Shakti: The Feminine Divine (29 page)

It should have hurt Indra more than it did when she coolly made up her mind that he was not worth rescuing, but he was hardly agog with shock.

Indra watched her enter the cave. Everything happened in a blur. His wife lay with another man, a sworn enemy from a former life at that, but he kept watching coolly. After they were done, the demon placed his hands on her neck and snapped it in two, even before Sachi had time to register what was happening. Unhurriedly, he proceeded to dismember her, dining on her body parts with every indication of enjoyment. Sachi’s life, which had truly begun a long time ago with illicit sex, violence and death, had finally come full circle.

With a start, Indra realized that he felt nothing. There was neither satisfaction nor horror when she had been so unceremoniously killed, nor was there the slightest touch of anguish or queasiness when Rakhtabija feasted on her remains. This mental equanimity and self-possession was alien to him and he realized that Kali had tricked him into lowering his guard, so that she could get under his skin.

Indra had successfully shut her out, but by playing on his desperate curiosity, she had got him to unbar the gates to his
soul. While the hideous imagery held him paralysed as he absorbed the fate of his wife, which he knew with sickening certainty was just as she had shown him, the goddess had slipped past his defences into the very core of his being and taken control. Then she had drawn him deep within her to such an extent that he had all but disappeared. His identity and very existence had been swallowed up by her.

He sensed that she had harsher truths in her possession but he had no wish to get acquainted with them. If Sachi’s death had been any indication, there was worse in store for him, and he had no desire to find out what. Kali was perfectly capable of dunking him in the acidic content of his future and watching him dissolve.

Summoning up every ounce of his formidable resistance, he threw it at her, struggling to escape the hold she had over him. Powerful emotions surged out of him, chaotically tripping him up. In a blind panic, he sought to escape her, but terror built within him with the stark realization that no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t get away unless she allowed him to. But still he ran, unwilling to trust her or the restraint she was exercising by not stopping his flight, frightened senseless by the extent of her power and having no wish to be felled by it.

The caves disappeared, taking with them his memories of the unspeakable things she had made him witness. He flew over endless landscapes that loomed out of nowhere, threatening him with the terrible secrets they held. Kali’s presence by his side was constant and strangely soothing. A part of him wanted to disappear into her embrace and be comforted. But the thought horrified him and he fled from her, faster and faster.

On and on he flew, until he was once again in the now-familiar dungeon with the enchanted chain. Kali was right
behind him as he crouched on the comforting stone floor like a cornered animal. With a sudden jerking movement, he grabbed her scimitar and severed his throat with it, in a single precise stroke. He would be dead within moments; it was not soon enough for him. But at least he could finally look her in the eye.

My life will always be in my hands. Even my death has to be on my own terms
. The words would not come out, but they were not needed. Kali seemed to hear him and he was happy to see that she did not seem sorry for him. In fact, she seemed exasperated, as though she had been hoping to be wrong about him. He wished she had not taken him in her arms, though. It reminded him of a mother’s touch, of having reached home safely and it made him want to cry. Suddenly he wanted to explain, but he was afraid there simply wasn’t enough time.

‘I don’t hate you as much as I’d like to,’ he finally uttered. ‘It is important for me to know that as the greatest of kings, I did not fail my subjects or myself. So whatever it is that you want from me, it is beyond my wish and will to do. The game is not over yet. We get to start over and on my terms. And so it will be till I win.’

‘So be it!’ Kali replied with a smile that was so gentle, he thought he was going to cry again. His former assessment had been incorrect. She was not repellent in the least. He wished he could have told her that.

The Endless Game

‘A
STUBBORN RASCAL TO
the very end…’ Shakti informed Vishnu of Kali’s report and he nodded slowly.

Once again, Shakti and Vishnu were reclining on the bed of water where they were most comfortable. All around there was infinite calm and a soothing stillness as the water stretched out endlessly as far as the eye could see. On the surface it was pure and unsullied, but just below there were undercurrents as tensions roiled in its depths. When Shakti let her eyes look past the obvious, she saw the hints of impurity—the urine, stool, waste, corpses and toxins that were periodically dumped into it by those who did not love the water as much as she did. She felt that the situation mirrored her personal condition and it made her gloomy.

Anxious to shake off the despondency and knowing that Vishnu would be sensitive to every nuance of her mood, Shakti resumed the conversation, ‘There is some comfort to be had in that it was not quite the end and his fiery spirit remained intact.
He will need it for everything that now lies ahead of him. Kali says I should never have listened to you and we should have killed him a long time ago before he set in motion these events. Now they have no recourse but to proceed to their natural conclusion, which is equally capable of either destroying us all or finally arriving at a blessed balance between the sexes.’

‘Kali has a lot of issues. Just because she thinks I am too strait-laced for her taste does not mean I am. Besides, it is not as if the outcome can be changed by moving back to the past and shuffling a few pieces around. If people and even the gods knew exactly how far-reaching their every thought and deed is, they would be so petrified of activity that regression to a vegetative or mineral stage would seem like the logical step.

‘The inexorable tides of fate have never been inclined to wait on anyone and all must be dragged along, struggling or quiescent, to the harvest reaped by past actions. Cosmic rhythms operate of their own volition and neither you nor I can change any of it, although I can understand why it makes you so angry.’

Shakti thought how wonderful it must be to be as unruffled as he always was, no matter the chaos that usually surrounded them. Why couldn’t she be that way, not allowing the little things to get to her and drive her to distraction? And why was guilt such a constant presence in her life?

In this case, though, the grit in her eye was the not-so-insignificant Indra. For some reason, he brought a curious amalgam of unease and repressed rage to the forefront of her subconscious, where she had interred the remains from her own debris-strewn past. She had her own share of hurtful secrets, which had been locked up in a vault and the key thrown far away. The trauma was hidden from her, but it was there,
nevertheless, as a constant presence that accused her of a substantial failure to resolve painful issues. While it remained buried, there could be no peace for her.

