions that are important for maintaining the purity of this pīṭha. And whatever little they might know, they are hesitant to endorse certain rites such as baliprathā, as it is against the acceptable modern norms.

Interestingly most people do not have an issue with eating halal or the festival of Bakrid when many animals are slaughtered. They are of the opinion that the sacrifice of goats, camels, even cows (that are especially holy to Hindus), is an essential practice of a minority group. Yet when it comes to an even smaller minority group which is who the śāktas are, there is no empathy or understanding of what they might want to preserve and why. It is no secret that those who otherwise are non-vegetarians in their private lives promote vegetarianism in public discourse, and speak against practices that they have no understanding of, since it is ‘cool’ to do so. Hence many rail against baliprathā citing animal rights, a discourse that conveniently goes underground during Eid. Vegans and customary vegetarians such as Brahmins or Vaishnavas will also agree that Muslims and Christians be allowed their culinary rights but will speak out emphatically against a minority that is their own, who are simply trying to stick to their anuṣṭhāna, and are loyal to their paramparā.

In the many tantra texts mā is termed as ‘rudhira pāna priya’, one who loves to drink blood. And this is what is offered to her daily. Goats, buffalos, pigeons are all fed to her here. One may give up one’s ego in lieu of them, or as actual flesh and blood sacrificial animals, or some may even choose to free them when one’s desires are fulfilled. It is easy to spot many goats with a red bandana roaming about freely in the precincts, these are the ones that were freed by devotees as an offering to the Mother. While we stood in the queue of the Rs. 500 ticket line, we happened to stand for almost an hour or so near the bali pīṭha and had a chance to observe the process in detail, as well as ponder over the diversity of our belief systems. The animals that were ready for bali were being garlanded with marigolds and had a large tilak on their foreheads. And with the chanting of mantras it is all over in a quick stroke, unlike halal.

As per Shivani Hazarika ji, working at McLeod Russel, the traditional families in Guwahati who were śākta worshippers ate only that mutton which had been offered as bhog to mā, i.e. the goat that was offered as bali was the only mutton they consumed in previous generations. Since each family had their own pāṇḍa on the hill, he would indicate to the families when bhog was offered and bring down the prasād to them at Uzan Bazar. Such ancient linkages have been long lost and nowadays all Hindu families who eat mutton are forced to eat halal as there are no Hindu butchers left in the area. Fishermen yes she said, but not goats, that is a trade that is no longer practised by Hindus.

For the lover of animal rights, this news ought to cause grave concern but it does not. Killing an animal such that it is painfully beheaded, literally sawed to death in the name of one religion seems to get a free pass, unlike ‘baliprathā’, which is termed as superstition and a backward practice. In fact halal, a completely religious practice from start to finish ought to cause more concern; in the sense that from the butcher, to the prayer while butchering, to the marketing, the complete production line, all of it is controlled by Muslims only as a religious injunct. It is now a flourishing industry which labels even snacks, biscuits, and chocolates as halal. Many consumers who happen to be Hindu do not object to this or are ignorant of the same, yet have no qualms about dissing baliprathā and advocating animal rights to Hindus only.

As a jāti brāhmaṇa and a wannabe guṇa brāhmaṇa, I do not eat even eggs or fish, let alone meat or red meat, my iṣṭa devatā eats bananas, milk, ghee, butter, and curds which I lovingly offer during my pūjā. I go to great lengths to get organic fruits as well as A2 milk and offer only the best of curds at my altar. But what of those whose iṣṭa is devī; Kālī, Canḍī, Bhairavī, Durgā? They too ought to have the freedom to offer what is dear to their deity.

As Prof. Gautam Sarma rightly pointed out - when it is on the dinner table, people will consume with delight but have a problem that an animal is being sacrificed for a deity. It is the lack of acceptance of various modes of worship, our lack of tolerance towards anything that deviates even slightly from what we know and are accustomed to. While we have been brainwashed into accepting any and all practices by Abrahamics as modern and good, as essential for their worship and beyond criticism, we have no such empathy or compassion for our own brethren who might worship in a different manner.

