There is ink on my hands,
Ink on my face,
Neighbours laugh.
I see Ma in Shyama
I see Kali in ink
In the multiplication tables I see nothing
But the black kali (ink).
Sound of the alphabet
I couldn’t care less for
For there isn’t among them
Your dark lovely shade
But Mother, I can read
All that you write
On the leaves,
On the waters,
In the ledger that is the sky.
Let them call me illiterate.
—Kazi Nazrul Islam (Nineteenth Century)
Hymn 5
I cling to your feet
You never look at me.
Lost in your own play,
Engrossed in your own emotions,
What is this sport you revel in
Across three worlds?
The universe shuts its eyes in terror,
And calls out ‘Mother, Mother!’
Clutching your feet.
In your hands, Kali,
Is the fire of dissolution.
Under your feet
Lies unconscious, the great Shiva.
Wild laughter issues from your mouth
Streams of blood flow down your limbs.
Tara, forgiving one, end our fear!
Pick me up like a baby in your arms.
Come shining like a star,
Smile,
Put a fair dress,
Like dawn after a pitch-black night!
All these days, O Terrible Kali,
I’ve worshipped only you.
My puja is done, Mother.
Won’t you put down your sword?
—Dwijendralal Ray (Nineteenth Century)
Hymn 6
You play tricks, Kali.
I know.
You let them call you anything.
Magas call you Pharatara,
Europeans call you God;
Mughals and Pathans,
Saiyids and Qazis
All call you Khuda.
You are Shakti for Shaktas
Shiva for Shaivas
Surya for Sauras
Radha for Vaishnavas
Ganesh for Ganapatyas
Kuber for Yakshas
Vishwakarma for craftsmen
The saint Badar, for boatmen
Ramdulal says this is no delusion.
From what comes to pass,
Truth is felt
But the mind misbehaves
Takes the One to be many.
—Ramdulal Nandi (Nineteenth Century)
Hymn 7
Hope of hopes—that human rebirth,
But my arrival brought me nothing.
I hover like the bee around a lotus painting,
Hoping for nectar.
You tricked me mother
Gave me bitter neem, saying it is sugar
You cheated me.
You put me on earth saying
‘It’s time for us to play,’
But the game brought disappointment,
No fun.
Perhaps this was meant to be
Such is the game of existence.
Take me home, mother
Night falls
I am tired.
—Ramprasad Sen (Eighteenth Century)
Hymn 8
O Mother,
You give birth
You protect
You kill
Absorbing all
You are the creator
You are the protector
You are the destroyer
I bow to you, Kali
Beloved of Time
Saviour
Wisdom
Tara
Srividya
Giver of riches
Path of Liberation
Hara and Hari salute you
And all the gods
As do I.
—Karpuradi Stotra (Seventeenth Century)
Hymn 9
Hrim, destroyer of time!
Srim, embodiment of terror!
Krim, giver of boons!
Mother of Time
Brilliant as the fires of dissolution
Tawny, Black, Night of darkness
Beloved of the creator
Liberator from the bonds of desire
Bearer of the crescent moon
Destroyer of fear, of sin, of pride, in the Kali Age
Virginal
Tender
Slender
Lover of wine
Joyous one
Revealer of the path of the Kaulikas
Queen of Kashi
Allayer of sufferings.
To Thee I pay obeisance.
—Adya Kali Stotra (Sixteenth Century)
Acknowledgements
This book is based on the lectures and writings of my brother Dr Devdutt Pattanaik. I am merely the compiler. May Kali, the dark mother, look upon this endeavour with grace.
The Book of Kali Page 9