Untitled - Katha

30 ◆
On occasion a bird dropped from the sky, landing in the midst of
the jatadhari’s congregation.
The hopefuls were milling about again today. They had come
to meet the jatadhari. Some came by boat. Others had walked
all the way. Each was beset by their own share of troubles.
Yesterday, the ascetic had been spotted in broad daylight,
swimming across to Bhasmachal. The island in the Brahmaputra
was famous because of its Jyotirlinga. The wives of the Kamakhya
priests had come out in their numbers. In red-bordered sarees
and flaring sendur bindis, they stood on the elephant-trunkrock
to watch. They saw the jatadhari standing on the
Bhasmachal rocks.
Two women broke unobtrusively away from the group to make
a quick run to the Darbhanga House. Quite a crowd was gathered
there already. The jatadhari had given Dorothy the
mahasankhamala. They were dying to know what it was all about.
What did she do all day behind those shuttered windows?
Two priests who had gone to collect water for puja had caught
a glimpse of her at daybreak. In heavy overcoat and woollen cap,
she had come down to the riverfront and walked around for a
while before hurrying back to the house. The Torsa hermit and
the Tibetan monk had also reported seeing her there.
In the mornings, out on her own, she avoided prying eyes.
When she sat out on the veranda, she saw nothing but the
Brahmaputra.
She has seen the Mother walking on the sacred river. Her third
eye has set the waves on fire. The trees on Bhasmachal and the
peaks of the distant mountains were aflame. She came down from
Nilachal, swift as the wind, trident in hand, a garland of hibiscus
round her neck. Her clothes were stained with sacrificial blood,
The Man from Chinnamasta