Yes there are alternatives. We may offer pumpkin or gourds instead, and all the women I talked to mentioned this, saying why kill poor lifeless animals, when we may offer something else, that mā would not want us to kill mercilessly, one lady even blamed Brahmins (no surprise here!) for making baliprathā customary. She, a Bengali, is not a vegetarian herself. She has come all the way from Kolkata to pay her respects to mā, as her child was saved from death at the nth minute after they had lost all hope at delivery, the doctors too had given up.

For such drastic changes to take place, for energies to work in such a manner, the offerings have to be commensurate with what is being requested of mā. In war, in battle, Rajputs to Marathas to Sikhs to Gurkhas, all evoke Bhavānī or Canḍī or Kālī, and she asks for blood. Not bananas.

From Tripura Sundari, Nartiang Devi, Kalighat, Tara Peeth to Kamakhya, the geographic belt of Bengal, Bihar, Greater Assam including Nepal is the land of tantra. Even the Buddhism of Tibet is a combination with vāmācāra, leading to Vajrayāna. People who follow these traditions from these regions accept bali as part of their offerings, as bhog for the goddess. They do not flinch at their ancient customs as we modern people do. Most hill tribes and other indigenous peoples also have this custom of sacred animal offering. We, of urban sensibilities ought to take a pause before dissing mores we have no understanding of, especially when we let others indulging in similar acts go scot free in the name of minority rights. We, the cosmopolitan people, who take pride in being rational and scientific ought to also take a pause and reflect on the millions of lab rats, monkeys and other animals that are dissected and mutilated in the name of science. Where killing is part of the school curriculum as early as 11th grade, when one has to cut open frogs for Biology lab.

Any and all reformation is for the practitioners to ponder about. Justice Indu Malhotra’s dissenting verdict on Sabarimala holds true here too at Kāmākhyā (paraphrasing):

Justice Malhotra said that the Court must respect a religious denomination’s right to manage their internal affairs, regardless of whether their practices are rational or logical. She held that the Sabarimala Temple satisfies the requirements for being considered a separate religious denomination. She held that the Sabarimala Temple is protected under Article 26(b) to manage its internal affairs and is not subject to the social reform mandate under Article 25(2)(b), which applies only to Hindu denominations. She stated that the State must respect the freedom of various individuals and sects to practice their faith.

Not just prohibiting bali but also the development of the whole hill is underway to make it more visitor friendly, a euphemism to make the pīṭha and kṣetra more touristy. Is the womb of the mother a tourist destination? The sanctity it deserves ought to be preserved at all costs. There is new technology available like LIDAR (Light Detection and Ranging) where lasers are used by drones to check the topography of a landscape and see what lies beneath the ground, they have been previously used to discover underground cities and sacred sites in the Yucatan peninsula in Mexico, as well as in Angkor Wat in Cambodia. We must definitely use such technology and science to protect our own holy places such as Kāmākhyā.

Dr. Mrigakshi Sarma who was enjoying a day off with her friend at the Brahmaputra Heritage Centre along the river (and a beautiful space to hang out with friends), informed me that nature has its cycles, there is a predator and the prey at all levels. She also spoke of the animals following their own kārmika cycles wishing for death in Kāmākhyā as bali for mā and for a sacred cause. This will get them a human life in next janma and they would have exhausted pāpa and gained puṇya of many lifetimes by this act. Following the customs of the ancestors is a blessing, why should one interfere with such ancient rites, she questioned. A chosen deity demands a certain diet and that must be adhered to by the bhakta.

She has a point, if we have to evoke certain powerful energies to ward of evil and fight long drawn battles, if we have to vanquish the external enemy who thinks nothing of overrunning us and our land with guerrilla warfare, there is no choice but to protect the womb of the mother, keep her seat safe, and feed her the choicest of foods, of her liking. Only then will she be pleased enough to grace us with victory, only then will we be able to survive. Only then can we have the freedom to be who we are - pacifist sanātanīs - so someone has to shed blood for everyone else to practice ahimsa.

