Goddess Is a Mother, Not a Business Opportunity

Goddess Is a Mother, Not a Business Opportunity

The evening we arrived in Kolkata, the air felt heavy with anticipation. I had been waiting for this day — Dakshineshwar, Ramakrishna Ghat, and finally, the long-awaited Kalighat.

Dakshineshwar

The next morning, we began with Dakshineshwar. But the first sight inside was not serene — it was people fighting in the queue. Three separate fights in barely an hour. The heat was unbearable; sweat clung to my skin like a second layer. I whispered almost absentmindedly, “Maa, Baba, it’s so hot…”

And then, without warning, the clouds rolled in. A cool breeze wrapped itself around me, and the sweat dried instantly. In that moment, I knew — she had heard.

As we inched forward, I wasn’t thinking of seeing Dakshineshwar’s Kali as everyone knew her. Somewhere deep inside, I felt certain: I would see my Maa Adya. She was waiting for me.

The moment I touched the stairs to her sanctum and leaned forward, I caught my first glimpse. My heart skipped. She was beautiful — indescribably so. My inner self saying Jai Maa Adya,” which had been flowing silently in my mind, fell still. In its place, an image bloomed — not Dakshineshwar’s traditional left-foot-forward Kali, but my own maa Adya, right foot on Shiva’s chest, exactly as I’ve always held her in my heart.

But as I stepped closer, reality hit. Three priests stood there; two of them were handing out flowers — but only after taking money. When I stretched out my hands, they ignored me. My eyes shifted from them to her, my own mother, whose flowers I was being denied.

My legs carried me back three steps, retreating behind a pillar. I simply stood there, staring at her, thinking, Why, Maa? No answer came, only her silent gaze. I left quietly, stepping into the taxi that waited outside.

Ramakrishna Ghat

Our next stop was Ramakrishna Ghat. The Ganga there was calm, her waters glinting in the sun. The temple nearby radiated peace. As I stood listening to my Guruji’s voice through my earphones, the tension from Dakshineshwar began to dissolve.

Kalighat

The streets near Kalighat were alive with sound — bells ringing, vendors calling out, the hum of pilgrims’ footsteps. My heart was beating faster. This was the Kalighat, the Shakti Peetha, the place where a part of my Maa had fallen.

But the moment we reached the temple entrance, a priest pounced — not with folded hands, but with demands: “This much money, that much money.” His tone was sharp, transactional.

We moved past and headed towards the garbha griha. And there she was — Maa Kali’s vigraham, radiant in the dim sanctum. My eyes softened.

But just behind her… chaos.

Shouting.

A woman holding a child was shoved.

And the one doing the shoving was not a pilgrim — it was a priest. The same hands that offer flowers to my Maa were pushing away her children.

Fights broke out near the sanctum. The air was thick with irritation instead of bhakti. Then the priest’s voice rang out again:

“Give me one thousand rupees. Either pay, or don’t take her blessing.”

I stood there, stunned. Sad. Angry. Maa’s own home had become a marketplace.

When we stepped outside, I paused at the dwarpal — Bhairava, her guardian. I looked at him and silently complained:

“Ye sab kya ho raha hai idhar?”

No reply came. I simply walked away but knows baba will take care of it

Jai maa adya

Jai bhairav baba