Headline: Inside the Sacred Journey of The Story of Chhinnamasta
Subheadline: Why this ancient story still resonates with the soul
---
You won’t find my name written in any scripture. But I was there—just a humble temple apprentice when the goddess showed us the truth hidden in blood and silence.
It was deep in the forest that day. The trees held their breath. Even birds seemed to wait in awe.
We had been walking for hours—my guru, a few others, and me. They said we were going to a place where the goddess appeared not in sweetness, but in shocking clarity. I didn’t understand what that meant. I thought I knew the gods. I had memorized hymns to Hanuman, the devoted servant of Lord Rama, who exemplified bhakti and courage. I could speak of Lord Krishna’s leelas and the dharma he taught Arjuna in the Mahabharata.
But this story was different.
We arrived in silence—then we saw her.
A stone idol. Still. Fierce. Naked. Standing tall over two companions.
She held her own head.
Blood spurted from her neck, three streams—two feeding the companions, one flowing into her own mouth. Her smile was calm. Her gaze... clear. She was Chhinnamasta—“She who is severed, yet alive.”
I felt sick.
My guru whispered beside me, "This is not just a story of death, child. This is dharma, beyond our comfort.”
He told me her tale. Of how, long ago, the goddess—Shakti herself—rode with her two attendants, Dakini and Varnini. After a long battle with demons to restore cosmic balance, the goddess grew hungry, and so did her companions. They begged her for food.
She had nothing to give. So she offered herself.
Without hesitation, she cut off her own head. Blood flowed to nourish them. She fed them with her very life.
I couldn’t understand. Wasn’t that violence? Madness?
“No,” my guru said gently. “It is karmic truth. She gave, not because she was forced to, but because in absolute faith, she understood her dharma."
"Who feeds when no food remains? The mother.”
I looked back at the idol. So still, so terrifying. Yet I couldn't look away.
Chhinnamasta was full of contradictions—life and death, creation and destruction, selflessness and fierce will. She didn’t wait for the world to offer her a way. She became the way.
“She slays the ego,” my guru explained. “In a world where we fear hunger, scarcity, endings—Chhinnamasta shows we are not what we cling to. Not even this body.”
I was just fifteen, standing there barefoot on rough stone, overwhelmed. I had studied so many stories—of Krishna guiding Arjuna on duty without attachment, of Hanuman burning Lanka with faith in Lord Rama—but never one like this.
This was faith, stripped bare. Dharma, without the glory.
Chhinnamasta didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her act cut deeper than any sermon.
That night, back at the temple, I couldn’t sleep. The image of her—so calm, so complete—burned in my mind. I thought about my own life. About all the things I would never give up. My pride. My comforts. My image.
And I asked myself—what is my dharma, really? What would I give for it?
The next morning, as we lit lamps before the deities, I looked at the faces around me. Some came to pray for protection. Others for love or prosperity. But I had seen something else—the kind of faith that gives, even when empty. That sacrifices, not for reward, but because that is dharma.
Chhinnamasta’s story, as told in the Devi Bhagavatam, isn’t simple. It isn’t sweet. But it’s true.
We all must face moments like that—when duty feels impossible, when karma demands more than we think we can give. And in those moments, when we’ve run out of reasons, she teaches us to give anyway.
Because sometimes, the real transformation isn’t in gaining anything. It’s in letting go.
That day in the forest, I came looking for a goddess I could understand.
Instead, I met one who asked me to change.
And I did.
I left that forest with nothing new—not wealth, not status—just the truth. Dharma is not comfort. And faith… is not always beautiful.
But it is enough.
And it is sacred.
—
Keywords: duty, karma, Hanuman, Hinduism, faith, Krishna
Themes: faith, dharma, transformation
Word Count: 598
Headline: Inside the Sacred Journey of The Story of Chhinnamasta
Subheadline: Why this ancient story still resonates with the soul
---
You won’t find my name written in any scripture. But I was there—just a humble temple apprentice when the goddess showed us the truth hidden in blood and silence.
It was deep in the forest that day. The trees held their breath. Even birds seemed to wait in awe.
We had been walking for hours—my guru, a few others, and me. They said we were going to a place where the goddess appeared not in sweetness, but in shocking clarity. I didn’t understand what that meant. I thought I knew the gods. I had memorized hymns to Hanuman, the devoted servant of Lord Rama, who exemplified bhakti and courage. I could speak of Lord Krishna’s leelas and the dharma he taught Arjuna in the Mahabharata.
But this story was different.
We arrived in silence—then we saw her.
A stone idol. Still. Fierce. Naked. Standing tall over two companions.
She held her own head.
Blood spurted from her neck, three streams—two feeding the companions, one flowing into her own mouth. Her smile was calm. Her gaze... clear. She was Chhinnamasta—“She who is severed, yet alive.”
I felt sick.
My guru whispered beside me, "This is not just a story of death, child. This is dharma, beyond our comfort.”
He told me her tale. Of how, long ago, the goddess—Shakti herself—rode with her two attendants, Dakini and Varnini. After a long battle with demons to restore cosmic balance, the goddess grew hungry, and so did her companions. They begged her for food.
She had nothing to give. So she offered herself.
Without hesitation, she cut off her own head. Blood flowed to nourish them. She fed them with her very life.
I couldn’t understand. Wasn’t that violence? Madness?
“No,” my guru said gently. “It is karmic truth. She gave, not because she was forced to, but because in absolute faith, she understood her dharma."
"Who feeds when no food remains? The mother.”
I looked back at the idol. So still, so terrifying. Yet I couldn't look away.
Chhinnamasta was full of contradictions—life and death, creation and destruction, selflessness and fierce will. She didn’t wait for the world to offer her a way. She became the way.
“She slays the ego,” my guru explained. “In a world where we fear hunger, scarcity, endings—Chhinnamasta shows we are not what we cling to. Not even this body.”
I was just fifteen, standing there barefoot on rough stone, overwhelmed. I had studied so many stories—of Krishna guiding Arjuna on duty without attachment, of Hanuman burning Lanka with faith in Lord Rama—but never one like this.
This was faith, stripped bare. Dharma, without the glory.
Chhinnamasta didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her act cut deeper than any sermon.
That night, back at the temple, I couldn’t sleep. The image of her—so calm, so complete—burned in my mind. I thought about my own life. About all the things I would never give up. My pride. My comforts. My image.
And I asked myself—what is my dharma, really? What would I give for it?
The next morning, as we lit lamps before the deities, I looked at the faces around me. Some came to pray for protection. Others for love or prosperity. But I had seen something else—the kind of faith that gives, even when empty. That sacrifices, not for reward, but because that is dharma.
Chhinnamasta’s story, as told in the Devi Bhagavatam, isn’t simple. It isn’t sweet. But it’s true.
We all must face moments like that—when duty feels impossible, when karma demands more than we think we can give. And in those moments, when we’ve run out of reasons, she teaches us to give anyway.
Because sometimes, the real transformation isn’t in gaining anything. It’s in letting go.
That day in the forest, I came looking for a goddess I could understand.
Instead, I met one who asked me to change.
And I did.
I left that forest with nothing new—not wealth, not status—just the truth. Dharma is not comfort. And faith… is not always beautiful.
But it is enough.
And it is sacred.
—
Keywords: duty, karma, Hanuman, Hinduism, faith, Krishna
Themes: faith, dharma, transformation
Word Count: 598
