Dhampir of Kalika

৫(part ২). kill

Open your eyes, Maya.

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Sometimes Ramlal would wonder if being born as a human was really a blessing when all he could do was silently watch. His worn out senile heart couldn't take so much bloodshed going around him. He was a devotee of Kalika. To the ignorant, the ones from whom the light of knowledge was occluded, might think this to be odd, as the worshippers of Kalika adored her avatar of blood and bones. Yet, Ramlal saw the motherly affection in the Devi's eyes, found meaning in the timeless form of hers. And lately, his life ceased to have meaning.

He was as helpless as a bird whose wings were clipped. He bled but no one saw. He felt his home, Khatra, was slowly turning into a devil's purgatory. He knew good and evil existed together, walked together, hand-in-hand like lovers sworn to fidelity. But that was a thought too sacred and deep, thriving in a place beyond the periphery of human interference. It breathed life in all of the lower beings, as humans, pushing them to lead a life.

"But what meaning does life hold anyway if you cannot see beauty in death? What is the use of living with fear of what is to come?"

Thoughts plagued him. The dark interiors of the garbha griha, devoid of moonbeams and lit only by flickering lanterns, quite perfectly portrayed his own internal picture. He was suffering from what should be done and what should not be done.

"But often by hook or crook..."

Ramlal knew everything. He was powerless. He couldn't stop the deaths. His head would roll on the cold floor if he dared to stop it. And no, he was more afraid of leaving his young daughter behind than facing death. He couldn't risk dying unless he was sure of her safety. Being a woman in this world was already a tough task. The people worshipped Shakti, however her earthly manifestations were spat on.

Hypocrites! Ramlal scoffed in the silence.

Tears drizzled from his eyes on his lap. He heaved a sigh, watching the idol of Kalika stay unmoved by his emotions. How he wished she would come to life. So many saints and philosophers claimed to have seen her, and here Ramlal, having the greatest urgency, was unable to see her.

"How long should Khatra suffer?"

As long as they live, perhaps.

Then should they be killed? Isn't killing a sin?

Kalika doesn't want to kill. Kalika needs to kill.

Ramlal got up and exited the garbha griha. He bolted and locked the door, the keys dangling on his waist. It was midnight, the roads of Khatra as uninhabited as a cemetery.

If someone could dare to walk these roads at night, it was Ramlal. Not because he was a priest who knew hocus pocus. To be honest, he knew probably nothing, except pure bhakti. Was that what saved him from the creatures of the dark?

Perhaps they were afraid of attacking the devotee of the Mother. Yet, they had already killed so many, so why spare Ramlal?

The priest smiled at the crescent moon in the sky. It reminded him of Shiva. Pisacham nisesa sama pasoonaam prathishtam– the one who is seen as equal to ghosts, ghouls and demons. And yet, he is Chandrasekhara too, the most handsome man ever alive. 

He was there above Ramlal, so no harm could befall on him.

****

It was not the world that Maya knew. It was not the earth that she lived on.