Katyayani, the Slayer of Demons

Born out of spontaneous anger, destined to slay

Mahishasura. Mesmerised by her Beauty, he sought

her hand in marriage. She challenged him to a duel

and accomplished what none of the male Gods 

could.

© 2018

 “Please come home for a few days, Sona”, my mother implored. “Your father will just not be able to manage all this on his own, and I am worried for him.”
This was the worst possible time for me. Ad revenues were going down, and my channel was struggling to stay afloat. If I asked for leave, I couldn’t be sure there would be a job waiting for me when I returned. Not because they wanted to sack me, but because every salary was a challenge. Sometimes I wondered if our co-founder wasn’t paying some of our salaries himself- I could easily have found out if I looked at the accounts, but I really didn’t want to know.
“You will come, won’t you. Please.”
It was hard to refuse my mother. She’d been used to my father doing all the outside work, and ever since his dementia became obvious, I knew she was struggling. My sister-in-law helped as much as she could. But with two young children and a military spouse there was only so much she could do. I really had no choice. I had to go home and do the NRC filing for the family.
“What about Dada, can’t he come?” I made one last ditch effort.
“We don’t even know where he has been posted. I don’t think he will be coming home now.”
“Okay, Ma. I’ll try and come early next week. You have the documents ready, and I will try to finish it as soon as possible.”
 +
Saturday found me sitting in Ma’s kitchen, with a cup of steadily cooling chai, pouring over documents. Ma’s case was quite straightforward. Both her parents had been born in India, and their names were on the original National Register of Citizens. She had been born in a government hospital, so there was no complication. Both Dada and me could claim blood kinship to her, so we were safe.
Baba’s case was more complicated.  We knew his family had come over to Assam in the mid 1960s, because some of his uncles had joined the army and had fought in the Bangladesh war. We also knew that they had registered themselves, but the documents were missing, and proving it would not be easy.
His school leaving certificate was from 1978, and though he knew he had first enrolled in school in Assam, there were no official documents to prove it. There was anecdotal evidence. His eldest brother had passed out of school in 1971, and there were photographs showing all three brothers standing outside their home in Assam. Anyone who was sympathetic would agree that Baba had migrated to Assam before March 1971, but would the officials be sympathetic?
 +
I was at the office the next day, nervously clutching all the evidence I had gathered. The officer made a show of going through the documents. He was making me uncomfortable, so I looked away, but whenever I looked at him, I found him giving me a lascivious look.
“This is a nice story, but how do I believe you?”
“Sir, if you just let me look at the records, I am sure I can find my father’s name. You don’t have to do anything, just allow me access to the records.”
“Why should I do that?” Was it my imagination, or was he actually licking his lips?
“Please, Sir. These are public records. I can certainly file an RTI to access them, but it will take too much time. Can’t you please let me take a look?”
We went back and forth for a long time, then finally he pretended to relent. “I like you a lot and really want to help. But if I let you into the Record Room without proper authorisation, I will be in trouble. Why don’t we do one thing. I will take the file home tomorrow evening. You come to my house after 8 pm, and I will allow you to take a look.”
I looked at him uncomprehendingly. Was he implying what I thought he was implying? He did not keep me in suspense much longer.
“Come alone. And another thing. Don’t wear this silly Panjabi suit. Wear one of your Delhi dresses, the ones you wear when you go drinking with your boyfriends.”
I was too shocked to say anything.
“Upto you. If you want to look at the file, come to my house. If you don’t want to, that’s also okay.”
 +
“How was it?”, Ma asked when I returned home. I told her I was hoping to get the documents. I really couldn’t tell her the truth, could I? That I had just been propositioned by a petty government official, and I could do nothing about it.
+
I spent the night tossing and turning. I wished I could just submit the documents and be done with it- my father was old, he had worked in the tea estate all his life. They would certainly not deport him now. But I also knew that the official would make sure the application was rejected. He made it clear what he wanted, and he had the power to make me pay if I didn’t give it to him. Yet, how could I?
 +
The next day, I could barely look Baba-Ma in the eye. Would they ever understand what I was going through? Could they comprehend how it was to be in a position where you betrayed them no matter what you did- I couldn’t let Baba be deported, yet how could I sell my body?
I needed to speak to someone. I dialled my best friend in Delhi and poured the story out.
 +
In the evening, I dressed with care. The form fitting jeans that did wonders to my figure. A white crop top. The velvet jacket I had paid a fortune for. My blow-dried hair framed my face and accentuated my bright red lips. I knew I was looking stunning.
“Bye Ma”, I called out, grabbing my bag and mobile phone. “Don’t wait up for me. I may be late.”
 +
“You are looking beautiful”, he said, grabbing me by my waist. I could smell the cheap alcohol in his breath.
“Not now. First I want to see the file”, I said pulling out my headphones and turning off the music on my phone.
We argued for awhile. But finally we agreed that I would check the file first and will only take photographs of records before leaving. He gave me the file, and sad down opposite me. His eyes didn’t leave my cleavage as he took deep drags on his cigarette.
In less than half an hour, I found Baba’s name.
“Come”, he said, thrusting his face into mine.
“Wait. I need to use the washroom before that.” I pulled the bolt and dialled the number.
The doorbell rang. First once, then incessantly.
“Don’t come out of the bathroom”, he hissed. “I will get rid of whoever it is.”
+
He opened the door and found a mike thrust at his face. “I am from Guwahati Times. This is a sting operation. I believe you are selling secrets in return for sexual favours.”
I stepped out of the washroom, and held up the phone where I had recorded the entire conversation. “I have it all on tape. If you let me take a copy of the records, I will persuade my friend to drop this story. Otherwise, I hope you know a good lawyer.”
 +

“Does that thing even work”, I asked my friend’s brother who was a student at IIT and had pretended to be a journalist.
“Who knows?”, he shrugged. “But it did it’s job, didn’t it?”
 
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I am Katyayani, the Slayer of Demons. The sixth manifestation of Nav Durga. I am every woman who is forced to fight for what is right.