To: alt.pagan,alt.satanism,alt.fan.kali.astarte.inanna,alt.magick.tyagi
From: tyagi@houseofkaos.abyss.com (nagasiva)
Summary: A quote from Dan Simmons' _Song of Kali_.
Keywords: Song, Kali, Evil, Demons, Black, Goddess
Subject: Dark Reference
Date: Kali Yuga 49941219

Anxiety arose in me again.  It is hard even now for me to describe the
nature of this tension.  It had little to do with a sense of physical
danger, although I felt absurdly exposed as we rattled over loose
paving stones, heaps of garbage, and trolley tracks.  I realized that
I still had two hundred dollars worth of traveller's checks in my
billfold.  But that was not the real source of the nervousness that
rose in my throat like bile.

Something about the Calcutta night worked directly upon the darkest
regions of my mind.  Brief clutches of an almost childlike fear tugged
at my consciousness and were forced down again by the adult mind.  The
sounds of the night held no threat in and of themselves -- distant
shouts, sibilant scrapings, an occasional muffled snatch of conversa-
tion as we passed the sheeted figures -- but they had the same gut-
wrenching, attention-getting effect that the sound of someone breathing
under your bed at night would generate.

"Kaliksetra," said Krishna.  His voice was soft, barely audible over
the panting of the rickshaw-coolie and the slap of the bare feet on
pavement.

"Excuse me?"

"Kaliksetra.  It means 'the place of Kali.'  Certainly you knew that
this is where the name of our city has originated?"

"Ahh, no.  That is, I may have.  I must have forgotten."

Krishna turned toward me.  I could not see his face clearly in the
darkness, but I could feel the weight of his stare.  "You must know
this," he said flatly.  "Kaliksetra became the village of Kalikata.
Kalikata was the site of the great Kalighat, the most holy temple
to Kali.  It still stands.  Less than two miles from your hotel.
Certainly you must know this."

"Hmmm," I said.  A trolley had turned the corner at high speed.  Our
rickshaw-coolie suddenly swerved across the tracks, avoiding the tram
by less than a yard.  Angry shouts followed us out onto a wider,
emptier street.  "Kali was a goddess, wasn't she?"  I said.  "One of
Siva's consorts?"  Despite my interest in Tagore, it had been many
years since I had read any of the Vedas.

Krishna made an incredible sound.  At first I thought it was an explo-
sive burst of derision, but then I turned to look.  He was stopping
one nostril with his finger and loudly blowing mucus into his left
hand.  "Yes, yes," he said.  "Kali is the sacred *sakti* of Siva."
He inspected the contents of his hand, nodded as if satisfied, and 
flicked his fingers over the side of the rickshaw.

"Certainly you know her aspect?" he asked.  From one of the shadowy,
dilapidated buildings we had passed came the sound of several women
screaming at each other.

"Her aspect?  No, I don't believe so.  She ... the statues ... they
have four arms, don't they?"  I looked around, and wondered if we
were almost at our destination.  There were fewer shops here.  I found
it hard to imagine a coffee shop among these ruins.

"Of course!  Of course!  She is a *goddess*; obviously she has four
arms!  You must see the great idol in Kalighat.  It is the *jugrata*,
the 'very awake' Kali.  Very terrible.  Beautifully terrible, Mr. Luczak.
Her hands show the *abhaya* and *vara mudras* -- the fear-removing and
boon-granting *mudras*.  But very terrible.  Very tall.  Very gaunt.
Her mouth is open.  Her tongue is long.  She has two ... what is the
word... the teeth of the vampire?"

"Fangs?"  I gripped the wet seat cover and wondered what Krishna was
going on about.  We turned down a darker, narrower street.

