Sadhguru says that Devi Chinnamasta, with her severed head in hand, taught me that true liberation demands the surrender of all he thought I was. In the silence of Rajarappa, where rivers merge and shadows dance, Avdhut found that the fiercest journey was within.
Mystic Journey | Rajarappa | October 06, 1989
The fog clung to the early morning air as Sadhguru stepped onto the sacred grounds of Rajarappa, the legendary confluence of the Damodar and Bhera rivers. The sun’s first light cast long, slanting shadows over the dense forest surrounding the ancient temple complex. It was a place where legends whispered through the trees, where each stone bore witness to the eternal dance of life and death, creation and destruction. Here, Devi Chinnamasta, the fierce, self-decapitated goddess, was revered—a deity embodying the paradoxes that Sadhguru had come to confront within himself.
Sadhguru felt a profound sense of purpose and awe as he gazed at the temple from a distance. The temple’s aura was unlike anything he’d felt before; it resonated with an intensity that seemed to hum through the ground beneath his feet. The river murmured a low, constant chant of nature herself, a chorus of flow and surrender. The mist rolled along the banks, heavy with an ancient energy that wrapped around him, almost as if the temple itself were a living, breathing entity. This was where Sadhguru would undertake his sadhana, and in his heart, he felt the pull of Devi Chinnamasta’s fierce, liberating presence.
Under the storm-lit skies of Rajarappa, learned that to embrace the goddess was to embrace the sacred paradox of creation, maintenance and destruction.
Settling by the riverside, he laid out a simple spot for his sadhana. Stones and leaves became his cushion, a single clay lamp his offering. Each breath, each movement was deliberate, a merging with the natural world around him. In his mind, he carried stories of Devi Chinnamasta—a fierce goddess who had severed her head, letting her blood flow to nourish her companions. Her violent and nurturing form symbolized the surrender of the ego and the liberation of the soul. Sadhguru knew this would be his journey—to confront and surrender his very self.
Days passed as Sadhguru immersed himself in meditation, chanting her name with every breath, feeling the weight of his desires and fears rise to the surface. On the first night of deep meditation, as darkness blanketed the temple grounds, he felt a presence—a stirring energy that sent shivers through his spine. In the flickering shadows, he saw fleeting visions of Devi, fierce and luminous, her severed head held aloft, blood cascading in three streams. The sight was both terrifying and mesmerizing. She was death and life, liberation and bondage. And though the vision left him trembling, it strengthened his resolve to delve deeper.
Each night, Sadhguru sat under the canopy of stars, feeling himself dissolve into the natural world, becoming part of the flow of energy that surged through the temple grounds. His sadhana intensified. He abstained from food and water, relying on his breath alone until he was sustained by nothing but the sacred mantra that pulsed through him like a second heartbeat. His mind wrestled with visions and symbols, facing shadows that emerged from within him, each one demanding to be confronted, questioned, and released.
On a particularly stormy night, as lightning shattered the sky and thunder rolled like distant drums, he slipped into a trance. In his heightened state, he felt the presence of voices—a chorus of ancient seekers who had once worshipped at this very place, searching for the same liberation he now sought. Their whispers swirled in his consciousness, voices of those who had succeeded and those who had failed, lives dedicated to devotion and sacrifice. The voices grew louder, a symphony of longing and enlightenment that resonated deep within his soul, as though his name was being chanted from the depths of time.
One evening, while seated in the inner sanctum of the temple, Sadhguru sensed another presence—a subtle, powerful energy nearby. The rakshaks, the temple’s invisible guardians, were testing him. Though he could see nothing, he felt the warmth of their auras surrounding him, watching him, evaluating his dedication. As he focused, their forms became clearer, shadowy figures with burning eyes, draped in ethereal garments, wielding ancient mudras of protection. They sent illusions his way, materializing mirages of desire and fear, questioning his resolve to abandon all attachment. But Sadhguru’s heart remained unwavering. One by one, the illusions melted away, and the guardians, satisfied, blessed him. One figure, a fierce Tantric practitioner from ages past, imparted a mystical mantra, a vibration that resonated with the deepest parts of his being, empowering his sadhana further.
As his practices deepened, Sadhguru’s visions grew more intense. In one such vision, he stood knee-deep in the red river of Devi Chinnamasta’s blood. He watched in awe as the three streams gushed forth from her severed neck, each representing a primal force—creation, preservation, and dissolution. In the blood-soaked water, symbols appeared before him: lotuses, serpents, and blazing yantras, each one a fragment of hidden knowledge, each one unravelling a piece of himself and the universe. He felt her shakti course through him, binding him to her rhythm of existence and destruction. In this vision, he understood that to channel her energy, he had to master these cycles within himself, harmonizing the tumult of life with the serenity of surrender.
One day, as dawn broke, a black crow appeared, watching him intently as he meditated. The bird, a mystical messenger between worlds, seemed to call him to perform a ritual. In a trance, Sadhguru gathered sticks, lit a sacred fire, and chanted verses of homage to Devi. Flames flickered in shades of deep blue and violet, reflecting the divine beings who had once performed this very ritual, calling upon Devi for liberation. The crow’s presence seemed to guide him, a spectral companion in his rites, blessing him as he delved deeper into the mysteries of Chinnamasta.
Then, one early dawn, he encountered a wandering Aghori Tantrik—a fierce, ash-smeared figure with eyes that held a fire of divine madness. The Aghori spoke cryptic words of wisdom, hinting that Devi’s path was not just one of worship but of inner reckoning, a descent into the darkest shadows within. “Face the final death,” the Aghori said, “surrender your name, your form, your very being.” With these words, he applied sacred ash to Sadhguru’s forehead and chest, triggering a surge of energy that seemed to unleash Devi’s raw, untamed essence within him.
One night, Sadhguru found himself transported to a celestial realm where Devi Chinnamasta danced before him, her movements both beautiful and terrifying, embodying the creation’s heartbeat. Her eyes met his, searing his soul with compassion and ferocity alike. She invited him to join her in the cosmic dance, and as he matched her steps, he felt his sense of self dissolve completely, merging into the rhythm of her being, an experience of unity so profound that he lost all awareness of his form.
As the days wore on, his journey drew to an end. Sitting by the riverbank at dawn, he felt an indescribable calm wash over him. The rising sun painted the sky in hues of gold, and for the first time, he saw Devi not as a fierce goddess but as an embodiment of pure love. A white lotus drifted down the river, stopping just beside him—a final blessing. He picked it up, feeling her presence in the soft petals, the petals as soft as his newfound clarity. His transformation was complete; his ego dissolved, leaving only the divine will of Devi Chinnamasta flowing through him.
He rose from the banks of Rajarappa, now a vessel of Devi’s cosmic energy. As he left, his heart swelled with gratitude. His journey had brought him face-to-face with his darkest fears, his deepest truths, and the boundless grace of a goddess who was both liberator and destroyer.
