of the funeral pyre.'[1] There the hero Mādhava comes, 'his hair ceremonially braided, a sword in one hand and a piece of human flesh in the other. He has come to invoke the disembodied spirits that haunt the spot, hoping to barter the human flesh for supernatural power to aid him in winning Mālatī.'[1]
Śākta hymns contain many references to both the philosophy and the practice of the cult. Such references will be found in the hymns of Rāmprasād in this book, though we have tried always to give the most intelligible translation of a passage, and not to trouble the reader with a subtle and sometimes dull, occasionally disgusting, significance. But the better side of Śāktism is the one which is generally present in Rāmprasād. Further, it should be very clearly borne in mind that, even among the left-hand Śāktas, probably very few practise the extreme cult. The great majority of Hindus regard that extreme cult with abhorrence. Many Bengalis would not understand every allusion even in Rāmprasād.
The worship of Durgā and Kālī is perhaps most deeply rooted in Bengal, as has already been indicated. I think it would not be hard to find reasons for this. Take the ease of a celebrated predecessor of Rāmprasād. Mukundarāma, known as Kavikaṅkaṇ or 'gem of poets,' who finished his chief poem, the epic Chaṇḍī, in 1589. This poem lives today mainly for its value as giving a picture of the village-life of Bengal, three centuries ago. It is at present being edited by a distinguished Bengali scholar and author, who tells me he finds his work very dull; happier times have robbed the poem of much of its appeal. For the poet lived in an unhappy age. In some respects, he is like a Bengali Langland, giving us his vision of Piers Plowman. The local Musalman rulers practised great oppression, and the people felt wretched and helpless. It was natural for them to look for outside assistance, and the thoughts of the poet, their spokesman, turned to Chaṇḍī (Durgā), the powerful goddess in whom the dreadful energy of
