The return from the west : A humanist tale

chapter Two

Shakti Sadhana

One of the members messaged her privately. “You might enjoy this other group it’s called Shakti Sadhana.” She didn’t think too much of it. Just clicked the link and joined. She didn’t understand a word.

The posts were full of Sanskrit terms, scriptural quotes, and esoteric references that meant nothing to her. She tried to read but nothing stuck. So instead, she wandered into the group’s photo albums, and that’s when something caught her attention ........

All the pictures of the deities every single one were female. Fierce ones. Gentle ones. Blood-soaked ones. Sky-dancing ones. There were no male gods. None. She scrolled through image after image all of Shakti in her many forms.

It was strange and yet strangely beautiful. She had never seen a spiritual space where the feminine was central, not symbolic, not secondary, not supportive but everything. And even though she didn’t understand the language of the posts, she understood something else: This was not just worship but reverence.

And it was rooted in the power of the goddess. That intrigued her. She didn’t say anything in the group. Just watched. She had entered as an outsider. She stayed that way for a while, but something had begun to stir within her. As she was browsing the group, she noticed the list of members currently online.

Yahoo Groups had that feature it showed who was active at the time, especially the admins. One name caught her eye: devi-bhakta. It was listed as one of the group moderators. She assumed it was a woman. Devi sounded feminine, and in her mind, that was enough. She had no idea that bhakta meant “devote” so, she decided to reach out. She opened a private message window and typed: “Hello.”

Then, curious and unfiltered, followed up with: “How come all the pictures in the group album are female? No male gods at all?” She didn’t know it then but this message, sent with complete innocence and zero expectations, would be the start of everything. She got a reply almost immediately. That was the first time she came across the word Shakta.

Devi Bhakta patiently explained, Shaktas, she was told, are devotees of the Divine Feminine, not as a side deity, but as the Supreme. The source of creation. The destroyer of illusion. The Mother of all. No male gods were needed in that equation. Shakti was everything. It was new to her. Strange, but intriguing.

She replied with curiosity. And then, cautiously, she sent over her Kali shrine photos, the same ones she had shared with the pagan group as she was told people in the Shakti Sadhana will appreciate the photos too. To her surprise, the response was warm. Encouraging, even. Devi Bhakta told her those photos were beautiful, that they belonged in the group. They captured something real, something devotional even if she hadn’t meant them to. No one had said that to her before.

Not in those words ad without judgment. That opened something in her. A little more than curiosity and a little less than surrender. That’s how the conversations began. One question turned into two. Then ten. Every night, they chatted about Hindu spiritualism, the Goddess, ritual, energy, the symbolism of the Mahavidya’s, the concept of balance, the dangers of ego. Sometimes, the chats stretched till 2 or 3 in the morning. She’d go to bed with a buzzing mind and wake up still thinking. There was no pressure. No preaching. Just gentle, unfolding conversation.

And after about a week of this, she paused. Who was this person behind the name Devi Bhakta? Someone who had been patient. Articulate and willing to explain without making her feel foolish. Someone who answered questions without preaching, and left space for her to think. She had assumed naturally that Devi Bhakta was a woman. From her experience, most Indian girls’ names began with Devi, followed by their given name.

It made sense. Devi was the Goddess. Surely the one devoted to her must be female too. And there was something about the tone of the messages, calm, firm, but never forceful, that made her feel like she was speaking to someone maternal. Or at least womanly. She didn’t question it as all this is new to her. Still absorbing more than analyzing. But what stayed with her was the feeling that whoever Devi Bhakta was, is a person with weight of experience. Not just book knowledge, but lived insight.

This person didn’t just talk about Shakti but understood her. A photo appeared. And that’s when it happened. Her brain got short circuit. It was a man. A Caucasian man. Older, or maybe around her age it was hard to tell, and based in America. Dignified. Sharp-eyed. The kind of face that made you sit up straighter, instinctively more polite. This wasn’t Devi. Not in the way she had imagined. She stared at the screen, confused. Read the username again: Devi Bhakta. Still the same.The name hadn’t changed, only her assumption.

She didn’t reply right away. Just sat there, processing the glitch between what she expected and what she saw. Eventually, she typed: “You’re… a man?” The reply came back with a laughing emoji. “Yes. I thought you knew.” She didn’t. But somehow, she wasn’t upset. Just short circuited. Eventually, she found her words again. Still a little dazed, still recalibrating, she typed: “Why would a man want to worship a Devi? Shouldn’t you be worshipping a male god like Hanuman, Ganesha, Krishna or Shiva?” It wasn’t meant to be rude.

She was genuinely curious. In her world, men worshipped male gods. Women, maybe both. But a man devoted only to the goddess? That was new. In the world she grew up, god is address as HE. The reply came, as always, calmly: “Because the Devi is not just a goddess. She is the source of all energy. Even the male gods draw their power from her.” He followed with a line from the scriptures something about Shakti being the force without which even Shiva is a corpse. She didn’t fully understand it then. But it stuck with her. And in that moment, something inside her had moved.

The goal post had been shifted. She wasn’t quite sure what the new rules were yet, but she knew she couldn’t keep playing by the old ones. She started to see something new. Not in the idols. Not even in the goddess, not yet, but in the possibility that what she had been taught might not be the whole truth. She wasn’t convinced. She wasn’t converted. But something had opened. A crack in the wall. A light, just enough to make her want to look again.

And that was enough to keep going. She didn’t fully understand it then. But it stuck with her and she started thinking, “Maybe there's something here I’ve been missing.” and that was enough to keep the conversation going. And indeed, it went on, growing more intense by the day.

Devi Bhakta began suggesting books: studies on the Mahavidya, essays on the divine feminine, scholarly interpretations of Shakti and her manifestations. She ordered them online, devouring each one late into the night. Then, without warning, Devi Bhakta appointed her as his assistant, one of the moderators in the group. He didn’t ask. He simply said, “Time for you to come in and be active. If you ever wish to step away, you can.”

But she didn’t. Something, she couldn’t say what made her stay. Perhaps it was belonging. Or perhaps it was purpose. But not everyone was happy about it. To many, she was still a stranger an unknown name from the Southeast, a Malay woman with a Muslim background. Even though they knew she had long left that faith, suspicion lingered. How could someone like her be trusted to speak on matters of Devi?

That’s when the hate mails began. And for the first time in her life, she learned what it meant to be hated for existing in the wrong place. Several made fun of her openly right there in the public forum. But she didn’t react. As a nurse, she’d seen far worse, pain, anger, fear dressed up as arrogance.

People lashing out because they didn’t understand. This was nothing new. So she tolerated it. She told herself she was still learning, and learning was never meant to be comfortable. This, too, was part and parcel of the process.