Kali, the Black Mother of Death

Roisin Murphy from Sinking Feeling (written by Roisin Murphy and Matthew Herbert)
Happy people don't give into that sinking feeling

The Indian pantheon is separated into two -- the monstrous devils, the Asuras and the divine, but often inhuman Devas. They were in constant battle ever since the Devas had out-witted them from taking of the magical Amrita that gave the Devas immortality. While the Devas were more powerful than the Asuras, they were still bound by certain laws which some clever Asuras had been able to use to their advantage.

One of these Asuras, the demon Raktavira studied the scriptures to appease Brahma, the creator. He prayed and fasted and was more devout than any holy man in India. This level of piety, Brahma cannot reward, even if he was a Devas. He held back his desire to reward this sacrifice the Asura was making but even Brahma must follow the rules and he gave in and asked Raktavira what he desired. Raktavira's response was a simple one: every drop of Raktavira's blood that spilled on the ground would be transformed into a thousand demons. Horrified, but unable to do anything, Brahma acquiesced.

With his new gift, Raktavira began attacking the mortal denizens of India. Town after town, city after city, Raktavira attacked without mercy or fear. Everytime someone tried to fight back, Raktavira's blood would spill into the ground and thousands and thousands of demons would come to his defense, and later, fought by his side.

The Devas could do nothing for fear of giving Raktavira an army that could not be opposed. The goddess Parvati, a beautiful and peaceful goddess, wife of Siva or Shiva, the destroyer, could not sleep as she could hear the cries of her worshippers slain one by one by Raktavira and his horde. She begged Brahma to take back his gift but Brahma shamefully shook his head. Even Brahma cannot take back his gifts once given. He is the creator, not the destroyer. But even Siva himself was afraid to use his powerful spear, the Pashupata, against Raktavira, fearing a much larger horde to follow.

Night after night, Parvati grew anxious as she could hear more and more of her worshippers calling for her aid and mercy. A feeling crept within her, one she had never felt before, anger and rage and it grew in her breast until she could no longer bare it. She gripped her breast and threw away her form to reveal another underneath. This was Kali, the Black Mother of Death, black-skinned, four armed and a long slithering tongue. On her forehead, like her husband the destroyer, she had a third eye. Preparing for battle, she wore a garland of skulls around her neck, and a skirt made of human arms. She wore no armor for she would dance into battle naked. She brought with her a sword and a dagger. That was all that she would need.

She quickly descended from her home at Mount Kailasa and faced Raktavira. She called out his name and told him he would pay for his transgressions. The Asura laughed, undaunted by this new, vile form before him. He was unafraid. He warned her of Brahma's gift but she neither flinched nor moved. The two began to battle. Quickly, Kali had begun to cut Raktavira again and again with her sword and dagger. Raktavira began to laugh as the blood began to drip from his wounds. Kali then leapt and landed on his chest, forcing the Asura to the ground. And then her long, slithering tongue escaped from her lips and began to lick the blood before it spilt to the ground. Raktavira was horrified. No demons would come from these wounds. He tried to stand up, to get away but Kali was stronger. On top of him, she began to thrust with her blades while her tongue drank every drop of blood before it fell to the ground. In his last breath, Raktavira commanded his army to kill her.

Kali looked with her three menacing eyes at the multitude of demons before her and smiled. She began to dance and threw herself into battle. The demons were no match for her random movements, her quickly moving blades. It did not take long before the battlefield was empty except for the dancing figure of Kali, the Black Mother of Death. Her tongue began to slither to drink the blood of the demons, even if they were not magickal and no new army of demons would have sprung forth.

Siva, happy that the terror of the Asura was finished, approached Kali, the living duality of her wife and asked her to return to Parvati but Kali was insatiable. She jerked his hand away and continued her dance and drink. Siva watched as she danced and danced and drank her fill. He saw himself mirrored in Kali's dark demeanor but knew that the task of death and destruction was his to bear and wanted Parvati back, the opposite of his own nature. He then lay down amongst the bodies and closed his eyes.

Soon, Kali, dancing atop the slain, landed on Siva's body and saw him there, almost dead-like and she regained her senses. She took off her garland of heads and arms, put down her weapons and in one move, took off the form of Kali and returned as Parvati. Siva stood up and the married couple kissed and returned to Mount Kailasa.