"Ah, yes, yes.  She alone of the gods has conquered time.  She devours
all beings, of course.  *Purusam*, *asvam*, *gam*, *avim*, *ajam*.
She is unclad.  Her beautiful feet tread on a corpse.  In her hands she
holds a pasa ... a noose, *khatvanga* ... what is the word? ... A stick,
no, a *staff* with a skull, *khadga* ... a sword, and a severed head."

"A severed head?"

"Certainly.  You must know this."

"Listen, goddamit, Krishna, what is all this --"

"Ah, we are here, Mr. Luczak.  Step down.  Quickly, please.  We are
late.  The coffee shop closes at eleven."


_Song of Kali_, by Dan Simmons, published by Tor Horror Books; pp. 56-8.
-----------------------------------------

AUM KRIM NAMAH KALI!!!

nagasiva, tyagi@houseofkaos.abyss.com


From tyagi@HouseofKaos.Abyss.com  Wed Feb  1 08:01:17 1995
Subject: kalisong2.txt
To: ceci@lysator.liu.se (Ceci Henningsson)
Date: Tue, 31 Jan 1995 23:00:35 +73600 (PST)
From: tyagi@HouseofKaos.Abyss.com (nagasiva)
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To: alt.fan.kali.astarte.inanna
From: tyagi@houseofkaos.abyss.com (nagasiva)
Summary: Another quote from Dan Simmons' _Song of Kali_.
Keywords: Black, Goddess, Evil, Demons, Scary
Subject: Dark Initiation
Date: Kali Yuga 49941219

"It was through the Beggarmasters that Sanjay received his chance to join
the Kapalikas.  The Kapalika Society was older than the Goonda Brotherhood,
older even than the city.

"They worship Kali, of course.  For many years they worshiped openly at
the Kalighat Temple, but their customs of sacrificing a boy child each
Friday of the month caused the British to ban the Society in 1831.  They
went underground and thrived.  The nationalist struggle through the last
century brought many to seek to join them.  But their initiation price
was high -- as Sanjay and I were soon to learn.

"For months, Sanjay had tried to make contact with them.  For months he
had been put off.  Then, in the autumn of last year, they offered him his
chance.  Sanjay and I were fast friends by then.  We had taken the
Brotherhood Oath together and I had done my small share by running a few
messages to various people and once I made a collection run when Sanjay
was ill.

"It surprised me when Sanjay offered to let me join the Kapalikas with
him.  It surprised and frightened me.  My village had a temple to Durga,
the Goddess Mother, so even so fierce an aspect and incarnation of her
as Kali was familiar to me.  Yet I hesitated.  Durga was maternal and
Kali was reputed to be wanton.  Durga was modest in her representations
while Kali was naked -- not nude, but brazenly naked -- wearing only
the darkness as her cloak.  The darkness and a necklace of human skulls.
To worship Kali beyond her holiday was to follow the Vamachara -- the
perverse left-handed Tantra.  I remember once as a child an older cousin
was showing around a printed card showing a woman, a goddess, in obscene
coitus with two men.  My uncle found us looking at it, took the card,
struck my cousin in the face.  The next day an old Brahmin was brought
in to lecture us on the danger of such Tantric nonsense.  He called it
'the error of the five M's' -- *madya*, *mamsa*, *matsya*, *mudra*,
*maithun*.  These, of course, were the *Pancha Makaras* which the
Kapalikas might well demand -- alcohol, meat, fish, hand gestures, and
coitus.  To be truthful, coitus was much on my mind these days, but to
first experience it as part of a worship service was a truly frightening
thought.

"But I owed Sanjay much.  Indeed, I began to realize that I might never
be able to pay the debt I owed him.  So I accompanied him on his first
meeting with the Kapalikas.

"They met us in the evening in the empty marketplace near the Kalighat.
I do not know what I expected -- my image of Kapalikas grew out of the
stories told to frighten unruly children -- but the two men who waited
there for us fit none of my imaginings and apprehensions.  They were
dressed like businessmen -- one even carried a briefcase -- and both
were soft-spoken, refined in manner and dress, and courteous to both of
us despite the class and caste differences.

