Bring back Kali’s rage

Few weeks ago I came across an article about goddess Kali and how her iconography has been changing over the years. I found the read interesting; it was based on the observations of an anthropologist. 

Eleven days ago, which was the first day of Diwali, it was also Kali Puja for those who celebrate in eastern India. In Guwahati, I was very excited to dress up in my Mami's mekhela saador (my ritual upon arriving in Guwahati is to raid her wardrobe, and plan to wear all the new ones she had purchased; I'd only ever bring along the few basic blouses and a petticoat). With the cousins, the ritual of photographing each other was followed by the making of reels, and only then, the walk to the nearby Kali puja pandal.

But upon arriving there, I was shocked and disappointed to see the idol of Kali.

The lower half of her body was covered with a red and gold cloth, which is not at all common in this part of the world, but typical as a chunni in north India.

Around her were white and silver decorations of paper and glitter, which is usually visible with Durga.

Kali's three hands were empty; there were no weapons. Her fourth hand carried the head of a demon.

Her body was also covered with that mesh of white and silver.

Her face was blue. Someone there said that the Kali here is not Dakshinakali, whose face and body are black.

But the eyebrow on that blue face was decorated with white dots; the chandan art dots that adorn a Bengali Hindu bride.

Her red tongue was out, but devoid of the rage that's associated with Kali, that makes her a formidable force among humans. 

Kali in Bhangagarh in Guwahati

I remembered what I had read in that article, about the emergence of Kali: “Durga becomes Kali at the request of the gods, who have failed in their attempt to defeat the demon Rakthabija. Rakthabija has a unique boon: every drop of his blood that touches the Earth gives rise to a clone of himself. Kali, in her ferocity, ensures that not even a single drop of blood touches the ground. She drinks his blood with her tongue out, holding a bowl to catch any blood dripping from Raktabija’s severed head. But this part of the story is losing its prominence. Most of my students were only aware of the other part of the myth – of Shiva pacifying her.”

I wondered if what I seen at the Kali Puja in Bhangagarh in central Guwahati was my lone experience. So I sent out a small invitation—where else other than on social media—asking people to send me photos they may have taken of the idol on that same day, wherever they may be located, in Assam or West Bengal.

The photos trickled in. The similarity to the description of the article I had read and what I had observed, were uncanny: Kali was, as one friend commented, “femasculated.” The Kali that stands tall in her rage and stripped off all the illusions and lies of the world, was now standing stripped of her rage.

All of these photos of Kali Puja from 12 Nov 2023 were sent to me by different people. And they are all from Jorhat in Assam
(L-R): Teliya Patti, Malowali, Digambar Chowk, Gar-Ali

As I stood before Kali that night, with flowers in my palm during the onjoli offering, I remembered the words of Dr Jennifer Mullan, where she put rage on a pedestal. She wrote: “Rage is information. Rage is wisdom that hasn't been translated. Rage is a messenger. Rage is our boundary enforcer and protector. Rage can be healing when nurtured and understood. It is a spiritual, psychological, physical and political practice that invites us to sacred inquiry.”

I stood before Kali, talking to her, telling her that her rage cannot be diminished by the niceties and coyness that are projected onto her, in an increasingly let's-be-careful society. Her rage is what we feared and then celebrated, in her form of nakedness. Of her being willful, the un-tamed, the perfect in all of this. And this cannot be covered with glitter. What are we running away from confronting in doing so?

I stood before Kali watching my rage rise up while dressed in my fineries, while taking a vow, looking into her prettied eyes, that rage is necessary to see clearly the hypocrisies and brutalities of the world and the masculine dominance embodied in all institutions, from families and marriages, to universities and governments. And greeting this rage alone is the only way to heal our beings, our communities, our forests and rivers and occupied lands. May we stop glossifying Kali as a way to avoid seeing that what has to be seen and confronted. That requires the bareness of our chest and womb and souls and conscience.