Indra and Sachi had been her antagonists all along and yet she had refused to engage with them, despite repeated challenges. It was almost as if they had danced this dance before and nothing good had come of it, although, for the life of her, she could not remember the details. The manner of Indra’s passing had also made a deep impression. He had chosen to run away from the truth and it ought to have been anathema to her, yet that was the first time she had fully identified and even empathized with him. There was something down that road that needed to be confronted and it concerned her that she was not looking forward to it.

Vishnu was looking at her in puzzlement. Before he could probe, she switched off her meandering thoughts and gave him her full attention, taking them both in a fresh direction. ‘Aren’t you curious about what is going to become of Indra? It is not going to be pleasant, and that is why I sought out your company. He threw in his lot with Dadichi, Svayambuha and the rest of that brotherhood, and now they will all share the same fate. Since they had all persisted in the foolhardiness of devising cages for their women, ostensibly to keep them safe and happy, to be used and discarded at their sole discretion, it is only fitting that they inhabit their creation themselves.’

Shakti laughed, but it was tinged with sadness. ‘I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, and yet it has to be done! Pain and suffering forged on personal experience make for great teachers, but the question is whether they will learn from this. Victims, trapped in a fate of their own making, can work hard to prevent others from suffering like they did, or they may end
up inflicting their misery on others to make it more endurable. The cycle could be broken or perennially perpetuated. It is in their hands and I can only hope that they do the right thing.’

She fell silent and Vishnu did not press her for more as she slipped into a meditative trance and began her contemplation on what was and would be. Instead, he allowed his entire being to align itself with hers, readying himself for the journey they were going to take together, bolstering her courage with his faith. They emerged together into a world, which was reeling under the weight of an unforgiving past.

It was the worst of times to be born a woman. And yet it was a precious gift, for experiencing the essence of femininity was a rare and beautiful thing. This was Indra’s destiny, along with Dadichi, Svayambuha, Brihaspati, the lokapalas and all the men who had scripted the doom which had caught up with Mother Earth.

They would all be born as women from all walks of life. Those who rebelled would be subjected to lashings by the male ego. Like bitches undergoing the rigours of training, they would either die resisting, their wild spirits refusing to be tamed, or become suitably pliable, having let the spark die out within them. Else they would submit temporarily to hide the resentment simmering inside them, forever looking for an outlet that could lead either to liberation or death.

Indra’s present was a gift from his past, and it was one that he wouldn’t have cared for, had he known or been given a choice. One of his most pressing concerns while he was the king of the heavens was the fact that his worship had declined slowly but steadily over the ages. His influence had waned when the intellect of the mortals had become more refined and they recognized the stronger forces that ran the universe.
In the conflict between the Creator and the Destroyer the latter had prevailed, decreeing that Brahma would no longer be worshipped and exalting only Vishnu to the same station. Goddess worship, though, was always popular and despite repeated efforts, it would never disappear in its entirety.

With his passing, Indra’s deepest desire had been fulfilled, even if not in the manner he might have wished. He would take countless births as mortal women, especially ones destined to be wronged in myriad ways. In asserting his indomitable spirit to right the scales of justice, he would be revered as a goddess long after the tragedy that had overtaken him disappeared into the realms of smoky legend. But the rites, rituals and worship that pleased him so would endure to help him keep playing the game he was determined to win.

Having withstood the harm inflicted on him as a mortal, his restless spirit would haunt the region that had borne witness to his degradation and defilement. In that geographical area, he would be worshipped as the gramadevi or village goddess. The fervour of the devotees would be such that even Shiva or Vishnu wouldn’t be accorded quite the same adulation anywhere. In that microcosmic representation of the heavens that he had formerly lorded over, Indra’s power would again be absolute.

As Shakti had hoped, many of the former men born as women deported themselves with so much grace and dignity that they were a source of inspiration to all who would come after them. They were brave in the face of adversity and found ways to lead useful, fulfilling and enriching lives within the tiny little spaces they had been boxed into. Using the gift of their natural intelligence, they found ways not only to accrue knowledge in the domain of the home and hearth where they
had been relegated, but in the fields of science and the arts as well, which had been declared well beyond their aptitude and limited powers of comprehension.

Slowly but surely, they took baby steps into a brave new world, unencumbered by ego and prejudice, holding out the hope that some day the sexes would operate in tandem, taking the three worlds to the zenith of prosperity. A time when they would finally be free from a fate to which they had been condemned by the Goddess, who had diabolically turned the tables on the entire male order that had set out to destroy her and her sex.

Shakti and Vishnu watched a billion lifetimes unfold and proceed to myriad conclusions that were sometimes heartening and sometimes depressing. The world would be a brighter place lit by hope as the two sexes learned to live and love without stepping on each other’s toes. Then there would suddenly be a tragic casualty that would destroy the fragile peace and gender wars would resume. For every little step taken forward, there would be two taken backward that would see progress halted for lengthy periods.

On and on it went until Vishnu broke the spell and addressed Shakti, who re-emerged from her trance on his insistence, ‘Your wisdom is unparalleled and I trust you know what you are doing, but I need to hear from your own lips what is finally going to become of Indra and the rest of them. I know that this vicious cycle they have gone and trapped himself in cannot last forever…but I have my concerns. This affair has roots deeper than even I know and resolving it is going to be complicated.’

The Goddess looked at him with eyes that were clouded with her own stormy thoughts. He had struck a nerve, but she
shied away from its implications, yet again promising herself that she would return to examine the old wound that had begun to weep blood and loudly declaimed its presence.