"The ceremonies in progress were most dignified.  It was the day of the
new moon in celebration of Durga, and the head of an ox was on the iron
spike before Kali's idol.  Blood still dripped into the marble basin
beneath it.

"As someone who had worshiped Durga faithfully since infancy, I had no
trouble joining the Kali/Durja litany.  The few changes were easily
learned, although several times I mistakenly invoked Parvati/Durga
rather than Kali/Durga.  The two gentlemen smiled.  Only one passage
was substantially different that I had to learn it anew:

		The world is pain,
		O terrible wife of Siva
		You are chewing the flesh;
		O terrible wife of Siva,
		Your tongue is drinking the blood,
		O dark Mother!  O unclad Mother.
		O beloved of Siva
		The world is pain.

"Then large clay effigies were carried through the Kalighat in
procession.  Each was sprinkled with the blood of the sacrifice.
Some were statues of Kali in her aspect of Chandi, The Terrible
One; or as Chinnamasta, the 'she who is beheaded' of the ten
*Mahavidyas* when Kali decapitated herself so as to drink of her
own blood.

"We followed the procession outside and down the banks of the Hooghly
River, through which, of course, the waters of the Holy Ganges flow.
There the idols were cast into the water in the sure faith that they
would rise again.  We chanted with the crowd:

		*Kali, Kali balo bhai*
		*Kali, bai are gate nai*
		O brethren take the name of Kali
		There is no refuge except in her.

"I was moved to tears.  The ceremony was so much more grand and
beautiful than the simple village offerings in Anguda.  The two
gentlemen approved.  So, evidently, did the Kalighat *jagrata*,
for we were invited to a true meeting of the Kapalikas on the first
day of next month's full moon." ...

"Sanjay was very agitated all that month.  I realized that he did
not have the religious upbringing which I had been so fortunate to
receive.  Like all members of the Communist Party India, Sanjay had
to deal with political beliefs which were at war with his deeper
heritage as a Hindu.  You must understand that to us religion is no
more an abstract 'belief' requiring an 'act of faith' than is the
process of breathing.  Indeed, it would be easier to will one's
heart to stop beating than to will away one's perspective as a Hindu.
To be a Hindu, especially in Bengal, is to accept all things as
aspects of divinity and never to artificially separate the sacred
>from the profane.  Sanjay shared this knowledge, but the thin layer of
Western thought which had been grafted over his Indian soul refused
to accept it.

"Once during that month, I asked him why he had bothered to seek
membership with the Kapalikas if he could not truly worship the
goddess.  He grew angry with me then, and called me several names.
He even threatened to raise my tent or call due his notes.  Then,
perhaps remembering our Brotherhood Oath and seeing the sorrow
written on my face, he apologized.

"'Power', he said, 'Power is the reason I have sought this, Jayaprakesh.
For some time I have known that the Kapalikas hold power far out of 
proportion to their numbers.  The *goondas* fear nothing ... nothing
but the Kapalikas.  The *thugees*, as stupid and violent as they are,
will not oppose someone known to be a Kapalika.  The common people hate
the Kapalikas or pretend the society no longer exists, but it is a
hatred born of envy.  They fear the very name *Kapalika*.'

"'Perhaps *respect* is the better word,' I said.

"'No,' said Sanjay, 'the word is *fear*.'

"On the first night of the new moon following the feast of Durga, on the
first night of the celebration of Kali, a man in black met us in the
abandoned marketplace to take us to the meeting of the Kapalika Society.
On the way we passed down the Street of the Clay Idols, and hundreds of
aspects of Kali -- straw bones piercing their unfinished clay flesh --
watched us as we passed.

"The temple was in a large warehouse.  The river flowed beneath part of
it, just as it had at the Kalighat.  We could hear its constant 
whispering throughout the ceremony which followed.

