Yoginis Dance Above the River Where Severed Heads Still Cry Victory
Lanka Kanda, Chaupai 88
Doha 88 · Movement 1 of 3
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Ghosts, pishachas, vetalas, pramatha spirits, and other terrible beings enter the river of blood. Crows and vultures carry severed arms through the air, snatch them from one another, and devour them while mocking voices joke that even such abundance will not cure their poverty.
Wounded warriors groan upon the banks like half burned logs. Vultures pull taut intestines as though playing strings. Bodies drift downstream with birds perched on them like passengers in boats. Yoginis repeatedly fill skull bowls, and the wives of ghosts and pishachas dance across the sky.
Skulls become cymbals beneath striking hands while forms of Chamunda sing. Packs of jackals gnash, eat, howl, gorge, and swagger through the field. Millions of headless trunks reel onward, and severed heads lying upon the ground still cry Jaya, Jaya. The battlefield has become a cremation ground festival in which death no longer waits quietly after combat but rises everywhere as its own ghastly audience.
Even after head and body divide, the terrible field continues to move, sing, feast, and cry victory.
Read the passage from the Manas
मज्जहि भूत पिसाच बेताला। प्रमथ महा झोटिंग कराला।। काक कंक लै भुजा उड़ाहीं। एक ते छीनि एक लै खाहीं।। एक कहहिं ऐसिउ सौंघाई। सठहु तुम्हार दरिद्र न जाई।। कहँरत भट घायल तट गिरे। जहँ तहँ मनहुँ अर्धजल परे।। खैंचहिं गीध आँत तट भए। जनु बंसी खेलत चित दए।। बहु भट बहहिं चढ़े खग जाहीं। जनु नावरि खेलहिं सरि माहीं।। जोगिनि भरि भरि खप्पर संचहिं। भूत पिसाच बधू नभ नंचहिं।। भट कपाल करताल बजावहिं। चामुंडा नाना बिधि गावहिं।। जंबुक निकर कटक्कट कट्टहिं। खाहिं हुआहिं अघाहिं दपट्टहिं।। कोटिन्ह रुंड मुंड बिनु डोल्लहिं। सीस परे महि जय जय बोल्लहिं।।
Ghosts, pishaachas, and terrible vetaalas were drowning in the blood. Fierce pramatha spirits and dreadful beings were immersed on every side. Crows and vultures carried severed arms through the air, snatching from one another and devouring their catch. Some called out mockingly: 'Even after such a feast, O fools, your poverty will not leave you!' Wounded warriors fell groaning on the banks, lying scattered like half-burnt logs. Vultures pulled at intestines stretched taut; it seemed as though they played upon stringed instruments. Many warriors floated downstream with birds perched atop them, like boats drifting along the river. Yoginis filled their skull-bowls again and again. Female spirits and demons danced joyfully across the sky. Warriors' skulls served as cymbals struck in rhythm. Chamunda goddesses sang in many melodies. Packs of jackals gnashed their teeth, devouring, howling, sating themselves, and boasting. Millions of headless trunks rolled about the field, while severed heads upon the ground cried out: 'Jaya! Jaya!'