Granddaughters of the Witches #2
From the Covens of Indus Valley
Namaste Readers,
I received an overwhelming number of responses to the first part of this series, a beckoning of belonging, pouring in from all over the world. I am deeply grateful to you for showing me that I am not alone in seeking an alternate way to exist in harmony with the wild feminine energy that thrives within the untamed beauty of the earth's wilderness.
I have been repeatedly dreaming of forests, their thick canopies concealing hundreds, if not thousands, of oddly shaped beings—some with wings, some with scales, others with a million eyes. Golden bugs crawl over crisp fallen leaves, which crunch under my feet only to transform into a honey-like substance, covering the forest floor in a hot, sweet, gluey residue. I wiggle my toes, noticing the dirt and honey staining my toenails.
Somehow, I drag my messy feet forward until the forest opens up to reveal a massive altar. Splashes of oil-mixed crimson vermillion streak across a magnificent, egg-shaped, rugged black monolith. The stone is so immense that it would take at least seven of me to encircle its girth.
Around that time, I was reflecting deeply on our foundational disconnection from the natural world and how the siloed, western way of life continues to widen the already significant gaps between us and Mother Earth. I thought about ways of life that have been obliterated over time—lost to the colonization of the womb, the separation of pleasure from feminine sexuality, and its repression within the confines of duty.
I pondered ways of relating to each other beyond the birth and death of individual ego, the erasure of the feminine beyond the divine mother archetype, and the bonds of sisterhood forged in sacred spaces outside the patriarchal structures of the tribe. I considered rituals and customs once deemed heretical, threatening, or provocative to the dominating systems of religion.
My recurring dream made me wonder if there were ancient rituals that held foundational wisdom—guiding us back to an ecological balance in this crumbling world, whose heart is blighted and burning with human greed.
I questioned everything I knew and had learned about the world as we understand it. I delved into parts of history often portrayed as dark and frightening, where forbidden magic and its practitioners are said to dwell within the domains of eastern traditions. I began to wonder whether those we called witches were, in fact, women who defied conventional patriarchal norms to belong deeply to themselves and to reclaim the earth as their sole god.
I followed this trail of curiosity to its end, ripe with the possibility of discovering something beyond conventional truth. Too much confidence can be a hindrance to wisdom, and I consider it a strength to have grown up with an essential sense of self-doubt in this part of the world. I wrestled with that doubt earnestly, searching for an answer—though I cannot say whether it is an empirical truth or an insight born of the muses that accompany this journey of self-discovery through the parables of the past.
Whether I succeed in crafting a cohesive narrative for you to rely on, I cannot yet know. For now, you must rely on the voice of my intuition.
Take my Spells and Speak for the Earth
There is an ancient hum that resonates in the stories of witches—a murmur of rebellion, an unbroken thread of resistance against systems too heavy with power, too cold with greed. Witches were never just the shadowy figures painted by patriarchal fear. They were women who knew too much, loved too deeply, and refused too firmly. They were healers, midwives, herbalists, and custodians of wisdom carried in whispers through forests, rivers, and moonlit skies.
To call a woman a witch was to mark her as dangerous, but not because of spells or curses. She was dangerous because she did not fit. She did not bend her spine to the rules of men who sought to tame her spirit. She did not see herself as separate from the Earth, as something above it. Instead, she walked with the cycles of the moon, her hands in the soil, her heart tuned to the pulse of nature. She lived as though she was part of the Earth, not its master.
But patriarchy has always been terrified of the untamed—of women who claimed their autonomy, of knowledge that could not be boxed or sold. And so, witches were hunted. Their fires were snuffed out not because they threatened the people but because they threatened the systems. They carried an ecological consciousness that refused the language of ownership, and for this, they were silenced.
Creative Secrecy
Peeking through the often-overlooked nooks and crannies of history are stories of sisterhood that enabled women's survival amidst the grueling ignorance and atrocities of the ancient world. The tribal structures of almost all ancient civilizations after the agricultural age were patriarchal. Women remained quietly confined to the domains of home and family, assuming undisputed roles as caregivers and childrearers—roles often perceived as passive and unworthy of historical record. As a result, they struggled to weave threads of understanding that bridged the gap between their self-awareness and their identity in the world they inhabited.
The primary identities women assumed within tribes were typically defined by their relationships to others—those they married, served, birthed, or raised. The erasure of women’s history was a deliberate effort to uphold the power structures of patriarchy. Historian Gerda Lerner aptly captured this in her seminal work, The Creation of Patriarchy: “To be without history is to be trapped in a present where oppressive social relations appear natural and inevitable.”