"It was a gentle twilight outside, but very dark once we were in the
warehouse.  The temple was a building within a building.  Candles showed
the way.  A few snakes moved freely across the cool floor, but it was too
dark for me to tell if they were cobras, vipers, or less worrisome 
serpents.  I thought it a melodramatic touch.

"The idol of Kali was smaller than the one in the Kalighat -- but also
gaunter, darker, sharper of eye, and altogether more terrible.  In the
dim and trembling light, the mouth seemed now to open wider, now to
close slightly in a cruel smile.  The statue was freshly painted.  Her
breasts were tipped with red nipples, her groin was dark, and her tongue
was bright crimson.  The long teeth were very, very white in the gloom,
and the narrow eyes watched as we moved closer.

"There were two other visible differences.  First, the corpse upon
which this idol danced was real.  We could smell it as soon as we
entered the temple proper.  The stink mingled with the heavy scent
of incense.  The cadaver was that of a man -- white of flesh, bones
visible under the parchment flesh, its form molded into the attitudes
of death with a sculptor's skill.  One eye was open slightly.

"I was not totally surprised by the presence of a body.  Tradition had
it that Kapalikas wore necklaces of skulls, and raped and sacrificed
a virgin before each ceremony.  Only a few days earlier Sanjay had
joked that I might well be the chosen virgin.  But now, in the darkness
of the warehouse temple, with the smell of corruption in our nostrils,
I was glad enough that there was no sign of such a tradition being
honored.

"The second difference in the statue was less noticeable and somehow
more frightening.  Kali continued to raise her four arms in fury;
dangling from one hand the noose, from another the skullstaff, and
>from on high the sword.  But her fourth hand was empty.  Where there
should have been the effigy of a severed head, there was only empty
air.  The idol's fingers grasped at nothing.  I felt my heart begin
to pound, and one glance at Sanjay told me that he too was holding
back his terror.  The smell of our sweat mixed with the holy odors 
of incense and dead flesh.

"The Kapalikas entered.  They wore no robes or special garments.
Most wore the simple white *dhoti* so common in rural areas.  All
were men.  It was too dark to make out any Brahman castemarks, but
I assumed there were several priests there.  In all, they numbered
about fifty.  The black-garbed man who had led us to the warehouse
blended back into the shadows which filled most of the temple, and
I had no doubt that there were more unseen forms there.

"There were six other initiates besides Sanjay and myself.  I
recognized none of them.  We made a trembling half-circle in front
of the idol.  The Kapalikas moved in behind us and began to sing.
My useless tongue barely could form responses and they were always
a second late.  Sanjay gave up trying to join in the litany and
held a thin smile through the entire worship service.  Only the
whiteness of his lips gave away his tension.  Both of us kept
returning our glances to the empty hand of Kali.

"The song was from my childhood.  I associated its sentimental lyrics
with sunlight on temple stone, the promise of holiday feasts, and
the scent of scattered flower petals.  Now, as I sang it in the night
with the smell of carrion meat filling the moist air, the words took
on a different meaning:

		O Mother mine,
		*Daughter of the Mountain*!

		The world is pain,
		Its load all bearing past;
		Never pine I, never thirst,
		For its kingdom vain.

		Rosy are her feet,
		A shelter free of fear;
		Death may whisper -- *I am near*;
		She and I shall smiling meet.

"The service ended abruptly.  There was no procession.  One of the
Kapalikas stepped onto the low dais below the idol.  Now that my eyes
had adjusted to the dark, I thought I recognized the man.  He was an
important figure in Calcutta.  He would have to be important if I
could know his face after only a few months in the city.

"The priest spoke softly.  His voice was almost lost against the sound
of the river.  He spoke of the sacred society of the Kapalikas.  *Many
are called*, he intoned, *but few are chosen*.  Our time of initiation,
he said, would cover a period of three years.  I gasped as he said this,
but Sanjay merely nodded.  I realized then that Sanjay had known more
of what the initiation entailed than he had shared with me.

