‘Mahathmaya, every day I take kiribath to the temple. I give dana. I pray to Kali. Yes, Kali will hear my prayers …. Let me tell you how my prayers were answered. One day I had gone to bring my grandson from school. He was thirsty. I wanted to take him to the Brahmin hotel to drink water but he wanted his own way. He let go of my hand and darted across the road and was knocked down by a bicycle. He broke his ankle. That was his punishment for his disobedience. Oh Kali, oh Skanda, protect me.’

She continued in a tone of despair. ‘The family is broken up. My daughters have left their children. As mothers they do not carry out their duties towards their children. They are tempted by the money. In the past where did we have all these cassettes, transistors, TVs? Where did my sons ride bicycles when they were children; where did they wear imported clothes? They wore blue shorts and white cotton shirts to school. On Poya days we went to the temple. We picked flowers from my garden, araliya, jasmine, and offered them in pooja. Sometimes we went to see a picture and the whole family went together. If we left home it was only to go on a pilgrimage to Sri Pada or Kataragama or Anuradhapura. Why don’t my grandchildren fall at my feet and worship me as they should? Why don’t my sons obey me, respect me? Have they forgotten all the hardships I endured to bring them up? Today also, I took kiribath to the devale.’

The woman turned her eyes towards the Kali image and prayed. Kali held in one hand a sword, in the other a severed human head dripping with blood. A necklace of skulls hung round her neck. The expression on the face of the image was one of ferocity. The woman seemed to be praying for vengeance—not against unknown enemies but her own children.

People were coming and going, worshipping, lighting camphor, doing poojas. The gods watched from their niches, the lights blazed in the sanctums. The bronze and stone images, the gleaming silver and gold statues seemed to emanate a certain power. The lights flickered around the navagraha. The smell of burning coconut oil reached my nostrils. I loved its strong smell. I too prayed to Kali to protect me from all evil just as the soldiers in the past had done, before they went forth to battle. Kali was not evil. Kali was strong. She was the goddess of war.