Meanwhile, 50 devotees (40 of them women), some with saffron-painted faces, murmured ecstatically. One explained that Kali is a furious fighter of those who oppose her, and sometimes gets so out of control that she kills everyone in her path -- and yet, the food she receives at the temple will calm her down, so that she will fulfill what you ask her if you have true faith in her.
S. Bhattuchaji, secretary of the temple, gave me the daily feeding schedule of Kali (whom he called "Mother," and in so doing sounded like Anthony Perkins in Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho"):
"At 5:45 a.m., we wake Mother, wash her face and give her a little food. At 8, we give her fruit and at 11:45 a full meal, including rice and fried vegetables, milk, honey, coconut and curd mixed up together. You see what a good mood she is in now. She will rest, and at four we will wake Mother and give her a glass of coconut water along with fruit and sweets. At 6:45, we will bring more food to Mother, ring the bell and have a big ceremony, and at 8 p.m., Mother will go to sleep."
I responded that this was a nice schedule, but -- thinking of human sacrifice -- isn't there something MORE you give her." Yes, Bhattuchaji replied proudly, and I thought the inmost secrets were coming: "Eight years ago attendance was down, so I asked Mother, do you want to lose your following? Let me show you what Mother demanded -- come this way."
Nervously, I followed, waiting for piles of dead bones or used hearts to appear. We turned a corner: "Look," he said, "we've developed new social programs. We now offer free classes for women in making clothes. ... And here's our room with six computers, where we offer a computer class. This is our version of, what do you call it in your country, compassionate conservatism?"
I half-expected Bhattuchaji to say, "April Fool's," But he did not, and the joke was on me: go to the other side of the world only to see an echo of home initiatives.