"'You will be asked to do many things to prove your worth and faith in
Kali,' the priest said gently.  'You may leave now, but once you have
begun on the Path, you may not turn back.'

"There was a silence then.  I looked at the other initiates.  No one
moved.  I would have left then ... I *would* have left ... if Sanjay
had not stayed where he was, unmoving, lips pulled tight in a bloodless
smile.  My own legs felt too heavy to move.  My ribs ached from the
thudding of my heart.  I could hardly breathe.  But I did not leave.

"'Very well,' said the priest of Kali.  'You will be asked to fulfill
two duties before we meet again tomorrow midnight.  The first you may
complete now.'  So saying, the priest removed a small dagger from
beneath the folds of his *dhoti*.  I heard the slight intake of
Sanjay's breath at the same instant as mine.  All eight of us stood
more erect, alert, alarmed.  But the Kapalika only smiled and turned
the blade across the soft flesh of his palm.  The narrow line of blood
swelled up slowly and looked back in the candlelight.  The priest
replaced the knife and then lifted what looked like several blades
of grass from the clenched fist of the corpse under the idol's foot.
One of these blades of grass he held up to the light.  Then he turned
his injured hand palm downward above it.  The sound of the blood
slowly dripping on the stone floor was clearly audible.  One end of
the three-inch stalk of grass was splashed with a few of these
crimson tears.  Immediately, another of the Kapalikas came out of
the darkness, lifted all the blades of grass, turned his back on us,
and approached the idol.

"When he moved away, the slender stalks were only just visible,
protruding from the clenched fist of the goddess Kali.  There was no
way of telling which one of the identical stalks had been marked with
the priest's blood.

"'You may come forward,' said the priest.  He pointed to Sanjay. 
'Approach the goddess.  Receive your gift from the *jagrata*.'

"To Sanjay's credit, he hesitated for only the smallest fraction
of a second.  He stepped forward.  The goddess seemed to grow taller
as Sanjay paused under the outstretched arm.  Just as Sanjay reached
upward there arose a hideous smell as if some bubble of decomposing
gas had chosen that second to emanate from the trammeled corpse.

"Sanjay reached up, plucked a straw, and immediately covered it with
his palms.  It was not until he returned to our circle that he opened
his cupped hands and looked at the blade of grass.  It was unmarked.

"An overweight man at the far end of the line was pointed to next.
His legs were shaking visibly as he approached the goddess. 
Instinctively, he hid the quickly grasped stalk, just as Sanjay had
done; just as we all were to do.  Then he held up the virgin blade
of grass.  Relief was written into every fold of his fat face.

"So it went with the third man, who could not stifle a soft gasp as
he peered into his cupped hands and saw the clean stalk there.  So
it went with the fourth man who let out an involuntary sob as he
reached for the fourth blade.  The eyes of the goddess stared down-
ward.  The red tongue seemed inches longer than it had been when we
arrived.  The fourth stalk was clean. 

"I was the fifth man chosen.  I seemed to be watching myself from a
great distance as I approached the goddess.  It was impossible not 
to look into her face before reaching upward.  The noose dangled.
The empty eye sockets stared from the *khatvanga*.  The sword was
made of steel and looked razor-sharp.  A gurgle seemed to rise from
the twisted corpse as I stood there.  It must have been only the
river flowing directly under our feet.

"The goddess's cold fingers were reluctant to release the stalk of
grass I had chosen.  I thought that I felt her grip tighten as I
tugged.  The blade came free then, and without thinking I clapped
my hand over it.  Even I had not seen the surface of it in the poor
light.  I remember great exhilaration coming over me as I returned
to the circle.  I felt a strange disappointment when I lifted my
hand, turned the slender blade in my fingers, and found no mark.
I threw back my head and stared directly into the goddess's eyes.
Her smile seemed wider now, the long white teeth whiter.

