Story of Raktabijasura
In this image, Maa Kali is standing on the chest of Lord Shiva — her tongue out, her eyes wild, her foot frozen mid-step.
At first glance, it’s shocking.
But behind this powerful moment lies a deep, symbolic tale —
one that speaks of surrender, destruction, compassion, and awakening.
There are two spiritual versions of this story.
And both are true — not in history perhaps, but in the inner world.
In one telling, this moment is about surrender.
When a human being completely lets go — when he offers himself fully to the Divine Mother —
he transcends the fear of life and death.
The ego dies.
What remains is pure being — untouched, immortal.
And so, the image of Shiva lying at the feet of Kali is not defeat —
it is transcendence.
The man who has surrendered to the Goddess rests peacefully, even in the face of chaos.
He lies still — because he has become eternal.
But the second version is more dramatic — A cosmic war.
It begins with the Asuras — beings who had turned against the natural order.
Led by Raktabeeja, a demon blessed with a dangerous boon:
every drop of his blood that touched the earth would create another clone of him.
The more he was hurt — the more he multiplied.
The Devas, the celestial gods, tried everything.
They wounded him a thousand times.
But each time, his blood fell — and a new Raktabeeja rose from the earth.
Desperate and helpless, they turned to Mother Durga.
She descended like a storm — Killing thousands of Asuras in the process.
She quickly realized that no weapon could stop Raktabeeja as long as his blood touched the soil.
And so, Durga created a new form — a raw, uncontrollable energy.
From Durga's third eye sprung Kali — fierce, primal, terrifying.
Kali stormed the battlefield.
Her hair flew like wild flames, her eyes burned red with divine rage.
She struck down the demon and with her long tongue, she drank every drop of his blood before it touched the ground.
Raktabeeja was finally destroyed.
But Kali didn’t stop. Her blood-boiled energy — unleashed and unrestrained — swept across the land. She kept killing.
Dancing from one body to the next,
Her shrieks cracked the heavens.
Even the gods grew afraid.
No one dared approach her.
She had become the embodiment of destruction.
And then — came Shiva.
He prayed that she stop, when she didn't listen, He simply lay down in her path.
The Supreme Consciousness placed itself at the mercy of Divine Energy.
And when Kali’s foot landed on his chest —
she paused.
Suddenly — recognition.
She saw her beloved.
She saw Shiva.
She had stepped on him — the formless, eternal witness.
The fury melted.
Her eyes softened.
The madness broke.
The dance ended.
But what kind of being does this?
Who lies down in front of a rampaging force of destruction — not to stop it with strength, but with stillness?
Only one who has mastered the self.
Only one who sees the world not in terms of enemies and allies, but in terms of ignorance and awakening.
Shiva did not lie down to protect only the Gods.
He did not act to save only the virtuous.
He did it to protect all beings — even the Asuras, even the non-virtuous have a right to live, so that they can mend their ways and give up evil.
A perfected being does not discriminate between beings.
He does not label one divine and the other evil.
He sees each being as a spark of the same Divine Light —
clouded temporarily, by ignorance.
To Shiva, there was no enemy.
Only children — on both sides — who needed saving.
And he saved them not by force,
but by compassion.
Not by a sword,
but by sacrifice.
Not by shouting,
but by silence.
That is why Kali stands on Shiva.
Because even destruction must pause —
when it touches the heart of stillness.
And in that pause —
is the possibility of peace,
awakening,
and transcendence.