The only people perceived as threats to patriarchy were those who had escaped its suffocating grip—the widows, the elderly, the barren, those with knowledge of botany and anatomy, the intuitive, the learned, non-binary individuals (including but not limited to trans women), and anyone who existed beyond the confines of domesticity, whether by choice or circumstance. Anyone unshackled from a man’s whims was seen as dangerous. Their freedom was labeled reckless abandon, their survival skills deemed threatening.
While many admired and sought their advice, others chose to fear what they could not understand. Thus, the myth of the witch was born, and her survival skills were branded as witchcraft. A garden witch could grow tomatoes larger than her neighbors’ because she understood the science of cross-pollination and grafting. A kitchen witch could heal a sick child because she knew which herbs to forage and how to mix them to treat common ailments. A weather witch could predict the best time to harvest, likely because she had been a farmer most of her life and was attuned to the Earth’s cycles. A fortune-teller was often simply a skilled counselor who understood human problems and psyches well enough to offer advice on overcoming troubles.
When stripped of mysticism, these archetypes reveal intelligent women who had mastered crafts that made them indispensable to society. Any woman with the courage to embody fluidity, challenging the rigid norms of what womanhood was expected to entail, was labeled a witch.
Dangerous Allegiance
The only thing more threatening than a witch is a coven of witches. While a coven is often associated with Wiccans and modern paganism, it can, in essence, be any exclusive group of individuals united by shared beliefs and practices.
A coven offers a safe space for women to connect through shared experiences, trauma, and deficits, often while enduring social isolation. Within these circles of trust resides a disenchanted group of real individuals—those who have been violated or abandoned by the so-called moral gatekeepers of society. Patriarchal structures consistently vilified anyone living beyond the accepted moral norms of their time. Though the rules changed and evolved, the underlying values remained constant.
When these societal outcasts united to practice their shared beliefs and support one another despite differences, a coven was formed. Demystifying the myths surrounding such archetypes often uncovers a more sinister truth rooted in patriarchal motives. Witches were seen as threats that needed to be eradicated, but to do so effectively, their sisterhood had to be broken.
This dismantling was carried out systematically by isolating them and creating the illusion of divergent experiences. By fragmenting these circles of sisterhood, a foundation of distrust was built—both within society and among the women themselves. This deliberate separation ensured the erosion of their collective power, making them easier to silence and control.
It is invariably difficult for an isolated individual to claim their rights or prove their innocence against accusations. Without the support of a network of people rallying together around shared struggles, it becomes far easier to condemn those who are unjustly accused. This systemic deconstruction persists even today across various forms of civil unrest. Such strategies are often weaponized to perpetuate oppression against minorities, typically by institutional forces. When it comes to the moral policing of women, these institutions are most often religious or political.
While the trauma of the European witch hunts remains fresh in our collective memory, similar stories from other parts of the world often remain hidden. However, some narratives offer powerful instances of resistance and subversion. I aim to bring you a few of these stories—tales of defiance and resilience—from the Indus Valley, spanning from the ancient past to more recent history.
The Land of Mysticism and Magic
The Indus Valley was one of the most ancient and influential urban civilizations of its time, so highly regarded that even Alexander the Great, after conquering much of the known world, coveted its riches and splendor. The Indus Valley Civilization, flourishing from approximately 3300 BCE to 1300 BCE, was renowned for its advanced urban planning, featuring meticulously designed drainage systems, brick-lined streets, and impressive public buildings. Its people excelled in metallurgy, pottery, and textile production, with evidence of trade networks extending to Mesopotamia and beyond.
The civilization's rich and complex writing system, consisting of thousands of undeciphered symbols, remains one of its most intriguing mysteries. These symbols, inscribed on seals, pottery, and other artifacts, are believed to represent a form of literature or record-keeping, though their meaning eludes scholars.
One of the most fascinating aspects of the Indus Valley Civilization is its religious and philosophical worldview, still the subject of scholarly debate. Researchers believe that its people lived in tribe-like settings, coexisting harmoniously with nature. They appear to have harnessed natural elements and energies, symbolically representing them in animal forms, akin to early paganism. Archaeological discoveries, including numerous figurines, sculptures, and ritual objects, suggest the practice of a polytheistic religion with possible parallels to early Hinduism.
This connection is particularly intriguing given the emergence of Vedic religion—often considered a precursor to Hinduism—in the Indian subcontinent around 1500 BCE, several centuries after the decline of the Indus Valley Civilization. While the precise relationship between these traditions remains uncertain, the continuity of symbolic, ritualistic, and spiritual elements suggests a profound legacy that influenced the cultural and religious fabric of the region for millennia.
