Many years ago, there lived a demon named Raktabija. As demons were often portrayed in the Puranas, Raktabija was also ruthless and oppressive. To bring an end to his tyranny, the Gods turned to Adi Shakti, Mother Parvati, for help. Responding to their plea, the goddess assumed the fierce form of Durga, and a ferocious battle unfolded. Although Raktabija was defeated, he could not be destroyed easily, for every drop of his blood that touched the ground gave rise to another clone of himself. To counter this, Goddess Durga’s divine energy manifested into 64 shadow forms known as the Yoginis. During the battle, each time Raktabija bled, the Yoginis swiftly drank his blood before it could fall to the ground. It was through this powerful strategy that the demon was finally annihilated. As a reward for their devotion and valor, the Yoginis requested Goddess Durga for a shrine of their own. Thus, the tradition of Yogini temples came to existence.
By the time my mother finished narrating this ancient tale, we had reached the parking lot of the Hirapur Chousathi Yogini Temple. It was a bright Sunday afternoon, the sun was warm but not harsh. The temple premises were unusually quiet, wrapped in a calm and peaceful silence. The only sounds prominent were the rustling of leaves in the breeze and the call of a cuckoo from a distant branch. Apart from the three of us, only a handful of visitors were around. Most appeared to be college students, perhaps from a nearby institution, who might have slipped away from their afternoon classes for a spontaneous outing. The stillness in the temple premises and its surroundings was not exactly scary, but unusually calm and mysterious.
I was standing right in front of a circular, roofless ancient structure, with a narrow entrance passage. When seen from above, its layout resembles the shape of a Yoni (female genitalia). No, this wasn’t my first visit to the site. It lies merely 20 kilometers from my home (Bhubaneswar), making it an easy drive. Yet, it’s not always that a place touches you with its aura.
This temple, now protected by the Archaeological Survey of India, was originally built between the 8th and 9th centuries CE by Queen Hiradei of the Bhauma dynasty. The very name of the village, Hirapur, is derived from hers. It remained lost in the mists of time until it was rediscovered in 1953 by archaeologist Shri Kedarnath Mahapatra, who meticulously restored its broken, scattered remains.
The Yogini temple at Hirapur is the oldest and smallest among all known Yogini shrines in India. Built from rough sandstone blocks, its architecture is starkly different from the ornate Kalinga style of the region. It is a tantric site, and unlike most Hindu temples, it has no roof. None of the Yogini temples do. This open-sky design, known as hypaethral architecture, aligns with tantric philosophy. It is believed that the 64 Yoginis travel through the sky, and when they descend to Earth, they form a circle. The absence of a roof allows the flow of cosmic energy and honors the five elements central to tantra—earth, water, fire, air, and space.
Entry to the temple is through a narrow, low doorway, requiring one to stoop down, perhaps a symbolic act of humility. Inside, the temple is perfectly circular with an outer stone wall about two meters high and a central pedestal. The interior diameter spans 25 feet. Along the inner wall are 50 niches housing intricately carved black chlorite idols of Yoginis, each about 40 cm in height. They are not just divine figures; they are fierce, bold, graceful, and mystical. Each Yogini has a name: Bahurupa, Tara, Narmada, Yamuna, Varahi, Kaalratri, Vinayaki, Chamunda, Gandhari, Bhadrakali, and many more. Not just their names, but also their postures, facial expressions, weapons, mounts, jewelry, and even hairstyles differ. The diversity is staggering and the detailing, breathtaking. It’s astonishing to imagine how such finesse could have been achieved in carving those sculptures a thousand years ago, without any modern tools.
At the center stands Goddess Mahamaya, poised atop a human skull, a powerful symbol of the triumph of consciousness over ego, heart over mind. But more than that, she represents the core of Tantric worship, where the feminine is not just revered but placed at the very center of cosmic understanding. In Tantric philosophy, the Devi is not a subsidiary or consort; she is the source. The Yoginis, with all their fierce, compassionate, and mysterious forms, reflect the many faces of feminine power, “Shakti” in her most unfiltered essence.
Tantra, especially between the 8th and 9th centuries, witnessed a widespread rise across India, particularly in regions like Odisha. This wasn’t a random shift, it coincided with a period of socio-political flux and a certain disillusionment with rigid Vedic orthodoxy. While the Brahmanical tradition emphasized ritual purity, caste hierarchy, and male-centric deities, Tantra opened its doors to those marginalized—women, lower castes, and even forest dwellers. It offered a spiritual democracy of sorts, where liberation (moksha) was possible not just through denial, but through embracing life, nature, sexuality, and death as pathways to the divine. In contrast to the Brahmanical path of renunciation and asceticism, Tantra celebrated the body as sacred, and the world as real, not an illusion to be escaped from, but an energy to be understood and transcended. The roofless design of Yogini temples, the circular structure symbolizing cyclical time, and the very presence of fierce feminine deities all speak to a worldview that was inclusive, experiential, and deeply rooted in nature and instinct.
