If the Goddess had a heartbeat… it would sound like laughter.
Not thunder. Not silence.
But a soft, playful laughter that somehow knows everything.
In the Meru Tantra, there is a luminous hymn; the Daśavidyāmayī Bala Stotra that reveals something quietly radical.
The ten great Mahavidyas are not separate, distant powers.
They are expressions of one gentle presence: Bala Parameshwari.
Her face shines as Matangi,
her eyes see as Tara,
her brow holds Bhairavi,
her form flows through even the austere Dhumavati,
and her feet rest as Kamalā.
All that is vast, fierce, and mysterious…
lives inside a form so simple, it almost disarms you.
In the story of Lalita Tripura Sundari, Bala is called her heart.
Not poetry. A clue.
Because what is the “heart” of the Goddess?
It is not philosophy.
It is not power.
It is the first feeling.
Bala is Sthūla Śakti: the most tangible presence of the Divine.
Before visions… before kundalini… before mystical experiences…
there is something softer.
A presence you can feel.
A comfort you don’t need to understand.
That is Bala.
She doesn’t test you.
She doesn’t overwhelm you.
She simply… takes your hand.
And here is the paradox.
The infinite, formless Goddess chooses to appear as a child.
A laughing Kumari.
Playing in the very world we are trying to escape.
She doesn’t pull you out immediately.
She meets you exactly where you are…
and only then, gently, leads you inward.
Nowhere is this more alive than at Kamakhya Temple.
Yes, it is the great Yoni Pīṭha:the womb of existence.
But it is also something else.
A playground.
Here, the Goddess doesn’t just sit in stone.
She runs… laughs… teases.
There are stories of intense sādhakas suddenly breaking into childlike laughter.
Even Sri Amritananda Saraswati is said to have experienced her here as Balambika; not as power, but as presence.
Once, after a period of japa, I sat in a quiet Devi temple.
Like most of us, I was hoping; politely for a “sign.”
Instead… I heard giggling.
I opened my eyes.
A little girl in red.
Anklets ringing.
Running. Playing. Completely unconcerned with my seriousness.
Then came her mother; regal, silent, also draped in red.
The child ran to her, held her hand… and they walked away.
Same. Yet different.
Later that day, a parcel arrived.
Inside it… a small murti of Bala Parameshwari.
Smiling.
As if she had already answered.
That is Bala.
She is the worshipped.
She is the worshipper.
She is the beginning.
And perhaps the most comforting truth of all
You don’t have to become spiritual to meet her.
You just have to be… a little open.
If something in these words stirred not curiosity, but recognition, you may already be closer than you think. Step gently into our Tantra circle: https://shorturl.at/4Fs5a a space where the Divine is not chased, but slowly experienced… just as Bala first reveals herself.
Wishing all a shubha Chaitra Navaratri
Joy Ma
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