Sanātana dharma allows people to be, it does not question, it does not expect long drawn explanations. It performs and it simply is. Let them be, this is what we ask, of the powers that be. Constantly fiddling with what is not in our domain to perfect it is a mark of the modern, which is a euphemism for Protestant Christianity.

The Bhagavad Gītā talks of various types of āhāra and how that shapes a person, their guṇas and their saṃskāras, if one’s puruśārtha is mokṣa, the ideal āhāra is sātvika which consists of food that is sweet, mild, devoid of spices, and fresh. It also means we are particular where we source it from, how we acquire it and what manner we eat it. If the puruśārtha is rājasika, if the need of the hour is kṣātra dharma, the protection of our nation, its women and children, its very identity as sanātana, then we must evoke the appropriate devatās for it. The one main deity associated across board for war and vanquishing enemies is Durgā, and her fiercer counterparts Canḍī and Kālī.

In the very same Bhagavad Gītā bhagavān tells us that the devatās appear before us in any form that we seek, and are obligated to assist us, and each of these forms has a particular vehicle i.e. animal, a flower, fruit, food associated with it. We can appease them by our offerings and get them to do our bidding. It is as simple as that. We must make a connection as per the prescribed rites and once that is in place we can further the relationship by making appropriate offerings.

If we want to fight the battle of narratives, and increasingly the battle on the streets, we cannot avoid sacrificing animals. There is currently a skewed war, a guerrilla war that we are fighting within, and an overt war at the borders and internationally, where the very existence of a Hindu or a brāhmaṇa is deemed as unfair, fit to be erased. To bring back victory from the jaws of death we need to adhere to norms that ensures wins in such lopsided battles. We cannot be squeamish about it, devatās exist to grant what we want, to be too proud to ask is being foolish and not using the opportunity.

Unless one is clear that one’s goal is mokṣa and one is actively ‘pursuing’ it, say as a sannyāsi does, everyone else can and ought to seek help from devatās, this is done via prayer. And praying for help is the most intelligent thing to do when there is no other solution in sight, as my guru Pujya Swami Dayananda Saraswati ji would often say.

Śākta worship is new to me, although ammā has been chanting Lalita Sahasranamam daily at home ever since I remember and was also a part of a group that chanted it at temples and houses for the well being of those who invited them, the tāntrika aspect is not familiar to me or ammā. Thus it was with a lot of curiosity and love that my mother and I travelled two months ago to Agartala and Shillong. Both these cities are in close proximity to a śakti pīṭha, and since ammā is a devī upāsaka we decided to do this circuit. Tripura is mostly bāngla culture with a lot of śakti, tantra, devī worship. The Tripura Sundari temple in Udaipur district also called Matabari (mother’s house) is small but neat and tidy built in the Ekaratna style, with beautiful women holding red hibiscus garlands to offer to the mother goddess whose little toe of the left leg fell here.

The whole state of Tripura named after her is suffused with love for the goddess and this is reflected in the natural bounty that it is blessed with too, be it the Chobimura stone carvings or the Unakoti rock cut hills. It is a stunning state, bountiful,and bordering Bangladesh. Nartiang Devi, two and half hours east of Shillong, in Meghalaya on the other hand is hardly known, this śakti pīṭha was once known for offering narabali and what is left now of that ancient practice is a human mask, which is put on to the sacrificial goats before the sacred offering is made. This temple is overseen by Marathi brahmins who have assimilated with the local culture and speak Khasi too. Although not very known and not very popular, regular pūjās carry on and the priests are diligent to keep the goddess pleased and happy. Our trip to these temples three months before paved the way for my current visit to Guwahati, I am sure of this. A kind of preparation for what was to come.

