Kali, my mother and grandmother and mother before her,

A collective of women clapping their hands

Going round and round the Stone.

Kali on the labour bed

Pushing out her child

Screams on her lips, sometimes grim silence.

Kali, violated, drugged, mutilated

She slays the slayer

In her head.

Kali hums a tune

And bathes her child

She smells her baby as though it is the last breath she will take

Kali with pointed tongue and knowing eyes.

A mural on the wall

She tells you a story.

Kali, my mother and grandmother and mother before her,

A collective of women clapping their hands

Going round and round the Stone.

…

Neelima Vinod is a writer and Editor in Bengaluru. Obsessions include books, twins, punctuation and the paranormal.