Untitled - Katha

44 ◆
her. Slowly, steadily she walked to the cave below the temple of
Chinnamasta. The door swung open as her foot touched the step.
She could see the jatadhari at the altar. His skin gleamed bronze
in the light of the oil lamps. The russet locks coiled like serpents
down his bare back. His eyes glinted like the flames of earthen
lamps that were lit in buffalo heads, sacrificed for the boon of a
long life. Only a patch of red cloth covered his genitals. Hibiscus
flowers lay strewn about, like fresh blood.
“I knew you would come.”
She climbed down the stairs to him.
“No peace of mind?”
She did not reply.
“No one can claim peace of mind.”
She turned her eyes from his face.
“We hold our souls together with the skins of sacrificed animals.
No peace of mind.” He reached for an earthen pot and took a
swig of local brew as he rose. He signalled her to come closer. She
sat on the lowest step hugging her knees. His raw odour wafted
to her.
Picking up another earthen pitcher, he drained it. He lifted
an earthen lamp from the altar to her face. Her copper hair
gleamed like a machete.
The lamp light flowed down her sharp nose, the soft lips. It
rippled down the smooth curve of her fair neck to her full breasts.
A rush of waves. A gentle tremor. The silken spread of light
engulfed them.
The Man from Chinnamasta