Here in the north east, the worship of devī is in the form of tantra. I learnt of how the Chengannur temple in Kerala remains closed for three days when the mother goddess is menstruating, so too with Kāmākhyā devī. Ambubaci is a festival which celebrates mā’s menstruation. The temple remains closed during those days. Once the temple opens the blood cloth is distributed to devotees along with the red water from the spring and there is a mad rush for the same. The geological reality of the Nīlācala hill during monsoon reveals its madder tint as though a woman bleeding, and if we put some faith in the story, we can go beyond the symbolism and feel the magic for ourselves. Of course the mountain is iron rich and in monsoons it bleeds, and what is a mountain but the mother goddess, she is prakṛti, she is the mother, this is her womb and when she is menstruating all of Assam comes to a halt, allowing her her rest, her alone time.

With so much being said about Ambubaci, I wish I could watch the documentary film by Rajib Hari Kaushik who is Founder Director- Luit-Gist Communications and Indigenous Rama Research Foundation. Finding him was serendipitous like all else that happened on this trip. I was climbing up the Navagraha Hill, to pay respects to the nine planets which give the state its ancient name; Pragjyotishpur. At the corner of the mainroad I see a small store decorated with gamsas and with posters on Ambubaci. I walk in to meet Rajib ji. He gently mentions that he was the Chief Minister Himanta Biswa’s classmate in Kamrup Academy and sat on the same bench, and pointed to a photograph on the wall as a proof of his relationship. His film on Ambubaci has made it to the Mumbai Film Festival but unfortunately it is not available on Youtube or any of the OTTs. He is working on another film now which is on the Assamese version of the Rāmāyaṇa.

Aghoris, Nagas, Siddhas, Tantriks, Shaktas, everyone congregates at Kāmākhyā to celebrate this momentous event of mā’s menstruation, he said. I shiver with wonder at the very thought of it, that mā’s devotion makes grown men fall flat on the ground. Many fall at the feet of young girls for kumarī pūja. Seeing the goddess in the girls, the men literally worship them with great devotion. Where else in the world is the feminine, the female, and the woman worshipped so viscerally with such śraddhā. And where else but here, is the womb, the vagina, given its due.

I had a friend who had participated in one of the many remakes of the ‘Vagina Monologues’ many moons ago. When the play came out in the U.S., it was a big hit in the theatres all over. Taking cues from the west, the rest of the world and India especially came up with many versions of it. I wonder why there is no play written on something so indigenous, so real, and something that evokes bhakti and śraddhā in millions, such as Kāmākhyā? This is the true Vagina Monologue, when the bhakta descends the steps into the deep cellar that is mā’s womb, this is where the world emanates from, this is where creation begins, this is a place that is soft and moist, and this is at once welcoming, terrifying, erotic, esoteric and worthy of worship. This is not something to be bandied about as a slur or used in commonplace vocabulary, normalizing its usage, making it lose its sanctity. All of us remember where we came from, and that place of origin we bow to in reverence and gratitude. It is not something to be made fun of or used as a pejorative that it has become. Vagina for us is a monologue with the mother at Kāmākhyā.

I walk down the stairs which are slippery from the rain and smoothened with millions of feet who have trod before me, I reach the womb and it is dark, eerie, yet comforting. I bow down my head, the pānḍa insists that I touch the perennial waters and take the blessings. Coming from the south we do not touch anything in the garbha gṛha, in fact we do not even enter the garbha gṛha, but this IS the garbha gṛha literally. I am in Her garbha, in Her gṛha, and I do the pāṇḍa’s bidding automatically. I see some grown men drinking the holy waters with deep conviction that they will be blessed and be given what they seek. And they will.

In a few minutes after the mandatory jostling given the narrow path, I climb out into the sunshine and observe the usual human drama unfolding around me. I let it all sink in, I can see why people of this region address women as ‘mā’. I watch the multitudes thronging the shrine with such devotion, many are scientists, many academics, many working in IT firms and many in media, I even met and chatted with a lawyer from Kolkata who comes here regularly. All of them have such deep regard for mā Kāmākhyā. The faith that they carry within them for her is in no way hampered by their professions or the creeping modernity that seems to have engulfed the rest of the country. They are here to make that personal connection with the sacred.