I think we all have dual sides. We are always known as we always are but I believe that we can be who we are not, if pushed to it. Louis Stevenson (I think it was him) wrote Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and the version I read was that when Dr. Jekyll first transformed to his opposite, Mr. Hyde was a tiny, tiny man because Dr. Jekyll was a good man; his evil side was still small and insignificant. But the more and more Dr. Jekyll allowed Mr. Hyde to explore his maliciousness, Mr. Hyde grew and grew becoming taller, stronger and Dr. Jekyll got weaker and thin and frail.

Last night, some of my friends witnessed another side of me they had never seen before. It was the exact opposite of my nature. I always try to be funny; I'm always making fun of things and not being serious. I allow people to make fun of me and I try to make light of things, even things that shouldn't be made light of. I am open, always willing to share any intimate detail of myself to people and you can tell me anything and it wouldn't change anything at all.

When things are not going my way, to a really bad degree, when I feel my whole world falling apart, I withdraw into myself. I don't let anyone reach me. I hate myself that way. I retreat into a world into myself and no one can reach me. No one can get there. I am unresponsive and closed; the exact opposite of who I am.

I've become so used to being funny and happy and giving people the opportunity to have fun at my expense. It's nothing to me. I can take it. But when I'm not in that mood and I'm in a very bad, I don't want anybody to see me that way. I refuse. And then I become this thing that nobody knows, this thing that no one recognizes.

If I suddenly disappear. If I suddenly become unreachable; that's probably the reason. The dark side of myself that is capable of so many things -- so many scary things.

I don't want to think about it too much. It's scary. I almost did something that might have gotten me very hurt last night. It is very frightening, that place and I don't want to go back there. Because once you say something or do something, most of the time, you can never take it back.

Anger's Bitter Throwing Hand

Robert Kincaid
Analysis destroys wholes. Some things, magic things, are meant to stay whole. If you look at their pieces, they go away.

The Aesir gods of the Scandinavians, the Norse gods of Asgard were fierce warriors. They lived for war. Every diety of the Norse gods were capable swordsmen, even the women. Those that died in battle were allowed to ascend with them in the great halls of Asgard. Those who didn't descended into Niflheim, the land of the dead.

Of all the Asgardian dieties, Balder (or Baldur) was the most beloved. The son of Odin, the head god of the Asgardians known for his thirst for knowledge and wisdom. He was brother to Thor and in some legends and stories, half-brother to the mischievous and malicious Loki, the shape-shifting trickster whom the Asgardian gods had kept because as long as he was in their midst, they did not have to stain their hands with dishonest or ignoble acts. They tolerated him for he could do the things they were not wont do. Loki, they thought, might be half-giant but whatever his lineage may be, son to Odin or not, he was needed and thus accepted into their ranks.

Balder was the most beautiful and the brightest of gods. Even the mortals that lived in Midgard (Earth) praised him and gave him honour. They said that he was a sun god, others say he was the god of beauty; but whatever the case maybe, should Odin fall, it was Balder who would reign over the Asgardian gods and not Thor who was more a warrior than a leader. No one would ever think of harming Balder except every night, Balder would wake up, haunted by gruesome nightmares.

This troubled Odin and his wife, Balder's mother Frigg, patroness of motherhood and marriage and fertility. So in order to protect Balder, the two gods met all the other gods in a council and it came to agreement that everyone should take an oath to never hurt the beloved god. All the gods agreed to this and then soon, all things -- plants, animals, objects, the elements were given voice and language for a day in order to join the oath. Snakes were made to swear that their fangs, scale and poison would not harm Balder. Fire was made to promise their heat would never scorch his skin. Steel, wood, stone made the same promise as did poisonous plants, water and the like. Any thing in the world that would cause lethal harm to Balder was made to take the oath and they all accepted and made the pledge.

Relieved, a new game was made in the halls of Asgard. During drink, and in the name of fun and amusement, Balder would stand up and all the gods would throw things at him -- arrows, spears, knives, axe, sword and they would all laugh at it as it would bounce off his body, Balder laughing, unharmed. Of everyone in the halls of Asgard, two people were not amused. One of them was Loki who despised Balder's virtues and envied his invulnerability.

