Out of all the chakras, why would only the Ajna have its beej mantra as 'OM'? This question stayed with me during meditation sessions that always begin the same way: Close your eyes, focus on the breathing, and bring all your awareness to the centre of the eyebrows. Over time, we begin to visualize that bright, enchanting light within us—spreading through the entire body, radiating its beam beyond.
The Ajna Chakra. The third eye
chakra. And when speaking of the third eye, how can I not speak of Mahadeva?
I have kept myself free from the
clutches of attachment to any particular sect, religious belief, or ritual. As
a kid, it was my mother who was my anchor. She still remains there—she is my
ritual. Most things were done because "Mom said so!" Over time, when
logic began questioning the doings, my generation carried the fear of
"What if?" The generation I see now carries only "If it's me, I
proceed!" Somewhere in between these worlds, I'm trying to find my
footing—trying to balance the soul in what feels unmistakably like Kaliyuga.
I see it in the youth who scrolls
through social media during lunch, curating a life that exists only in filtered
frames. I see it in myself when I check my phone immediately after meditation,
as if the silence needed to be filled. This is the decay I'm speaking of—not
some distant mythological darkness, but the everyday fragmentation of
attention, the constant noise drowning out the whisper of something deeper.
I close my eyes, and there he is.
Shiva—not as Nataraja dancing in a temple, not as Bhairava with his fierce
gaze, but as something quieter. He's not consuming the poison of the ocean this
time; he's absorbing this modern toxicity, this fracturing of presence. And in
that absorption, something in me recognizes itself. For me, Ajna chakra is
where my Mahadeva resides—not as a deity separate from me, but as my own
consciousness watching itself. Shiva becomes the witness within, the part of me
that remains still while everything else churns.
This is what the third eye
offers: the capacity to observe without being consumed. To see the craving, the
expectation, the discontent—not from within the storm, but from that quiet
centre between the eyebrows.
Yet the awakening sometimes takes
a back seat. Consciousness takes regular naps in the intervals. The cravings
seek appreciation surrounded by unbounded expectations, and then comes the pain
of discontent. This is precisely why activating the third eye chakra matters—it
enables that gateway connecting our human experience to higher consciousness,
linking to the pineal gland where ancient yogis believed the soul's vision
resides.
Balancing this indigo-lit chakra
answers questions we sometimes fail to ask ourselves: "Am I a machine
working with a switch on and switch off mode?" And the bigger question:
What is your purpose in life?
At this, I remember the core
principle of Karma Yoga: Karmanye Vadhikaraste, Maa Phaleshu Kadachana, Maa
Karma Phala Hetur Bhur, Ma Te Sangostva Akarmani. You have a right to
perform your duty, but not to the fruits of action. Never consider yourself the
cause of results, nor be attached to inaction.
Perhaps this is why only Ajna
carries OM as its beej mantra. While the root chakra resonates with LAM—the
earth element grounding us, while the heart chakra vibrates with YAM—the air
element connecting us, the sixth chakra transcends elemental associations
entirely. At the Ajna, where the ida and pingala nadis meet, where duality
dissolves and perception shift from external to internal, only OM can contain
that vastness. OM is not just a sound—it's the primordial vibration from which
all creation emerges, the sound of consciousness recognizing itself.
When I sit in meditation and chant OM at the space between my eyebrows, I'm not invoking something outside myself. I'm tuning into the frequency that was always there—the hum beneath all the noise, the stillness beneath all the movement.
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