“What was the vow?” I asked.
A prayer for one—that the child then on its way might live.... Oh! the pathos of it. The other woman was giving thanks for the recovery of her reason.... “The dance of Death,” “The dance of Death”—a minuet....
“If I were God, I should pity the heart of man ...”
They were travelling at the moment towards the drain behind the Image of the Goddess. Oh! the water, oh! the water!—it was black with impurities. It had washed the feet of the Goddess, and the flowers of her Temple, and the refuse of the Sacrifice; but they drank eagerly—at full length still—content.
It was a parable on the power of Faith.... And truly, the Temple of Kali opens many doors to reflection. Evil, we notice, is conquered by Time in the end. Of Love, which conquered Time, there is no Gospel in Hinduism. Inherent strength is the last vanquisher, the Great Gods themselves helping in the conquest, even parting with their own strength to the fighter. And that which God inspires may be as God. Yet, in spite of the Hindu doctrine of works, there would seem to be a caution against too great activity. Kali drunk with activity was shamed by Gods and men....
I went back to my Wise Woman of many years.... “To the ignorant,” she said, “Kali but wants a life—Kali slays and Kali makes alive. Said I not once before, blessing and cursing, death and life, these are the Soul’s eternal doors. In the house of Kali the doors are ever open.... But, for us women, the lesson to hide in the heart is this—Kali, the Great Destroyer, the Nurse of the World, the Dread-Inspirer, is vanquished only by—her husband.”
Here, then, meet ancient story and modern history, the history of every Hindu woman throughout the Land. The last stage of perfection is wifely submission.