One day, Frigg was approached by a young, kindly faced woman who introduced herself as a new mother. The young mother asked the goddess how she too could protect her child as Frigg had done Balder and Frigg's heart had melted in sympathy and told her of the great oath-taking. Frigg even admitted that there was one that had not committed the pledge. It was the mistletoe, a slender shoot growing out of an oak tree. It was so young and fragile that she did not think it would be able to bring Balder to harm. The young mother thanked Frigg profusely and left. Far away from Asgard, the young mother turned immediately into Loki in one motion.

On Midsummer's Eve, once again the hall of Asgard was over-flowing with drink and the gods were once again throwing dangerous weapons at Balder. The other diety who did not partake of this game was Balder's own brother Hoder, who was blind. Loki arrived late this night, for he was shafting a spear made from the mistletoe that had escaped the pledge for Balder's safety. Immediately he walked up to Hoder and asked him why he was so sad and not up to the merriment of Asgard. He mentioned each god and dwelt mostly on Nanna, Balder's wife and the reason of Hoder's blindness.

It was a sore point for Hoder. After all, both brothers had wanted her and fought for her and Balder won and in the process left Hoder blind. Loki played on this until he convinced Hoder that he should play along. He would guide Hoder's hand and he too should join in the merriment. Hoder acquiesced and with Loki's guiding hand and an expert ear, threw the spear and it struck Balder squarely on the chest.

There was stillness as all the gods watched as Balder keeled over and fell dead. Hoder was struck dumb with grief. He had killed his own brother and knew not how or why. Loki even feigned surprise even though his whole body shook with amusement and joy and happiness. But he was a trickster, the best of all in Asgard and Midgard and in the lands of the dwarves and the giants. He hid it well and no one knew it was all his doing that their most beloved god had fallen by his brother's unwitting hand, led by the lord of all mischief.

Family. It's a weird thing. You grow up knowing nothing else. Everything about you is shaped by them -- by what you are exposed to. Especially if you are the youngest, I remember always being brought along to this and being forced to listen to that and having to play their games. Because of that, I've always felt like a side-kick. I was Sancho Panza, Robin, Watson and every other foil to every hero's story.

I didn't mind, it has made me a very open-minded person. I've a very strong personality but that's really mine, but I'm also extremely willing and capable of taking a subordinate position to anybody else around me. I've had good practice. Like I told some people many times, "I'm never going to be nominated for a Best Actor award, but hell, I've been nominated for Best Supporting Actor plenty of times. I've even won a few!"

But I'm older now and it's time for me to get on with my life and sometimes, the closeness of some members of my family has caused much grief for me. One brother had already caused me much grief 3 or 4 years ago. I'm still reeling from the effects of his wake. He's far, far away now but I look around me and things aren't the same. I was never old enough to know what I could take advantage of from my family and now it's gone and I have to make my own way.

Thank God, people always tell me, I have what it takes to carve out my own future. I'm a survivor, they've said. If only I knew the comforts they have known. I wouldn't be so resentful of them.

And then now, another brother has come to take his place. And I'm very angry and I have no knowledge of how to convey this. Of all my brothers, he was the one who needed the hero position and place more than any of them. I was his side-kick and at one point, when all things were falling apart for him, I was the one he held on to the hardest. I know he loves me, but he's choking me and I want to be as far from him as I can be.

Family. It's a funny thing. There's so much love there but there's too much familiarity and when you grow older, as you start shaping who you are now, sometimes, they try to keep you to the way they know you. And they try to stifle that which you want to be in order for things to be the same.

I wonder how it is for the older ones, the ones who have to watch out for the younger ones? I wonder how they feel? Because right now, I'm resentful and angry and bitter and I just want to go away and not see him for a long while.

I have the ways, I have the means, I have the gumption. I can do it if I wanted to. I can be Loki because I'm sure I'm no Hoder. I'm not some victim, sitting down and moping and wondering what could have been and then slowly using my anger to accidentally cause the fatal blow. But I can be Loki, who can weave and go through the webs and fashion a scheme. I can get out if I want to.

To do so without hurting anybody is the question. Can I do it without ruffling feathers?

Or maybe the true question is, do I want to keep things okay?