Kubjika and Layasthana: The Return of the Hidden Goddess

Six years ago, I was looking for an artist name...not just an Instagram handle, but a vibration. I found "Layasthana" in a Sanskrit glossary by Swami Sivananda. The moment I saw it, I knew it was mine. “A place of dissolution,” it said. I immediately checked; no one else had claimed it. I changed my handle, started signing off as Layasthana, and settled into the name.

But a name like that doesn’t stay quiet. A year later, I dug deeper and found a definition on Wisdom Library that made my blood run cold:

Layasthāna (लयस्थान): Means “positioned in the body of Sadāśiva,” according to the Manthānabhairavatantra, a sprawling Tantric corpus concerned with the worship of the goddess Kubjikā.

Immediately, I was drawn to her. Who is she? She sounded incredibly familiar. I read about her being crooked, bent, having no consort, impregnating herself. I found the work of Dr. Mark Dyczkowski, the man who translated her mysteries into the 14 volumes of Manthānabhairavatantra. I saw his face...so graceful! And while Kubjika stayed in the back of my mind, the seeds were being sown.

The Breadcrumbs

A year later, I mentioned the Layasthana-Kubjika connection to someone. He stopped dead and sent me a photo of himself with a graceful man. It was Dr. Mark. It turned out this person had also been researching Her. It felt too right to be a coincidence.

Then came Mahashivratri 2023. I was talking to a lady named Ritu (wife of a famous photographer). I barely knew her, but I found myself mentioning the Manthanabhairava Tantra. She seemed inspired, though we lost touch shortly after.

Weeks later, I was in Nepal for a Linga Bhairavi consecration, but my soul was hunting for Kubjika. I realized She has no public temples; She is a secret kept by those who won't share. I was strolling through the Patan Square Museum with my friend Rasila, telling her about this hidden Goddess. She said, "Don't worry, we'll find her!" Moments later, she shouted: "Lakshmi!! Look!"

There She was. An old woman’s face, the exact face from the cover of the Kubjika Upanishad.

The Beautiful Blunder

Two years later, during a trip to Kamakhya (this story is for another post), I finished a painting of what I thought was Kubjika. I had the audacity to present it to Dr. Mark in person at an event in Kerala. He took one look and said, "This isn't Her. This looks like a form of Siddhi Lakshmi." He was right. Looking back at my Nepal photos from 2023, I realized I had actually photographed Siddhi Lakshmi at the museum in Patan Darbar Square and confused the two. I was embarrassed, but I made a silent vow: when I finally sat down to paint Her for real, it would be proper.

The Descent

Fast forward to 2025. Lakshman Gurukkal from Kalarigram approached me with the theme for Tantrotsav 2026. He looked at me and said one word: "Kubjika." The world stopped. She is not going to leave me!

I spent three months in deep research. I pored over chapters sent by Dr. Mark’s disciple, Raluca, and notes from video calls. I started the painting with an invocation of the Samvartamandalasutra in Dr. Mark’s own voice. It was extremely intense. Everything I had suppressed came screaming to the surface. I finished on the Amavasya of Dec 21st, 2025, handed it over, and felt I was done with Her. Of all the comments I received, my sister's stood out for me. She looked at the image and said it made her feel "ticklish"...a physical reaction to a metaphysical force.

The Rewire in the Basement

Two days later, I hit a whirlpool. I was at a breaking point, desperate to rewire my nervous system. A psychiatrist suggested antidepressants, but I refused. I was doing Osho’s dynamic meditation at home for catharsis, crying to Mahaganapati to stabilize my Mooladhara.

Then, the impossible: I looked for a psychology center and found "Bioenergy Psychology." It was located in the basement of my own building. What are the odds? For five weeks, the insights cascaded over me. I processed years of baggage until they felt like a closed chapter. I was finally healed, finally empty! Finally a Layasthana.

The Coronation

I made an impromptu trip to Auroville for the Tantrotsav preparations. I heard from someone that Gurukkal told them that when he first saw the artwork, it felt like the Goddess herself had arrived. Then came the moment I never could have dreamed of:

In the pooja space, after their daily Sri Chakra Pooja, Gurukkal asked me to sit on a peetham. He invited Raluca ji to honor me with a saree and tamboolam, seeking the Devi’s blessings through me for the success of the festival. It was electric. To be honored as the vessel for this secret Goddess from Nepal was the privilege of a lifetime. I had a long discussion with Raluca Ji after who told me several other details about the goddess, including Her yantra, mantra and techniques of worship.

The Final Echo

I went back there in time for Tantrotsav. It just felt right to be there when a Goddess like Kubjika was being invoked. What was initially a two-day trip just to listen to Raluca Ji's talks turned into a two-week-long stay that I can only call "explosive."

A week after returning from the high-voltage energy of Kalarigram, I got a call. It was Ritu.

"Do you remember me?" she asked. She told me I had planted Kubjika in her head three years ago and she hadn't stopped looking for her since. I got her in touch with Raluca ji immediately. A few weeks ago, I heard the news: Ritu is getting initiated.

The Stillness After the Strike

I look back at that six-year-old glossary entry by Swami Sivananda and I realize that "Layasthana" was never just a name for my art. It was a premonition. To be a "place of dissolution" is a heavy calling; it means you must be willing to let everything that is not you burn away until only the Goddess remains.

Dr. Mark passed away a year ago, leaving behind a sprawling, secret map of the "Crooked One." I used to wonder why I was the one haunted by Her face in museums and Her name in ancient texts. I used to wonder why the universe led me to a basement in my own building to rewire my nervous system just as She was ready to be painted.

But spending the Mahashivratri night in Kalarigram, draped in a saree that felt like a mantle of responsibility, the questions stopped.

It wasn't that She needed me; it was that the Transmission needed a landing strip. The "crooked" path...the nervous system collapse, the basement rewiring, the years of "Siddhi Lakshmi" blunders, was just the clearing of the ground. She didn't want a temple of stone; She wanted to be felt in the "tickle" of a sister’s skin and the initiation of a friend who had been carrying Her name for three years without knowing why.

I am mostly in awe now. The "how" doesn't matter. I am simply the Shukravahini...the carrier of a seed that was planted long before I was born.

The Goddess is no longer a mystery to be solved; She is a presence that has reclaimed its place in the red earth.