She Who Carried My Liberation: A Mother’s Role in Shaping a Sannyāsi’s Destiny

 

Dilip Changkakoty

Zonal Representative, North East Zone – ICOMOS India
Spiritual Practitioner and Researcher in Indian Intangible Cultural Heritage

 

#Spiritual_Journey, #Sanātana_Dharma, #Sannyāsa, #Mother_Son_Bond, #Bael_Tree, #Indian_Mysticism, #Kulāchāra_Tantra, #Sannyāsa_Yoga, #Divine_Destiny, #Personal_Memoir

 

 

Abstract:

 

In this heartfelt spiritual memoir, the author reflects on the profound and sacred connection with his mother—a woman whose actions were guided by a force far beyond maternal instinct. From a premature birth to three powerful encounters with Sannyāsa Yoga, she shaped his journey toward renunciation with silent determination and divine foresight. Weaving together ancient wisdom, astrological revelations, Tantric rites, and mystical childhood memories under the sacred bael tree—where Lord Shiva is believed to reside—the narrative uncovers a life prepared not for the world, but for transcendence. This article invites readers into a rare and deeply personal path of liberation, where motherhood becomes the first Guru, and destiny reveals itself through grace.

 

 

The Mother Who Led Me to Renunciation

(A Spiritual Bond Beyond the Ordinary)

 

 

    In the realm of spiritual inheritance, there are mothers who nurture their children toward worldly success—and then there are those rare souls who shape their children’s destiny in alignment with the divine. My mother belonged to the latter.

    Our bond was unlike that of most mothers and sons. It was not built solely on affection, care, or guidance in the everyday sense. Instead, it was a bridge of subtle energy, forged by a spiritual purpose that neither of us could fully articulate in words—but both of us lived out in actions and silences. She was not simply the mother who gave me birth; she was the first Guru who turned me away from the transient and toward the eternal.

 

 Signs from Childhood: The Bael Tree and the Elves

    The signs of my spiritual journey were present even in my infancy. When I was barely two years old, I was obsessed with the bael (Wood Apple or Indian Quince) fruit. There was a bael tree just in front of our house, and whenever a ba(el fell, I would scream until someone from the house burned the fruit and fed it to me. It was only then that I would find peace. In our traditional belief, the bael tree is considered sacred—many say Lord Shiva Himself resides in it.

    Perhaps it is no coincidence that there is also a bael tree in front of my wife’s ancestral home. Until the age of four, I loved to play under its sheltering branches. My father, who possessed an intuitive spiritual eye, once revealed to us that he saw two ethereal beings—a male and a female elf—dwelling beneath that very tree. I believe to this day that these two beings never left me. They have walked silently with me through life, shielding me from danger, rescuing me from premature death more than once.

     There is a feeling deep within me, like a whisper from another realm that something in this world still waits for me — to complete a task left unfinished from lifetimes past.

 

 

A Birth beyond the Norm

     My very entry into this world carried the signature of the unusual. I was born prematurely, in the seventh month—delivered before time as though my mother, acting under a higher impulse, could not contain the urgency of my soul’s calling. Strangely, she carried three other children to full term, but for me, the clock was accelerated. Was it a coincidence? Or a divine signal?

     From that premature beginning, my life was guided by her spiritual influence. She drew me into sacred ceremonies, placed me in the orbit of powerful rituals, and repeatedly introduced me to the path of detachment from worldly life. She did not do this out of personal preference, but as if moved by an inner knowledge, a śakti beyond reason.

 

 A Spiritually Endowed Mother

    I must acknowledge—my mother was not an ordinary woman. She possessed an extraordinary spiritual intensity, a force so profound that it could penetrate consciousness itself. If she had declared that my body, soul, and spirit belonged to the path of Sannyāsa (renunciation), I would have obeyed without resistance. Her will was not controlling—it was sanctified. She never needed to command. Her silent intention shaped my direction.

     In Sanātana Dharma, a human being progresses through four life stages—Brahmacharya (student), Gṛhastha (householder), Vānaprastha (withdrawal), and Sannyāsa (renunciation). Indian astrology, too, has long held that certain horoscopic alignments signal the inevitability of ascetic life—what we call Sannyāsa Yoga.

     My father once consulted a renowned foreign astrologer who told him, with both awe and concern, that my horoscope bore not one but three powerful Sannyāsa Yogas. These were not faint possibilities—they were loud declarations of a spiritual life waiting to unfold.

     And in her unknowing wisdom, my mother became the divine instrument who pushed me toward that path—not once, but thrice.

 

Three Calls to Ascetic Life

     The first occurred after my father’s death. During the complex spiritual rituals surrounding my twinship, she led me directly toward the sannyāsi path. It was a turning point—but due to family fears, she called me back. It was as if she had lifted the veil for a moment, only to close it again.

     The second happened some 35 years ago, during a significant religious observance. She again encouraged my departure from worldly life, though neither of us fully understood the depth of the moment. Once again, the family’s resistance prevailed. But the call had been heard, and something within me was forever changed.

     The third—and final—moment was before my formal religious initiation. The Kulaguru asked for her permission to accept me as a disciple. Her words were calm, but carried the weight of surrender. She entrusted me to the Guru—not simply as a student, but as one who must walk the path of renunciation. Remarkably, the Guru initiated me directly into Kulāchāra—a profound Tantric lineage typically reserved for only the most spiritually prepared. It was an initiation rarely given, and in the most exceptional of circumstances. And again, she stood at the doorway between two worlds, allowing me to pass through.

 

 An Instrument of the Divine

    Looking back, I cannot help but believe that my mother was chosen by the Divine Father as a vessel of destiny. Without her unwavering will, her penetrating spiritual clarity, and her unshakable trust in the sacred, I could not have escaped the bondage of Māyā—the illusion that entraps the soul.

     She did not raise a son for the world. She prepared a soul for the path.

    This kind of spiritual mother-son connection is not only rare—it is nearly impossible. In the worldly sense, mothers worry, protect, and guide toward social security. My mother did something else entirely: she silently insisted that I was not meant to remain bound. And because of her, I began to walk the path that was waiting for me across lifetimes.

     Even now, I feel her presence—not just in memory, but as an active force in my consciousness. She was not only my origin; she was the śakti that awakened the deeper truths hidden within me. And in that sense, she did not only give me life—she gave me liberation.

     Who can refute the will of God? Certainly, not I…