The Spiritual Meaning Behind Kanya Pujan on Navratri’s Last Day

For the uninitiated, Navratri is a nine-night celebration of Goddess Durga, the fierce yet nurturing embodiment of Shakti—the divine feminine energy that powers the universe. Each day honors one of her nine forms, from the serene Shailputri to the fierce Kalaratri. By the time the festival nears its end, the energy is electric, culminating in a ritual that’s as heartwarming as it is mystical: Kanya Pujan, also called Kanjak or Kumari Puja. Whether it’s a bustling Delhi neighborhood or a quiet village in Gujarat, you’ll see young girls, usually aged 2 to 10, stepping into the spotlight as living representatives of the goddess herself. It’s not just cute—it’s cosmic. And to understand why, we need to peel back the layers of this tradition, from its spiritual roots to its modern-day magic.

At its core, Kanya Pujan is about seeing the divine in the everyday. These little girls, with their unpolished innocence and untamed laughter, aren’t just kids in this moment—they’re portals to something bigger. They’re worshipped as kanyas, a Sanskrit term meaning “virgin” or “pure,” symbolizing a state of being untouched by the messiness of the adult world—ego, greed, lust, all that jazz. In Hindu philosophy, this purity makes them the perfect vessels for Shakti, the primal energy that flows through all creation. But there’s so much more to unpack here: the symbolism of the number nine, the act of giving, the connection to the goddess’s many faces. So, let’s break it down and explore why Kanya Pujan isn’t just a ritual—it’s a viral-worthy revelation of spirituality, femininity, and human connection.


Let’s start with the big question: Why young girls? Why not adults or boys or, heck, even a beautifully carved idol? The answer lies in the spiritual lens through which Hinduism views the feminine. Navratri is all about Shakti, the cosmic force that births, sustains, and destroys. Goddess Durga, with her lion-riding, demon-slaying swagger, is its ultimate symbol. But here’s the kicker: that energy isn’t confined to mythology or temple statues. It’s alive, pulsing through every woman, every girl, every flicker of life. Kanya Pujan takes this idea and runs with it, zooming in on young girls as the purest, most unfiltered expressions of that power.

Think about it. A girl between 2 and 10 hasn’t hit puberty yet. She’s not bogged down by societal roles—wife, mother, worker—or the baggage that comes with them. She’s free from the hormonal chaos and the worldly attachments that adulthood often brings. In spiritual terms, this makes her a kanya, a being so pure she mirrors the goddess in her rawest form. When you wash her feet, offer her food, or place a gift in her hands, you’re not just honoring a child—you’re bowing to the divine feminine in its most primal, untainted state. It’s a mind-blowing concept when you let it sink in: the goddess isn’t “out there” in the heavens; she’s right here, munching on halwa and giggling at your aunt’s overly enthusiastic hospitality.

This reverence for the feminine isn’t new. Hinduism has long celebrated women as carriers of Shakti. From the ferocious Kali to the gentle Lakshmi, the goddesses of this tradition aren’t sidekicks—they’re the main event. Kanya Pujan doubles down on that, reminding us that divinity doesn’t need age or experience to shine through. These girls, in their simplicity, embody qualities we often lose as we grow up: innocence, curiosity, joy. By worshipping them, devotees tap into a spiritual reset button, a chance to reconnect with their own inner purity. And in a world obsessed with hustle and perfection, isn’t that a message worth shouting from the rooftops?
But it’s not just about purity—it’s about potential. These kanyas represent the seed of creation, the untapped energy that could grow into anything. In a way, they’re a living metaphor for the goddess’s role as the mother of the universe. When you feed them, you’re nurturing that potential; when you seek their blessings, you’re asking for a piece of that boundless possibility to rub off on you. It’s a beautiful cycle: honoring the feminine nurtures the world, and the world, in turn, thrives. That’s why Kanya Pujan feels so alive—it’s not a static prayer but a dynamic exchange of energy, love, and reverence.


Now, let’s talk numbers—because in Kanya Pujan, nine is the magic digit. If you’ve ever peeked into a Navratri household during this ritual, you’ve probably noticed something: there’s often exactly nine girls invited. Why nine? It’s not random—it’s a cosmic callback to the nine forms of Goddess Durga, known as Navadurga. Each day of Navratri honors one of these avatars, and by the end, Kanya Pujan ties it all together in a spiritual grand finale.

Here’s a quick rundown of the Navadurga squad: Shailputri, the mountain-born goddess of strength; Brahmacharini, the ascetic seeker of wisdom; Chandraghanta, the fierce protector with a crescent moon on her forehead; Kushmanda, the creator of the universe; Skandamata, the mother of war-god Kartikeya; Katyayani, the warrior slayer of demons; Kalaratri, the dark, destructive force of time; Mahagauri, the radiant symbol of purity; and Siddhidatri, the giver of supernatural powers. Whew—that’s a lineup of heavy hitters! Each form represents a facet of life—creation, destruction, nurturing, fighting evil—and together, they paint a full picture of Shakti in all her glory.

So, when nine girls sit in a row during Kanya Pujan, they’re not just random kids—they’re stand-ins for these nine goddesses. The idea is that each girl channels one of these divine energies, making the ritual a living tribute to the Navadurga. Some families even assign specific roles, imagining one girl as the gentle Mahagauri and another as the fiery Katyayani. It’s like a spiritual cosplay session, but with a deeper purpose: to honor the multifaceted nature of the feminine divine.

This number nine isn’t just symbolic—it’s practical, too. Nine girls mirror the nine days of Navratri, creating a perfect symmetry that feels almost poetic. In Vedic numerology, nine is considered a sacred, complete number, tied to eternity and the infinite. By worshipping nine kanyas, devotees close the festival with a sense of wholeness, as if they’ve touched every corner of the goddess’s essence. And if nine girls aren’t available? No stress—some households adjust, inviting fewer (like seven or five, other auspicious odd numbers) or even just one, trusting that the goddess’s energy is infinite enough to shine through any vessel.


If Kanya Pujan were a movie, the climax would be the moment the girls bless the household. After the food, the gifts, the pampering, the adults—sometimes teary-eyed—bend down to touch their feet. “Bless us,” they say, palms pressed together. And those tiny hands, still sticky from halwa, rise in a gesture of grace. It’s a scene that could melt the coldest heart, but it’s also a spiritual jackpot. Why? Because Kanya Pujan isn’t just about receiving—it’s about giving, and the karma that comes with it.

In Hinduism, selfless service, or seva, is a fast track to good vibes—both in this life and the next. Feeding the hungry, clothing the needy, honoring the divine in others—it’s all part of racking up punya, or spiritual merit. Kanya Pujan is seva on steroids. You’re not just feeding any guest; you’re feeding the goddess herself, disguised as a giggling six-year-old. Every puri you fry, every rupee you tuck into her hand, is an offering to Shakti. And the payoff? Blessings that are said to bring prosperity, peace, and protection from life’s curveballs.

But here’s where it gets juicy: the act of giving isn’t transactional. You’re not bribing the goddess for a promotion or a lottery win (though, let’s be real, some might hope for it). The spiritual spin is that you give without expecting anything back. The girls aren’t tallying up your generosity; they’re just happy to be there, munching away. That selflessness is the secret sauce. It aligns you with the goddess’s own nature—nurturing, abundant, unconditional—and in that alignment, you’re transformed. It’s less about “what do I get?” and more about “who do I become?”