311
Prose
In the Demon's Lair
Sayani
Once upon a time, there was a demon from underground who tormented the dwellers of earth. The dwellers turned their faces skyward, to plead to the gods above. Please save us, they prayed. The three gods gave birth to a goddess to slay the demon. A powerful, beautiful woman. The goddess and the demon fought for nine days. Trickery, scorn, savagery - the demon did not leave any stone unturned. On the tenth day, the goddess killed the demon.
Amrita roams the serpentine gullies of Kumartuli where the naked forms of the earthen Durga idols line each shop. A lot fewer idols than in other years, she notes and sighs. She inhales the smell of moist earth that has transmuted into perfect feminine forms at the hands of sculptors. So much for body-inclusive images, she smirks.
Artists patch the cracks in the idols with a smooth layer of gooey clay that reminds her of the banks of the river Ganga. But all gashes are not so easy to suppress. Red and black posters clamouring for justice are stamped all around her. Slogans against rape and corruption are imprinted under the blurred face of the doctor who was killed. Amrita’s chest feels constricted.
Manik da greets her with a smile. ‘I thought you won’t come this year,’ he remarks. He is colouring his Durga yellow.
‘I couldn’t stay away from this,’ Amrita points at the idols and her camera. ‘ How're you Manik da?’
‘Business is bad. So many protests on the streets! Many associations have cancelled puja.’
‘I hope this ordeal ends in justice soon,’ Amrita says, yearning to believe it.
‘How will it didi? No safety, no justice, only goonda raj. And who will suffer? We. No matter what, we have to pay for party funds. For every single occasion.
‘What happens if you don’t?’
‘Then suddenly your orders get cancelled. There may be garbage in front of your house. And god forbid, if you need any help from the municipality or the police station, even the gods can’t save you.’
Amrita fixes her gaze at the red-eyed, open-mouthed Asura.
With Lord Brahma’s boon, the demon was invincible.
A searing pain shoots from between her thighs to the soles of her feet, engulfing her mind with memories. She was eleven. He was an uncle. She told her mother. They never left her alone with him thereafter. But, they didn’t confront him, or tell anyone. The cold silence that descended between her and her parents never thawed.
Amrita bids goodbye to Manik da and heads out. A woman is speaking over a loudspeaker. ‘We want systemic change. When a male child is born, he is not a criminal. The systemic patriarchy and culture of corruption aid some to turn into animals. We need a shift in mindset.’
Goosebumps tingle Amrita. The toothy grin of her preschooler son bobs in her head. As she strides to ease her disquiet, a throng of women and men cross her, mouthing full-throated war cries. Amrita raises her fist and joins the march.
The goddess has a hundred-and-eight forms. It can as well be a million.