The rise of Tantric culture may also have been a response to the changing power dynamics in ancient India. As new regional kingdoms emerged and matriarchal or tribal influences found voice, Tantra became a medium that both absorbed and amplified indigenous wisdom. In Odisha, where tribal deities, nature worship, and goddess cults already had deep roots, Tantric practice found fertile ground. Here, the Goddess was not just a nurturing mother but also a fierce protector, a healer, a wild force that dances with death. And it is perhaps in this image of Mahamaya, standing atop a skull yet radiating calm, that we find the most honest portrayal of feminine divinity: not sanitized or submissive, but whole, complex, and commanding. Right in front of the Mahamaya idol, there is a central pedestal that once held idols of Lord Shiva, along with four Yoginis and four Bhairavas. However, since the temple’s rediscovery in 1953, Shiva’s idol has been missing. Walking around the outer side of the circular wall, one encounters the Navadurga, the nine fierce forms of Goddess Katyayani. Each goddess grips a different weapon or khadga, shaded under an umbrella, and stands powerfully atop human heads, ghosts (vetalas), dogs, or jackals, symbolic representations of transcendence over fear, ego, and base instincts.
A garden gently enfolds the temple, and near its entrance, a newly restored Shiva temple stands beside a stone idol of Lord Krishna. The simultaneous presence of Shiva, Shakti, and Vishnu in this sacred space evokes a rare harmony among the three major streams of Hindu spirituality—Shaiva, Shakta, and Vaishnava, underscoring the integrative ethos of Odisha’s spiritual heritage. From around the 7th century CE onward, Odisha emerged as a tantric powerhouse, witnessing the convergence of Shakta, Shaiva, and Buddhist (Vajrayana) practices. Few other regions allowed such syncretism to flourish with such fluidity. The triad of Ratnagiri, Udayagiri and Lalitgiri became renowned centers of Buddhist Tantra, housing stupas, monasteries, and the awe-inspiring iconography of fierce female deities like Tara and Vajrayogini. Mahasiddhas, mystic adepts such as Sarahapada, Luipa, and Tilopa, either originated from or practiced in this eastern corridor, carrying their esoteric doctrines from the heart of Odisha to the snowy heights of Tibet. Simultaneously, Shaiva Tantra took powerful forms in the Kapalika and Pasupata sects, who practiced cremation ground rituals, worshipped skull-bearing Bhairavas, and embraced the shadow side of existence as sacred. Temples like Lingaraj and Kapilash were not just architectural statements, they were living theatres of inner transformation, where secretive Tantric rites unfolded in whispers and fire.
Shakta Tantra reached a unique pinnacle in Odisha. The worship of goddesses like Mahamaya, Manikeswari, Tara-Tarini, Bimala was not just devotional, it was metaphysical, psychological, and political. The circular Yogini temple at Hirapur is itself a mandala, symbolizing wholeness, cosmic geometry, and the sacred dance of feminine energies. The number 64, representing the Yoginis, held mystical importance, denoting completeness, cyclic time, and the fractal nature of Shakti, the universal feminine force. Unlike the increasingly abstract and hierarchical Brahmanical traditions of the Gangetic plains, Odisha’s Tantra retained a folk intimacy. Here, the sacred did not float above, it pulsed through earth, blood, song, trance, and drum. The rituals were not confined to temples alone; they spilled into forests, village squares, and tribal altars. In the hills and heartlands of Koraput, Kandhamal, Ganjam, and Rayagada, tribal communities continue to perform rituals that carry Tantric imprints; goddess possession, ancestral invocation, and sacrificial offerings are still part of living memory. The spiritual guide here might not wear saffron or chant Sanskrit; she could be a barefoot priestess, a folk healer, or a drum-wielding medium. This is perhaps why Odisha’s Tantric legacy isn’t confined to broken sculptures or sealed manuscripts. It breathes still, in oral lore, local dialects, and inherited instincts. A legacy where death is not feared, the feminine is not suppressed, and divinity is not distant.
Today, only eleven known Yogini temples have been identified across India, spread across Delhi, Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Odisha, and Tamil Nadu. Of these, the temples in Delhi, Rajasthan, and Tamil Nadu no longer survive, many having been lost or destroyed. Among the surviving temples, only four are dedicated to the Chausathi (64) Yoginis: Hirapur, near Bhubaneswar, Odisha; Ranipur-Jharial, Balangir district, Odisha; Morena, near Gwalior, Madhya Pradesh; Khajuraho, Madhya Pradesh. In addition, the Bhedaghat temple in Jabalpur stands out for its scale, believed to have originally housed 81 Yoginis, making it the largest of its kind. Other lesser-known yet significant shrines include Dudahi in Uttar Pradesh and Badoh in Madhya Pradesh, each featuring 42 Yoginis. All of these temples were constructed between the 9th and 12th centuries and are predominantly circular and roofless in design; except the Yogini temple at Khajuraho, which follows a rectangular layout.
Every year, the “Chausathi Yogini Mahotsav” is celebrated in the open space before the Hirapur temple, reviving the echoes of a powerful feminine spiritual tradition. A visit to this temple is a rare opportunity to witness unique female forms of traditionally male deities, such as Narasimhi (Lady Narasimha), Varahi (Lady Varaha), and Vinayaki (Lady Ganesha), preserved in stone and spirit. Each time I visit the Chausathi Yogini Temple, it offers a new experience, a different feeling that lingers long after I leave. While many still associate Tantric practices with black magic or fear, my connection with this space deepens with every visit. The more I read about its history, architecture, and spiritual significance, the more I realize it’s not a site of exclusion, but of profound inclusivity. The circular structure, the absence of a roof, the positioning of each Yogini, everything speaks of an ancient democratic spirit that transcended gender hierarchies, caste divisions, and rigid social norms. To me, Chausathi Yogini is not just a temple; it’s a timeless reminder of spiritual equality, feminine power, and cultural openness.
