ANONYMOUSLXXXIII. A 'WALPURGIS' DANCE Mother, Daughter of Giri,[250] why are you here at the burning-ground? Why in this guise? Have you no shred of shame, that you can put your feet on Hara's breast? A naked, unclothed woman, you have set your feet on Hara. Your tongue is hanging out, your curled hair falls disordered all about you. You are Bhairavī[251] and Bhavānī, you are the cause of this world, and there you stand and chew the flesh your hand is holding! The wine-cup[252] too you hold, and with the yōginīs [253] are dancing madly. Such a poem as this shows what a furnace of aboriginal superstitions is blazing beneath the Śākta system. FOOTNOTES: [250] The Mountain. See the Āgāmanī; songs which follow. [251] Feminine of Bhairava (Śiva). See note to No. XXVI. [252] Literally, cup of Nectar. [253] Feminine of Yōgī;, one who practises mental repression. LXXXIV. THE POET'S HEART A BURNING-GROUND My heart I make a burning-ground; for burning-grounds you love. And Śyāmā who haunts the burning-grounds may dance there continually. Mother, I have no other treasure in my heart, save the pyre that is burning there. Come, and you will see the ashes of the pyre scattered all about. And him whose names are Mṛituñjaya and Mahākāla cast beneath your feet. Then come, O Mother, in your measured dance, and let me with closed eyes behold you.
[84] NAVAKIŚOR MŌDAK LXXXV. DURGĀ IS FALSELY CALLED MERCIFUL Can mercy be found in the heart of her who was born of the stone? Were she not merciless, would she kick the breast of her lord? Men call you merciful, but there is no trace of mercy in you, Mother. You have cut off the heads, of the children of others, and these you wear as a garland around your neck. It matters not how much I call you 'Mother, Mother.' You hear me, but you will not listen. Such is the kicking that all must endure, yet do men cry to you as Durgā.
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