One More Blasphemous Dream: Putana's daughter

Reads: 155  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
She looks at the full moon and counts her strands of hair. One strand behind the left ear; one strand in the middle of the scalp; three strands behind the right hair. If she counts her teeth the number would not stand any competition against the above count. But then she is the witch and who has ever heard of witches worrying about teeth and hair.

Submitted: August 31, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 31, 2009

A A A

A A A


 

Listen, I totally realize that prawns do not agree with me. But the fact is I am a glutton and a great fan of my own cooking and prawn happens to be my specialty. So one more prawn cocktail for lunch and a noon siesta and this is the weirdest dream one can think of having.

 

I call this One More Blasphemous Dream: Putana’s daughter

 

 

She looks at the full moon and counts her strands of hair. One strand behind the left ear; one strand in the middle of the scalp; three strands behind the right hair. If she counts her teeth the number would not stand any competition against the above count. But then she is the witch and who has ever heard of witches worrying about teeth and hair.

 

Our witch. She has fireflies in her blind eyes. She has cricket in her ear holes. She has poison at the tip of her big black tits. And an empty groove in her body where soul, when God makes one for each, rests. But then she is the witch and who has ever heard of witches worrying about soul-grooves?

 

Your witch. When she creeps and crawls through the sandy shore , almost noiselessly, her serpentine movements marking sandy trails all along, till the waterline, she forgets she is not a snake; that she does not have a forked tongue or a poison tooth or scales on her skin. In fact she forgets she is Putana’s daughter.

 

Her mother had poisoned tits. Her mother had matted hair. Her mother had dragon’s sharp yellow tooth. Putana, the saber-toothed demoness.

 

Oh how she yelped ,oh how she thrashed about, oh how she wriggled and writhed in pain as a black Child-God in yellow attire sucked her blood through her own tits.In effect cleansing her of her sins. Who would cleanse me, ruminates Putana’s daughter. Mother, who would cleanse me?

 

This is one more full moon gone as all full moons come and go and come again. To be gone once more. Who would purge your daughter, Mother? Who would absolve her, Mother, of her sins?

 

My witch. She has salt between her lips and as she licks them, her dry tongue running over them in a tortured sweep, her hunger subsides. I can live on salt unlike most others who need rice and bread to fill their empty stomach, she tells herself, as if that is a sure shot indication that her Time has come.

 

Meanwhile she counts waves. Meanwhile she counts grains of sand. And when bored , her hair and tooth.

 

Then like all full moon nights she falls asleep. She has a practice of thousands of years doing so.

And just as she is deep in slumber comes a black Child-God, with flute in hand and a peacock feather stuck into his hair and whispers into her ears:  “Wake up woman. Wake up. How would you die if you sleep?”


© Copyright 2017 Suparna Dutta. All rights reserved.