As Raghava Krishna explains succinctly here: Sanatana Dharma is designed to provide Metaphysics to the Multitude

Guwahati still is a small town, despite the flyovers and the plush cafes, the multitudes are devoid of the sophisticated veneer that engulfs cosmopolitan wannabes. Here people open up without fear to strangers and talk heart to heart as though they have known you for ages. They offer prayers with sincerity and are assured of their prayers being heard. Prayers ought to also include that sanity prevails and Kāmākhyā is not turned into another tourist spot, let us hope that it does not lose its sanctity to this craze for development, and what was lost in Ayodhya and Kashi where old temples were destroyed to make way for the new and shiny is not repeated here.

This temple hill is an ecosystem in itself with a biosphere that is rare and ancient. Such biodiversity calls for better caretaking and not casual calls to make high rise building and broadening roads. The few shopkeepers who I spoke to were hesitant to say anything or say the wrong thing unwittingly. Many say that if they are compensated they are fine with their shops being cleared. There is talk that new shops will come up in an open plot close to the auto cum bus stand, all together in one area and not as they are now, all along the path leading to the main temple. All news pertaining to development on the hill has been hushed up and I could not get any source for the same.

Wondering who else I could talk to, I decided to visit a government building. Walking distance to where I was put up, at Dighalipukhuri, the Assam State Museum is a very well preserved well kept space offering insight into this region’s past. With more than two buildings and a few floors each, it is a lovely space to spend a Sunday afternoon in. This is where I ran into Rituparna, who was back on a break from JNU where she had completed her Masters in Modern History. This is also where I met Eshan, a Phd. student of archaeology at IIT, Guwahati.

It was good to chat with the young and passionate about our heritage, its study and its preservation. Interestingly the most informative of them all was the receptionist here Smt. Pinku Bordoloi. She took me to the VIP room, and sat me down with great affection and spoke of herself and her land. Brahmin women cannot even step down and put their feet on the floor during those three days she whispered, referring to Ambubaci. While mā menstruates there are a lot of strictures observed across the state and beyond. Apparently Brahmin women do not eat anything but fruits during this time and keep their feet up for the whole period.

I had many more questions regarding this practice - how then did they relieve themselves for example - but did not want to break her flow. Pinku ji also regaled me with anecdotes from her life, where she too observes certain rules of not opening cupboards, keeping three four sets of clothes outside for easy access, during the said period, thereby not touching most things. All this reminded me of practices in my own Telugu brahmin household during menstruation. We spoke for more than an hour, and with a promise to see each other next time I was in Guwahati, we parted.

On the final evening before our departure, I went next door to Lush for my usual cuppa of Earl Grey and cookies. The food here is exceptional, and gourmet vegetarian. The space too is very aesthetic, and the service even better. Chef turned entrepreneur Abhishek Verma was milling with the customers and we got talking. He is a bhakta, as is his wife who is from Guwahati. They revere mā, but are not in favour of bali. He had hosted a vegan activist group just the previous day. His wife is an animal rights activist. Abhishek rued that Guwahati was not yet ready for a place like his which was all vegetarian. That the Assamese still preferred their fish and mutton. On the table to my right was a young girl Priya Karwa. We got chatting and she told me of how belief in mā and bhakti for her overruns the whole city including her family. These are Marwari women who fast everyday diligently during Ambubaci and go to the hill (a good ten kilometers away) every morning on these days for participating in the mela. The young ones though avoid it as it is too crowded and all kinds of people show up, she said.

When we speak of feminism, of feminine hygiene, or of women’s rights, unfortunately we do not look at our own practices or knowledge systems to appreciate what we have. How we look at the world and how we do things differently is something we must ruminate upon. It is time, with mā’s blessings, that we acknowledge the existence of śākta worship, its necessity, and the grace it bestows upon us. We must allow its bhaktas to continue to practise their faith and customs as they wish to within their fold without outside interference, just as we would eagerly allow any other indigenous community to do so.

Perhaps if I said that mā is also worshipped by the Khasis, and that the word Kāmākhyā is a distortion of a Khasi word for womb, many might sit up and take notice and leave these practices and their practitioners alone. After all we Indians believe in minority rights wholeheartedly!