"The sixth man was younger than me, little more than a boy.  However,
he strode manfully to the *jagrata* and chose his blade of grass with
no hint of hesitation.  Upon returning to the circle he held it up
quickly, and immediately the red stain was visible to all of us.  A
final drop actually fell to the dark floor.

"We held our breath then, expecting ... what?  Nothing happened.  The
priest pointed, and the seventh man claimed his barren blade of grass.
The last man lifted the last blade from the goddess's grip.  We stood
in the circle, silent, expectant, waiting for what seemed many moments,
wondering what the boy was thinking, wondering what would come next.
*Why doesn't he run?*  Then the thought passed through my mind that
although I was sure that the boy had somehow become the anointed of
Kali, what if this meant that he was the only one *exempted* from some
fate rather than chosen for it?  *Many are called, few are chosen* the
priest had said in what I had taken as a deliberate parody of the
tiresome prattle of the Christian missionaries who wandered the plazas
near the Maidan.  But what if it meant that the boy was the only one
to be smiled upon by this *jagrata* and approved for initiation into
the Kapalikas?  Disappointment mixed with relief in my confused swirl
of thoughts and apprehensions.

"The priest returned to the dais.  'Your first duty is fulfilled,' he
said quietly.  'Your second must be completed by the time you return
tomorrow midnight.  Go now to hear the command of Kali, bride of Siva.'

"Two men in black came forward and beckoned.  We followed them to the
far side of the warehouse temple to a wall that opened onto small alcoves
covered by black curtains.  The Kapalikas gestured like ushers at a
wedding, assigning each of us a cubicle and then moving on a few paces
to show the next man his place.  Sanjay entered his black alcove and I
unconsciously held back a second as the dark man before me beckoned.

"The cubicle was tiny and, as far as I could tell in the almost total
darkness, empty of furniture or ornamentation on the three stone walls.
The black-garbed man whispered 'Kneel' and closed the heavy curtain.
The last bit of light was gone.  I knelt.

"It was deathly quiet.  Not even the sound of the river intruded on the
hot silence.  I decided to put the poundings of my heart to work and
had counted twenty-seven pulse beats when a voice whispered directly
into my ear.

"It was a woman's voice.  Or rather, it was a soft, sexless voice.
I jumped up then and threw out my hands but no one was there.

"'You shall bring me an offering.' the voice had whispered.

"I got back down on my knees, trembling, waiting for another sound or
for something to touch me.  A second later the curtain was pushed
aside and I rose and left the alcove.

"We had already formed the half-circle of initiates before the idol
when I realized that only seven of us were there.  *Good*, I thought.
*He ran*.  Then Sanjay touched my arm and nodded toward the goddess.
The naked corpse she danced upon was younger, fresher.  And headless.

"Her fourth hand was no longer empty.  The burden she dangled by the
hair swayed slightly.  The expression on its young face was one of
mild surprise.  The dripping made a soft, starting-of-rainfall sound
on the floor.

"I had heard no outcry.

"'Kali, Kali, balo bhai,' we sang.  'Kali bai are gate nai.'

"The Kapalikas filed out.  A man in black led us to a door in
the darkness.  In the anteroom we put on our sandals and left the
building.  Sanjay and I found our way through the maze of alleys
to Strand Road.  There we hailed a rickshaw and returned to our
room.  It was very late.

"'What did she mean?'  I asked when both the lanterns were lit and
we were in our *charpoys* and under the blankets.  'What kind of
offering?'

"'Idiot,' said Sanjay.  He was trembling as fiercely as I was.  His
string bed shook.  'We have to bring her a body by tomorrow midnight.
A human body.  A dead body.'"


_Song of Kali_, by Dan Simmons, 1986 Tor Horror Books; pp. 68-81.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

AUM KRIM NAMAH KALI!!

nagasiva, tyagi@houseofkaos.abyss.com