Week Eleven Storytelling: Love for Death

There is always haze, and the tumultuous screams that surround me have become white noise. This is an everlasting punishment I was once told.  My soul is being devoured by the engulfing flames, and I can feel my skin melting as I crawl on the ground from being suffocated by the heat.  Crying does not help.  The salt from our tears welt our faces before we feel the evaporating stings.  More and more women and children are thrown into the fire each day.  Yesterday, I saw Yama fling a three year old into the fire by her leg.  It was there where she lay on the ground screaming piercing cries, before she was accompanied by her mother.

“Dare you throw a child into the depths of hell Yama?” The woman cried out. “I only steal bread for my children to eat! Should she too suffer from my sins?”

Woman in hell

I looked at who I believed to be the man that I would marry. He wore dark clothing and stood six feet high.  Broad-like shoulders and he has beautiful eyes. When seeing him, you would have not have known that you were encountering death. His words were sweet, and his touch was gentle. He would gain your trust, and believe that the words he speaks are true.  The capture was never sudden nor felt immediate.  He enjoyed being a predator comforting his prey. The day he met me, I was sitting near the shore of the Godavari River watching my brothers capture fish for our dinner. 
There he stood looking at me, and I blushed each time I looked away.  I would see him in the market where I would buy fresh fruits, and walking near the school I attended. As time passed, the stranger that watched me from far away asked me my name.

“Sumatra,” I told him. He whispered that my name was beautiful and matched me perfectly.  I began to meet him daily at the Godavari River and share my life stories to him. Months began to pass, and he was well known by my family and friends.  We would share our lives together--forever.

It was the day after we announced our engagement, I told Yama I had a secret. We left during the night when the moon filled the sky.  The Godavari River shone as the moonlight reflected its beauty. We held hands as we sat along the shore listening to sounds around us.

“Yama, I must tell you a secret that no one knows.  I have guilt in my heart that I cannot bear. Two years ago I saw a woman laying in the street. She was crying and begging for food. I stared at her like she was infected with disease.  Her hands were dirty, and hair disheveled. Her clothes were rags that barely covered her skin. A man walked by and gave her money for her and her child to eat.  As the man walked away, she continued to thank him generously. She looked towards the sky and thanked the gods for her small fortune. I stared at her in disgust and looked at her child as she watched me.   I grabbed the money from her hands and told her that she did not deserve it.  I told her that beggars must earn wealth, not be given it.  Do you believe that too Yama?”

Poor Woman and Child in Kanyombya

[Yama sat in silence and watched the ripples in the water.]

“Yama?”

“Sumatra the life we are given we do not choose, but the choices we make can better our lives.  Not all people choose to be poor, and what you see as poor some see as wealth.  You took her wealth and food from a child’s mouth. That woman stole because of you. She committed a sin so she could feed her child. Because she stole, she had taken wealth from another man and his family. I gave you many chances to repay the woman all those times I saw you in the market.  That woman sat in her same place with her hungry child, and you were only concerned with me. Do you remember the day when she stopped you by pulling on the hem of your skirt? She asked you for forgiveness for being poor, and you scoffed. I cannot be with a woman who steals from the poor and is vain. ”

“I will repay her back!”

“No you still don’t understand. You knew what you did was wrong and guilt shall remain in your heart.”

Yama rose from where he sat and walked into the brush.  I followed him only to see a horse and a dark chamber behind it.

“What is this Yama?”

“Sumatra I am the god of death and you are no longer apart of the living. When we held hands I separated your spirit from your body.  Your body will lay where we sat near the river.  It will be recovered by your family in the morning, but your spirit shall stay with me.”

Woman by A River

Author's Note: This story is inspired by the Budhastami Ceremony: The Bride if Yama, the King of the Dead.  In the story there is a woman by the name of Bijaya who is in search of a missing bull that was stolen from her and her younger brother Kausik.  They find the bull being danced around by celestial beings, as they traveled deep into a forest.  One of the beings tells them that they must go home and perform the Budhastami Ceremony in order to receive the bull back.

After the siblings perform the ceremony, goddess Paravati grants them one boon each.  Bijaya prays for a devout husband, and her brother Kausik prays for wealth.  Goddess Paravti guides Bijaya to her husband.  Bijaya meets a man, and Paravti lets her know that he is the devout man that she seeks. The man turns out to be Yama, the King of the Dead. 

When Yama and Bijaya get married, he warns her not to travel to the southern grounds of their property.  Out of curiosity and disobedience, Bijaya travels to the south grounds and sees women who are being burned by the eternal fires of hell.  In that fire, she sees her mother who is crying out for help.

Since Bijaya sees many women who are entrapped by the fire, I wanted to create a story that involved one of the many women that she sees.  When Yama met Bijaya, his appearance and demeanor was not one that seemed threatening.  I pictured Yama as a man of great stature an d morals, and wanted him display those characteristics in the story. 

Bibliography:  The Sacred Tales of India by Dwijendra Nath Neogi (1918)