14/03/2025
The 84 Mahasiddhas—wild adepts of India’s Ta***ic age—burned with śakti from dakinis and deities. Saraha, a Brahmin turned wanderer, met a dakini—“Her power strikes” (Doha 22)—her śaktipāta sparked nāda songs. Tilopa, sesame grinder, felt her jolt—“Her strike cuts through” (Ganges Mahamudra 6)—transmitting sahaja to Naropa. Kāṇhapa, Nath yogi, burned with Her bhava—“Her blaze ignites” (Caryapada 7)—his chants awoke souls. Ḍombīpa, washerman, rode Her tiger—“Her roar shines”—his touch stirred śakti. Luipa, prince turned beggar, ate Her filth—“Her gold awakens”—silence lit disciples. Śāntipa, scholar, saw Her vision—“Her burn frees”—teachings flowed unbound. Kukkuripa, dog-lover, heard Her howl—“Her call lights”—compassion woke villages. Virūpa, monk rebel, drank Her nectar—“Her flame flows”—stopping the sun, he sang. Nāgārjuna, alchemist, took naga venom—“Her wake shines”—kundalini surged, touch ignited. Śavaripa, hunter, felt Her gaze—“Her strike burns”—presence freed tribes. Mekhalā and Kanakhalā, dancer sisters, moved Her sever—“Her flow ignites”—their dance awoke crowds. Ghaṇṭāpa, bell-ringer, heard Her chime—“Her ring awakens”—sound stirred śakti. Kambalā, tailor, wove Her thread—“Her weave mends”—blankets carried grace.
Each Mahasiddha—lowly or royal—met Her śakti in cremation grounds, caves, or rivers. Dakinis—fierce, unbound—struck with śaktipāta, turbo-charging their paths. No effort—she danced free, her svātantrya their strength. From nāda to silence, tiger rides to venom, their siddhis marked her favor. Nāgārjuna’s naga coils, Kukkuripa’s howl—Her serpent śakti flowed, wild and divine, awakening all who crossed their paths.