Priya Kali

A small boy, playing in mud puddles looks up. The clouds are coming fast and they look darker, more foreboding than before. In the distance He hears a hungry dog, full of mange, whimper it’s last breath, longing for just a morsel of food.

I can’t believe it’s almost midnight, he thought.

The boy is skin, full black hair, and darkest brown eyes. He’s one of a billion here, under the stars, lamenting a childhood that was denied to him.

Brothers, Brothers, Brothers and Sisters. Why was He the sole provider, the disciplinarian, the mother the father. He hated it, He hated it all. He hated his caste. He hated being denied of being a boy, of being denied his youth. They were as gold sacrificed for the gods, stolen, lining someone else’s pockets.

Seventy eight pounds wet, he overheard a scruffy old fisherman scorn, under his breath. What in the gods and goddesses names, could become of something like That…. And he snarled, and spit phlegm from his toothless hole.

Then with the thunder, the rain started to fall again, much harder this time, than before. The rain felt warm and fresh to him. He looked to the sky, drinking up it’s falling moisture, the heavy wetness. With the back of his thin frail hand, he wiped his mouth, so refreshing, and electric, alive.And then with the rain, the lightening came, illuminating the sky, in short rapid bursts, that crackled through the air.

It’s not so bad, he convinced himself, his stomach now empty of all nourishment. He could feel it in his blood, the shaking coming, the familiar pangs of nothingness. It somehow wasn’t so bad because despite his current situation, the threats that each day delivered, somewhere, somehow he knew, that deep inside his hollow heart, that somewhere, in distance, he was not truly alone. For he knew, in his belief, that she was there, watching down upon him, the protector of his fragile life.

Armed, with warrior, skulls, swinging on chains about her neck, blade in her hand, a grotesque excuse of a head, decapitated in the other! She is radiant, eyes of fire, skin as smooth as ice and blue as an evening sky! One day she will take me, one day, then I will no longer mourn for my poor wretched life. She, She will take me, from all of this, and never will I return!

Priya Kali, Priya Kali, Priya Kali. His mind raced in thoughts, spinning, dizzy…
Priya Kali, Priya Kali….

The wind blew, he stumbled, he crashed his almost weightless self, into a wooden carriage of covered fruit that was to be sold at market the next day. Avalanche, Avalanche, tumbling, rolling and covering the street, were apples, green, green apples as far as his dark brown eyes could see.

Stars appeared, within his eyes, all around him like butterflies. Then, as his body went limp he could taste the mud and soil within his now gaping mouth.

Priya Kali, Priya Kali…
I know she will come, who else would come and take these wretched bones of mine.
Priya Kali, Priya Kali…..

Then there was silence, a cold silence, a long silence….. He gathered the last of his strength, and reached up, out, to take her strong hand, it was with her, as she came for him, that answered his lonely prayers.

He was but one of billions, what could become of something that…. He could fight no more, just give in, give in to the rain, and for the first time, in his short, hardened life, he found peace….

Priya Kali, Priya Kali