In depth
A posture-by-posture tour through the classic Sivananda method sequence: technique, alignment, evidence-based benefits, and precautions.
Swami Sivananda (1887–1963) was born Kuppuswami Iyer in Pattamadai, in southern India. Before taking the path of the monk, he trained and worked as a physician, including several years in British Malaya, where he cared for labourers working in very harsh conditions. That vocation for service stayed with him for the rest of his life — first as a doctor of the body, and later as a teacher of the soul.
In the early 1920s he left everything behind to become a wandering monk, eventually settling in Rishikesh on the banks of the Ganges, where he devoted himself fully to the practice of yoga and meditation. There, in 1936, he founded the Divine Life Society, and in 1948 the Yoga-Vedanta Forest Academy, one of the earliest models for yoga teacher training, later replicated all over the world.
Sivananda wrote close to 300 books and called his approach "the yoga of synthesis": an integration of the different classical paths — karma yoga, bhakti yoga, jñāna yoga and rāja yoga — rather than adherence to just one. In 1957, he sent one of his closest disciples, Swami Vishnudevananda, to the West, with an instruction as brief as it was decisive: "Go. People are waiting." That journey gave rise to what we know today as Sivananda yoga, organised around five principles and a sequence of twelve classic postures.
Swami Krishnananda and Swami Sivananda (right), c. 1945. Public domain — Wikimedia Commons.
SHEER-shah-sana
Headstand — the inversion posture par excellence. Requires preparation, focus and a solid base.
The name Śīrṣāsana is relatively modern. The posture itself, under other names, is much older: Hemacandra's Yogaśāstra (11th c.) already describes it as Duryodhanāsana. The Malla Purāṇa (13th c.) is the first text to mention it by the name Śīrṣāsana, though without describing it. As an inversion (Viparītakaraṇī), it's described in the Dattātreyayogaśāstra (13th c.), and as a mudrā in the Haṭha Yoga Pradīpikā (15th c.).
To avoid loading the neck, we usually work the inversion with ropes or an inversion stool instead of the classic Śīrṣāsana on the head.
sar-vahn-GAH-sana
Shoulderstand — traditionally called "the queen of the āsanas." A full inversion supported on the shoulders and arms.
The name Sarvāṅgāsana is modern. The oldest documented form, a similar type of inversion under the name Viparīta Karaṇī, appears in the Śiva Saṃhitā (14th c.), and later in the Haṭha Yoga Pradīpikā (15th c.) and the Gheraṇḍa Saṃhitā (17th c.).
All the variants preserve the inverted condition, though we can't assume they reproduce every effect traditionally attributed to Sarvāṅgāsana.
ha-LAH-sana
Plough posture. Combines inversion, hip flexion and spinal flexion. Usually follows Sarvāṅgāsana in the Sivananda sequence.
Unlike Śīrṣāsana and Sarvāṅgāsana, Halāsana doesn't appear to feature in the major medieval haṭha yoga texts. A recognisable plough-like posture is documented in the Śrītattvanidhi (19th c.) under the name Lāṅgalāsana — "lāṅgala" also means "plough." On our historical timeline, then, we place it as early modern, from the 19th century, rather than medieval: even though all three might look equally "ancient" to someone practising today, their documented history isn't the same.
The three shown here are deliberately practical: feet on a chair (reduces the demand of reaching the floor), a folded blanket under the shoulders (as in Sarvāṅgāsana, reduces cervical flexion), and feet resting against a wall at an adjustable height.
mat-see-AH-sana
The fish posture — and why bridge tends to take its place in my classes instead.
Matsyāsana is described in the Gheraṇḍa Saṃhitā (2.21), from the 17th century. It traditionally follows Sarvāṅgāsana and Halāsana as a kind of counterpose: against the predominant flexion of the previous two, the fish moves the trunk into extension and opens the front of the body.
The fish is here because it's part of Sivananda's twelve basic postures. But studying a tradition is one thing, and turning it into a museum piece is another: the way I teach has also changed over the years.