Another compelling connection is the link between Shaktism1 and Tantra2. Shaktism provides the theological foundation for the worship of the divine feminine, while Tantra offers ritualistic and esoteric practices that deepen and enhance this worship.
Some Tantric practices are esoteric and include rituals that fall outside mainstream religious norms. This has led, particularly in Western interpretations, to associations with "magic" or "witchcraft." However, in Indian culture, practices often labeled as "witchcraft" elsewhere are deeply integrated into the religious and cultural traditions, particularly in rural and tribal communities.
Shaktism celebrates the feminine principle as the ultimate divine power, channeling the energies of creation, preservation, and destruction. Tantra complements this by providing intricate practices aimed at spiritual awakening and union with the divine. Together, they form a system that embodies both devotion and transformative rituals, merging theology with profound spiritual techniques. This intersection offers a fascinating lens through which to view practices that Western perspectives may misconstrue, revealing instead a rich cultural and religious tapestry.
Both these correlations underscore the deeply rooted tribal origins of goddess worship among the people of the Indus Valley and highlight their pivotal role in shaping Shaktism. The yearning for a primordial mother figure is ancient, with evidence extending back 8,000 years to the discovery of the Baghor Stone. This Upper Paleolithic-era cult object, resembling a vulva, is believed by many archaeologists to represent a Yoni3. The Baghor Stone likely signifies the reverence for the divine feminine's sexual and creative energies, offering a tangible link to the early origins of Shaktism and tantric practices honoring sacred female energy.
While the supporting literature for Shaktism and Tantra, such as the Devi Mahatmya, Lalita Sahasranama, Devi Gita, and various books of Tantra, was compiled around the 10th or 11th century CE, these texts represent the crystallization of goddess traditions. They amalgamate myths, cultic practices, and theological frameworks that had long existed among the tribal communities of the Indus Valley.
Although our understanding of the religious practices of the people of Indus is limited, there are several archeological proof that suggest the presence of a mother goddess or feminine deity who was revered and probably even prayed to, here are a few proofs found during excavation of the ruins of Indus:
1. Terracotta figurines: Numerous terracotta figurines have been discovered at Harappan sites, depicting female figurines in various poses and attire. Some of these figurines showcase women with elaborate headdresses, bangles, and other adornments, suggesting their significance in religious or ritual contexts. The emphasis on female representation suggests the veneration of a mother goddess or female deity.
2. Seals and amulets: The seals discovered at Indus Valley sites feature various motifs, including animal figures, humans, and abstract symbols. One such seal, known as the "Mother Goddess" seal, depicts a seated female figure surrounded by animals. This depiction has been interpreted as a representation of a mother goddess or a powerful female deity associated with fertility and abundance.
3. Worship platforms and altars: Excavations at certain Harappan sites have uncovered elevated platforms and altars that are believed to have been used for religious rituals. Some of these platforms display ritualistic or sacred markings, which include the presence of female figurines. These platforms might have been used for offerings or ceremonies related to the worship of a mother goddess or other female deities.
These findings collectively point to an ancient tradition of goddess worship among the Indus Valley people, laying the foundational elements for Shaktism and its integration into later Hindu practices.
Obscure Practices as a New Way of Being
The presence of a primordial mother goddess in the Indus Valley civilization is evidence of systemic and ritualistic practices that prioritized the feminine divine, highlighting a societal structure that may have been more egalitarian. This is especially significant, as archetypes linked with magic, creation, and miracles are often feminine in nature, suggesting a reverence for the creative and nurturing forces traditionally associated with women.
Such practices appear to have been collaborative and community-centered, much like the present-day worship of Tantric goddesses such as Varahi or Maa Panchubarahi. These goddesses embody both nurturing and protective energies and are revered through deeply communal rituals that involve collective participation.
The story of modern day worship of Maa Panchubarahi reflects this collaborative essence. It goes as follows:
In the heart of Odisha's Kendrapara district, the Maa Panchubarahi Temple stands as a sanctuary of feminine spiritual power, challenging centuries of patriarchal religious traditions. The narrative of the Maa Panchubarahi Temple reveals a profound testament to female solidarity, ritualistic empowerment, and collective resistance against patriarchal religious traditions. For five centuries, Dalit women have maintained an extraordinary practice of priesthood, transforming a space traditionally monopolized by men into a sanctuary of feminine spiritual agency.
