The Wrath of Goddess Bhagavati (A folktale from the hills of the sacred valley)

 

Long ago, in a valley veiled by thick forests and high hills, there lived a mighty goddess named Bhagavati. Her temple stood on a low hill, where the trees whispered prayers and birds sang her name. Beside the temple flowed a stream of pure, silver water — it never ceased, not in summer’s heat nor monsoon’s rage. The people of the Bhagavati Valley worshipped her with deep devotion, for she was the protector of their land, their forests, and every creature that walked, crawled, or flew.

 

The valley was blessed — rich in soil and sweet in fruit. But blessings often draw the eyes of the greedy. A wealthy man from the valley, proud and powerful, set his gaze upon the fertile lands by the stream. “If I build a dam,” he thought, “I can control the waters. I can own the valley.”

 

The villagers warned him.

“Do not touch the stream,” they said. “It belongs to the goddess. Her temple guards it.”

But the man laughed. “Superstition,” he said. And with his influence, he sought permission from the rulers beyond the valley. Paper and coin opened doors, and the work began.

 

An educated engineer was brought to lead the construction. He had heard the villagers’ stories too — tales of dreams, curses, and divine warnings. But like his master, he dismissed them.

 

Stone by stone, the dam rose. The stream slowed. The water behind the dam began to rise. It crept slowly toward the temple.

 

One night, when the moon hung heavy and pale, the water touched the temple’s steps.

 

That very night, as the rich man, the engineer, and the workers slept at the site, the goddess came. Not in fire or storm — but in a dream. She stood before the engineer, tall as the forest trees, her eyes glowing with rage. Her voice rumbled like thunder across the hills:

 

“You have defied the sacred. You have chained my stream. Leave before dawn, or face my wrath.”

 

The engineer woke in terror. His heart pounded like a drum. He rushed to wake the others. Some mocked him, others scoffed. But soon, the earth began to shake.

 

A loud crack echoed through the forest. The dam — proud and newly built — shuddered.

 

And then, it broke.

 

With a roar like a thousand lions, the water burst forth. It tore through stone and steel, swept away machines and men’s dreams. The workers, the engineer, and even the rich man fled for their lives, climbing the nearest hill as the waters raged below.

 

By morning, silence returned to the valley.

 

The temple stood untouched. The stream flowed as it always had, calm and clear. The forest whispered again, as if nothing had happened.

 

Since that day, none dared disturb the valley or its goddess. The tale of Bhagavati’s wrath passed from tongue to tongue, from elders to children — a warning to all:

 

“Never lay claim to what the goddess guards.”

 

 

 

Omkar Hosalli

English Language Teacher

GHS Hullatti