The Two-Armed Durga
In the autumn sky, upon drifting white clouds,
Through the swaying rhythm of kaash fields,
And on dew-drenched grass touched lightly
By the red-tipped feet of dawn —
She descends,
The Ten-Armed, the Slayer of the Buffalo Demon,
Jagatjanani — Mother Durga.
Whether She keeps a household on Kailash,
None can say;
Her father’s home on earth —
No one truly knows.
The clay face we worship — serene, wordless, divine —
Reveals nothing.
But I know another Durga —
Flesh and blood, two-armed and mortal,
Who laughs and weeps in silence,
Who endures pain,
And still, without rest,
Wages battle day and night
Against a thousand unseen demons.
Her power does not come from others’ blessings
But from her own thought,
Her will — her mind’s sharp-edged weapons.
Her name is Durga Dule,
Forged of steel and flame.
She lives in a hut
At the edge of the village.
Her husband, Bhola,
Drives a rickshaw all day,
And at night collapses, drunk,
Beside his box of coins.
He returns home like a migratory bird —
Sometimes, not often.
And even when he does,
Durga can no longer reach him —
Not with her body,
Nor her voice,
Nor her heart.
Youth has come blazing
Through her strong, sun-browned body.
Denied the closeness of a husband,
Her body and soul
Burn together with twin hungers —
Of flesh and of stomach.
Around her,
The hyenas of lust circle,
Licking their lips at her ripened beauty,
Casting baits,
Laying traps
To reel her in.
But Durga — this mortal goddess —
Rises above the snares.
She crosses the narrow role of wife,
And with the sanctity of motherhood and resolve,
Becomes invincible.
Her patience, courage, and restraint
Are the trident in her hands.
She is demon-slayer,
Fearless, unbreakable.
For her only son, Kartik,
She wants to light
A thousand lamps —
To tear through the darkness of their life.
Selling her labor door-to-door
To feed their hunger,
Her sari’s end tied tight around her pain,
She goes on.
And every autumn,
When I gaze upon the divine clay face
Of the Ten-Armed Durga,
I see —
In her radiant eyes,
In her red feet —
The living reflection
Of that two-armed, real Durga,
Glowing with strength,
Unseen yet ever victorious.
