Devi Vandana(updated version)

It was 5 a.m. The world still whispered in softness, and the first light of dawn appeared in the sky as crimson hues. Debi moved quietly through her home, completing her daily chores with a sense of urgency before stepping into the puja room.

She began by cleaning the altar, wiping away the dust as though clearing the clutter within her own thoughts. Every movement was mindful, every gesture an offering.

She lit the lamp, and as the flame flickered, it filled the room with a warm, golden glow, like a silent prayer rising upward. One by one, she arranged the garlands, each flower chosen with care.Each strand was placed delicately around the image of the Devi, as if adorning Her beloved presence. Her fingers lingered as she gently caressed the picture of her Devi, a touch filled with love, reverence, and an unspoken intimacy. With tender devotion, she draped the sari around Her, adjusting its folds as a daughter would for her mother.

In the kitchen, her offerings had already taken shape. She cut fresh vibrantly coloured fruits, with a sharp stainless-steel knife, for naivaidyam. The soft aroma of payesam filled the air, sweet and comforting, prepared with the same care one reserves for someone deeply cherished.She sat down quietly, her spine straight, her breath slowing. The world outside faded away.In the gentle glow of the lamp, surrounded by fragrance and stillness, she closed her eyes in meditation.

The Goddess was cloaked in crimson, the very embodiment of strength. Her dark image held an irresistible radiance, not one that dazzled the eyes, but one that quietly drew the soul closer. Every flicker of the oil lamps seemed to deepen the mystery of Her presence. Her eyes were vast and luminous, carrying the stillness of eternity. Her tongue was red with blood, and Her axe glistened in the frame. Those eyes seemed to have witnessed every sorrow and every joy that had ever lived. There was neither judgment nor expectation in them, only an unfathomable knowing. She was fierce enough to shatter fear, yet tender enough to gather every wounded heart. And in that silence, her devotion deepened, no longer in actions, but in presence.

Debi knew that fulfilment would come when she became one with her Devi. But how does one surrender completely? The never-ending 'I' kept returning, again, in one form or another. 

I am not good enough or I am better than others; in pain and in pleasure.

What does it feel like when you lose everything?Maybe empty or stuck or caged.The body stiffens. The breath grows rapid, as if trying to break free. Yet the mind freezes. One cannot put into words what is happening or even ask for help. It is a numb state. And yet, the pain remains, intensified by panic, by echoes of past thoughts.
But what she had always longed for was simply to be heard. Just someone's presence to be held and to be allowed to feel.She realized it was okay to be vulnerable and to be overwhelmed. It was also okay for her nervous system to tremble and tire. But when she was not herself completely, how could she surrender?

Or was that the best time to surrender, as the 'I' was slowly fading?

Was this Devi's Leela? Slashing the 'I' unapologetically with Her axe.

Dancing with a garland made not of flowers, but of all the shattered selves, one had once clung to.
So that one day, Debi would not just worship Her but become Her.

Debi's family was loving, always ready to help, often going out of their way for her. And yet, something within her felt uncomfortable. 

A quiet restlessness lingered. A feeling that she had to do more. That she was not enough.There were two parts within her.

One whispered, 'You are not good enough.'

The other rose in resistance, gently but firmly, reminding her of all the times she had not given up. Even when her bones felt as though they were breaking with pain, when her heart pounded against her chest, when her breath tightened and her body contracted, something within her still rose, victorious.In those moments, it felt as though Devi Herself had picked her up, held her in Her palms, and breathed new life into her. 

Even in those moments, she was enough, because she tried. Our duty, she felt, is only to keep striving, not to force outcomes. That is not in our hands. To keep trying, in pain and in joy. To keep the energy moving. And perhaps, that itself is the true alignment with nature.

The flame before her flickered. Debi opened her eyes. For a moment, the room seemed different.The Goddess in the frame was still there, cloaked in crimson, Her fierce eyes watching over her. But something had changed.The axe no longer seemed merely to belong to the Goddess. It seemed to be waiting. Debi reached toward the image. Her fingers closed around the wooden handle. It was impossible. The axe was only an image, only a representation carved into the sacred form before her. And yet, she could feel its weight of the cold metal. She could feel its power as she lifted it.

For the first time, she understood, the axe was not meant to destroy the world. It was meant to cut away whatever was not true. The voice that said, ' You are not good enough. 'The voice that demanded, ‘You must be better.'The need to be understood or validated and the fear of disappointing others. The endless identities she had gathered and carried as though they were her own skin. One by one, she could let them go. Her grip tightened around the axe. She did not raise it in anger. She raised it with clarity. 

And as she brought it down, she felt something inside her loosen.

 The axe was passed to her, not as a burden, not as a weapon against another, but as a reminder. Whenever needed, she could wield it.She could cut away the unnecessary. She could cut through fear, shame and the false, ' I 'and through everything that kept her from being present to what she truly was. The Goddess had never asked her to become someone else.Perhaps She had only been waiting for Debi to discover who she was beneath everything she had been trying so desperately become.

Debi looked at the Devi. For the first time, she did not feel separate. She bowed her head in complete surrender. And somewhere between the devotee and the Divine, between the hand that worshipped and the hand that wielded the axe, the distance began to disappear. Perhaps this was Devi's Leela to find courage to cut away everything that was never truly her. Debi smiled.

The lamp continued to burn.

And the axe rested quietly in Her hand.