The temple's origin story itself speaks to a powerful feminine mythological intervention. According to local lore, when male priests performed rituals while intoxicated, the goddesses themselves cursed them, mandating that only women—specifically married Dalit women—could perform sacred rites. This mythical narrative subverts traditional power structures, positioning female spiritual authority as divinely ordained.
The practice is remarkable not just for its longevity, but for its systemic challenge to multiple layers of oppression. These Dalit women priestesses embody a radical form of sisterhood that transcends individual limitations. They rotate ritualistic responsibilities, creating a collective system of spiritual leadership that ensures continuity and shared power.
Their compensation model further illustrates community solidarity. Instead of a fixed salary, they receive grains, vegetables, and fruits from the local community—a practice that interweaves economic support with spiritual respect. The community's reverence is so profound that men touch the priestesses feet before entering the temple, subverting traditional caste and gender hierarchies.
Even in the face of environmental challenges—with rising sea levels forcing temple relocation—these women maintained ritual continuity. In 2018, they uniquely controlled the temple's migration, permitting men to assist only after their explicit approval. This demonstrates not just spiritual leadership, but a comprehensive social agency that extends beyond religious practice.
The Maa Panchubarahi Temple represents more than a religious site. It is a living testament to how women, particularly from marginalized communities, can create transformative spaces of collective power, spiritual autonomy, and resistance.
If there were ever a coven of witches still practicing their craft in spaces removed from the noise of the consumeristic world, these women would be it. Subverting the traditions of Brahmanical patriarchy, these tribal Dalit women have remained rooted in the traditional wisdom of the feminine while also crafting an alternative way of life—one that exists not only in harmony with nature but also in defiance of the transactional structures of capitalism.
Rewilding of the Feminine
The witch was never just a healer or a seer. She was an ecosystem—a living, breathing embodiment of reciprocity with the world around her. She understood what patriarchal systems refused to: that the Earth does not belong to us, that it does not yield to exploitation without consequence. Witches planted gardens not for profit but for sustenance. They brewed remedies not for commerce but for care. Their power was not in dominance but in nurturing, in creating, in giving back.
Their rituals were acts of rebellion. In their offerings to the moon, in their chants under ancient trees, they dared to say that there was a way to live that did not center greed, that did not demand the world be plundered to fill endless appetites.
And yet, here we are again. The systems that hunted witches have merely evolved. Instead of firewood, they now use policies, economies, and narratives that pit humanity against the Earth. The modern witch hunt is not just about women—it’s about forests falling to chainsaws, rivers choked with waste, air heavy with the ash of burning ecosystems.
The archetype of the witch is returning, not as a villain but as a guide. She calls us to remember the wisdom we abandoned in the pursuit of power. She reminds us to listen to the soil, to feel the rhythm of the seasons, to honor the cyclical rather than worship the linear.
Witches were never just women—they were a language, a way of being that modernity tried to erase. Their whispers tell us now to slow down, to kneel in reverence before the Earth, to recognize the sacred in what we have been taught to see as ordinary.
We do not need more progress if it means more severance. What we need is what witches always knew: balance, reciprocity, and respect for the Earth. We need to unlearn the stories that tell us we must dominate to thrive, that we must own to belong.
The witch reminds us that resistance begins with connection—with seeing ourselves not as rulers of the Earth but as part of its infinite, intricate web. The witch never died. She lives in every act of defiance, in every seed planted, in every woman who refuses to be silenced. She lives in you, in me, and in the Earth herself, waiting for us to remember what was never lost, only forgotten.
Shaktism is a branch of Hinduism that venerates the goddess Shakti or Devi as the supreme divine being.
Tantra is a complex system of spiritual practices that emerged in India around the 5th century CE.
A stylized representation of the female genitalia symbolizing the Hindu goddess Shakti and the generative power of the feminine.
Anthropologist Wade Davis once said of indigenous cultures, “These other cultures are not failed attempts to be us; they are unique manifestations of the spirit—other options, other visions of life itself.”
This powerful idea of "other options" and "remember(ing) what was never lost, only forgotten," is so encouraging and uplifting in these constricting and unimaginative times. I love your essay, Swarnali, and its reminder that we might still have the possibility of resurrecting "other options, other visions of life itself," if we welcomed the witch back into our hearts and minds.
I'll need to read it again of course, but my initial feeling is wonderful. Thank you.
I shall be coming back to this essay and quoting from it, Swarnali. Such a powerful and gentle rehabilitation of witches the world over! Thank you for this gift in these darkest of times ✨🙏🏻