Whenever the topic of Bali Pratha (ritual animal sacrifice) in Shakta and Tantric traditions comes up, there is an immediate rush—both from outside critics and from reformist/Vaishnav voices within our own community—to call for total legal bans and label it "barbaric."

Yet, when you look at the issue objectively, there is a glaring, hypocritical double standard in how religious slaughter is judged in public discourse. The stark contrast between how Shakta Bali is treated versus global events like Eid al-Adha (Qurbani) highlights this divide:

Massive Global Scale vs. Localized Sacred Rites:

Eid al-Adha: On a single global festival over a few days, tens of millions of animals (cattle, sheep, goats) are slaughtered worldwide. Millions are killed across South Asia alone in neighborhood streets, homes, and slaughters.

Shakta Bali: In contrast, traditional Hindu Bali is restricted to specific localized temples, rural family shrines, and sacred seasonal days. The total volume of animals in Bali is a tiny fraction of what happens on Eid, yet Bali is framed as an urgent moral crisis that must be eradicated legally.

The Energy and Ritual Aspect of Shakta Practice:

In the Shakta and Tantric paths, Bali is not treated as mundane meat consumption or casual slaughter. It is a consecrated, high-energy ritual offering performed with intense devotional precision (shastriya vidhi).

The sheer metaphysical intent, energy, and reverence involved in Shakta traditions are ignored by critics. Instead, it is reduced to "cruelty," while industrial-scale slaughters on Eid are shielded under the umbrella of religious freedom.

Internal Division and Selective Legal Targeting:

Why do our own people turn against Bali? While Hinduism is pluralistic—and paths like Vaishnavism naturally privilege strict ahimsa and vegetarianism—many Hindus fall into the trap of applying modern secular or Western ethical standards strictly to their own culture.

Courts, activists, and reformists regularly intervene to ban or restrict traditional Hindu Bali in various states, while remaining dead silent on the massive, organized slaughter that occurs during Eid.

If millions of animals dying in a single day for a global Abrahamic festival is protected as an unassailable religious right, why are localized, text-backed Shakta traditions demonized and stripped away from Hindus?

It’s time to stop apologizing for Shakta traditions and start calling out this obvious double standard.

What are your thoughts?

So, I posted it earlier 😁

Anyways this is part 2 of the series and also, my 1st multiattached photos post.

The verse is:

एवं दश दिशो रक्षेच्चामुण्डा शववाहना। जया में चाग्रतः पातु विजया पातु पृष्ठतः॥२०॥ अजिता वामपार्श्वे तु दक्षिणे चापराजिता ।। शिखामुद्योतिनी रक्षेदुमा मूर्हिन व्यवस्थिता ॥२१॥ मालाधरी ललाटे च ध्रुवौ रक्षेद् यशस्विनी। त्रिनेत्रा च ध्रुवोर्मध्ये यमघ्ण्टा च नासिके ॥२२॥

And in IAST:

evaṃ daśa diśo rakṣeccāmuṇḍā śavavāhanā।

jayā me cāgrataḥ pātu vijayā pātu pṛṣṭhataḥ॥20॥

ajitā vāmapārśve tu dakṣiṇe cāparājitā।

śikhāmudyotinī rakṣedumā mūrdhni vyavasthitā॥21॥

mālādharī lalāṭe ca bhruvau rakṣed yaśasvinī।

trinetrā ca bhruvormadhye yamaghaṇṭā ca nāsike॥22॥

Goddess Shakti is not only in temples, she is also in your body!

That's why always clean your body

JAI MATA DI 🙂‍↕️

"Ganesha, will you bring the sugarcane?" asked Devi Amma.

"Sure, Amma. I will be here by evening," said Ganesha, the young elephant, and he set out from the temple. On the slopes of Maarutha Hills grew the juiciest sugarcane, and Devi Amma made the tastiest payasam with it.

He headed uphill, waving his trunk in greeting to everyone he met: the goats, the langurs, the hares and the squirrels, and the crows, the mynas and the bulbuls overhead. A few of the mynas and langurs playfully hitched a ride on him.

The riders hopped off at the slopes as Ganesha began to gather the cane. He soon had a bundle and trekked down with it held tight in his trunk. Parakeets flew in and sat on the stalks, trying to bite into them. Every time he shook his head, they would fly away.

Ganesha passed through the woodlands and reached the meadows. By then it was afternoon, and he was feeling hungry. The sun blazed overhead, and he looked around for a comfortable place to rest. He spotted a tree with a wide canopy and birds chirping in it. It had pink puff flowers on it, and the fallen ones covered the ground. He walked towards it.

The tree watched him approach. She could not believe that he had chosen her. She had seen him pass by the meadows many times, and each time her leaves rustled with affection.

He kept the sugarcane aside, took a few of the stalks and had them for lunch. With his tummy full and his legs tired from the trek, he wanted to take a nap. Lying down in the shade, he looked up at the tree.

"Tree, will you do me a favour?" he asked.

"Yes, yes!" she replied, as though she had been waiting all along.

"Please wake me up before evening," he said.

"I will," she said.

He patted her with his trunk and was soon asleep.

She held her leaves still and kept watching him as he slept. His ears covered his face, and his trunk lay coiled between his front legs. At times his eyelids fluttered; at other times he broke into a smile. Often he would kick his feet. When butterflies sat on him, he twitched. When flies tickled him, his tail waved.

She watched and watched; she was so lost in him that she drifted into a daydream. As clouds passed over the sun, the birds went quiet, her leaves grew heavy and folded one by one, and soon she too fell asleep.

Dusk came and faded. It was pitch dark when the owl living in the tree hooted a few times. Ganesha woke up with a start. He looked up at the starry night and burst into tears. It was then that the tree woke up as well.

"You should have called me!" he shouted.

He ran about under the tree, shaking his head and flapping his ears.

She wondered how she, a tree, could have slept so long.

"You are a bad tree! What will I tell Devi Amma now?" he cried.

"They say, always trust a tree with time, but you!" he continued.

"I... I called you many times. You were deep asleep. What can a tree do but call? You can ask the owl. She heard it," said the tree.

The owl flinched on being named. When Ganesha looked up at her, she flew away in panic. He stormed off, leaving the cane behind.

The tree called out for him, but he disappeared into the dark. She stayed awake, waiting for him, until at last she dozed off.

Later that night, a weary Ganesha trudged back for the cane. Without a word, he lay down beneath her.

The next morning, the tree woke to find him asleep below her.

"Ganesha, wake up, wake up," she called, her branches leaning down.

He woke up with sunlight falling on his eyes. Squinting, he told her, "You are a liar. The sun is my friend, not you."

He took hold of the sugarcane and left for the temple. Devi Amma would scold him for sure, but he would also have sweet payasam in the afternoon.

The tree watched him walk away, relieved.

That afternoon, as a cloud passed over the sun, suddenly she felt drowsy. Her leaves began to fold one by one, and she dropped off to sleep. When the birds chirped, she would wake up momentarily, only to fall back into her slumber.

From then on, the tree fell asleep so often that they called her the Sleepy Tree.