Matsyāsana doesn't come up much in my classes these days. Instead, I usually work Setu Bandha Sarvāṅgāsana, the bridge posture — one that lets me explore extension and opening the front of the body in a way I find easier to grade and adapt, without demanding the same pronounced cervical extension as the fish. This isn't an "official" swap, and they're not equivalent postures: it's a teaching decision.
Electromyographic research on bridge-type exercises confirms significant involvement of trunk and lower-limb musculature.[1]
Pelvis height, foot position, hold time, dynamic or static repetitions, resting the pelvis on a block... Bridge allows for many more adjustable variables than the fish, which makes it easier to adapt to different students.
An interesting detail: some yoga protocols studied in people with lower back pain have used the bridge as an adaptation when inverted postures like Halāsana or Sarvāṅgāsana proved difficult. In a recent trial on mechanical low back pain, Setu Bandhāsana was included within a programme geared toward gentle extension and strengthening the glutes and hamstrings.[2] This doesn't prove the bridge alone treats low back pain — it was studied as part of a full programme — but it does support the biomechanical logic behind using it.
pash-chee-mo-tahn-AH-sana
Seated forward fold. Belongs to premodern yoga.
Paścimottānāsana is described in the Haṭha Yoga Pradīpikā, composed roughly in the 15th century — one of the medieval postures that has carried through to contemporary practice.
Bending the knees changes the demand on the hamstrings and can make the posture far more accessible. It's not a "poorly done" version of Paścimottānāsana, or a second-tier posture.
The same goes for sitting on a blanket or a prop: it lifts the pelvis slightly and changes the relationship between the pelvis, legs and spine, which can make tipping forward easier. A strap isn't there for pulling the body harder, either: it extends the reach of the arms and lets you find a position you can hold without forcing anything.
boo-jang-GAH-sana
Cobra posture. Spinal extension from lying face down.
Its documented history is later, and it's worth distinguishing it from other extension postures that do appear in premodern sources. As a precaution, we're not assigning a specific "invention" date here: a posture's history doesn't necessarily start with the earliest written source we happen to have.
Resting on the forearms and doing Salamba Bhujaṅgāsana (sphinx) reduces the degree of extension and allows the movement to be explored more gently. You can also do a low cobra, keeping the elbows bent and lifting the chest less.
How high you get doesn't measure the quality of Bhujaṅgāsana. A small, controlled, comfortable cobra can make a lot more sense than a deep extension achieved by pushing hard with the arms. There is specific clinical research on the sphinx and chronic low back pain, though its existence doesn't yet justify turning the posture into a universal treatment for back pain.[3]
shah-lahb-HAH-sana
Locust posture. The only one in the series that works extension by lifting the legs, not the trunk.
The Gheraṇḍa Saṃhitā (2.39) includes it among its 32 āsanas, but describes it in a considerably more modest way than the version practised today: palms resting next to the chest, legs raised only "one elbow's length" off the floor. The form we practise today — arms alongside the body and a wider lift — was systematised in the 20th century, in manuals such as Swami Vishnudevananda's (1960) within the Sivananda tradition itself.
I usually introduce it through half locust (ardha śalabhāsana): lifting one leg at a time, or with a variant in which one bent leg supports the other. Lifting both legs together demands quite a bit of lower back and hip strength; doing it one leg at a time offers the same work with a much more reasonable load.
dah-noo-RAH-sana
Bow posture. Lying face down, we hold the ankles and lift the body into the curve of a drawn bow.
This is one of the most interesting cases in the whole series. The name Dhanurāsana already appears in the Haṭha Yoga Pradīpikā (15th c., HYP 1.25) and the Gheraṇḍa Saṃhitā (17th c.), but the descriptions are ambiguous: several scholars (Hargreaves and Birch) argue that the text actually describes a seated posture, pulling the feet toward the ears like drawing a bow — closer to Ākarṇa Dhanurāsana than to the prone backbend. The version we call the "bow posture" today, the prone backbend, was established in the 20th century. Same name, two different postures.
If your hands don't reach your ankles — quite common, and mostly a matter of shoulder and quadriceps mobility — a strap around the ankles lets you do the posture with its full intent intact. It's not a watered-down version: it's the one that lets you work the bow without straining the shoulders or the lower back.
AR-dha mat-syen-DRAH-sana
Half spinal twist. The only twist in the series, and one of the few classic postures named after a teacher.
The seated twist appears in the Haṭha Yoga Pradīpikā (1.26–27, 15th c.) and later in the Gheraṇḍa Saṃhitā (2.22–23, 17th c.). Its name honours Matsyendra, "lord of the fish," one of the founding figures of haṭha yoga. What the classical texts describe is the full version (Paripūrṇa Matsyendrāsana); the "half" twist we usually practise is a later, more accessible adaptation.
Crossing both legs (the classic version) demands quite a bit of hip mobility. Leaving the lower leg extended (the variant shown in the plate) keeps the pelvis far more stable and lets you focus on rotating the spine, which is really what defines the posture. For most people, it's a cleaner way to work the twist.
kah-KAH-sana
Crow posture. The only arm-balance in the series.
Arm balances appear in later haṭha yoga texts: the Haṭha Ratnāvalī (17th c.) lists Bakāsana among its 84 āsanas, and the Śrītattvanidhi (19th c.) illustrates both Bakāsana and Kākāsana. A nuance that often gets confused: by tradition, Kākāsana (crow) is done with bent arms, and Bakāsana (crane) with straight arms. Within the Sivananda tradition, Vishnudevananda's manual (1960) describes precisely Kākāsana, the crow, with bent elbows.
Fear of falling on your face is the main obstacle here, more than strength. It helps a lot to place a cushion or folded blanket in front, and to work the posture with the hands on blocks (as in the variant shown in the plate): raising the point of support reduces the sense of vertigo and makes it easier to lift the hips. It also helps to start by lifting one foot at a time.
PAH-da has-TAH-sana · also Uttānāsana
Standing forward fold. The standing version of the fold we already saw seated in Paścimottānāsana.
The same pattern as Dhanurāsana repeats here: the name Uttānāsana appears in the Śrītattvanidhi (19th c.), but it described a completely different posture — lying on the back, elbows toward the knees, hands behind the neck — not a standing fold. The standing forward fold we practise today is a modern, 20th-century posture, described by Krishnamacharya (1934) and later spread by his students. "Pāda Hastāsana" (hand to foot) is the variant in which the hands go under the feet or toward the ankles.
Exactly what we said about Paścimottānāsana applies here too: bent knees aren't cheating, and a block under the hands (as in the variant in the plate) isn't a lesser version. Raising the floor up to your hands lets you keep the back longer and work hip flexion without straining the hamstrings.
tri-ko-NAH-sana
Triangle posture. Closes the series: the only standing, lateral, wide-opening posture.
The triangle is one of the most clearly modern postures in the whole series. It doesn't appear in the Haṭha Yoga Pradīpikā or the Gheraṇḍa Saṃhitā: the medieval texts focus on seated postures, with very few standing ones. Trikoṇāsana is first described in the 20th century, in the teaching of Krishnamacharya (Yoga Makaranda, 1934) and his students. Krishnamacharya, seeking to revitalise and popularise yoga, is thought to have drawn in part on Western physical culture of the time (gymnastics and other bodily disciplines). A fitting reminder to close the series: "classic" doesn't always mean "ancient."
Bringing the hand all the way to the floor forces most people to shorten that side of the body or rotate the chest downward. Resting the hand on a block (as in the variant in the plate) brings the floor up to you and lets you keep the trunk long and the chest open — which is exactly what defines the triangle. It's not a lesser version: for many bodies, it's the more correct one.