Story # 1: The Ocean, the Dunes, and the Kaliya-daman

Story # 1: The Ocean, the Dunes, and the Kaliya-daman

There is an Indian story called the Kaliya-daman which has had a very powerful impact on me, and keeps resurfacing and in my life in different forms. It's an ancient Hindu tale that starts with Lord Krishna dancing and playing with a ball by a lake near the banks of the river Jamuna. Inside the lake lurks a monster called Kaliya, of whom everybody, except Krishna, is afraid. It is sleeping beneath the surface, and its presence is poisoning the water and all the creatures that live around it. Cows who drink the water fall gravely ill. The forest surrounding it dries up. Birds that fly over the pond immediately drop dead from the toxic vapors.

Krishna is playing ball with his friends, all of whom are terrified of the monster. Because he is a mischievous boy, Krishna accidentally-on-purpose throws the ball into the water. His friends beg him not to go in after it for fear of waking up the monster. But Krishna does not listen to them. He not only dives into the dark water where the demon lurks, but he pulls on the serpent's tail, deliberately waking it up. Krishna and Kaliya struggle against each other. Kaliya wraps Krishna in the coils of his tail, but Krishna breaks free from Kaliya’s grasp. One version of the story says that Kaliya is stunned by Krishna’s dancing because it is so unexpected. Another version says that Krishna’s stomping trampled Kaliya into submission. A third version suggests that because Kaliya is incapable of understanding the beauty and benevolence of Krishna’s dance, the dance actually tortures him almost to death when for others it would bring nothing but good fortune. (And in all versions of the story, the demon vomits blood.)

As Krishna dances on Kaliya's head, the serpent gets weaker and weaker. The pounding feet grievously wound the serpent, and Krishna’s dancing brings Kaliya to the point of near death. However, Kaliya’s wives beg Krishna to spare their husband’s life, and Krishna does. He sends Kaliya out to the ocean where he came from—now chastened and presumably no longer moved to hurt others.

This story is powerful to me for many reasons. I love the fact that Krishna conquers the monster with his dance. Rather than using brute strength to overcome the demon, he uses exuberance, creativity, and beauty. Another intriguing aspect of the story is that Kaliya is the only monster Krishna fights and defeats but does not kill. The story, then, becomes about facing one's fear—diving into the dark water and not simply crushing your demons, but embracing and forgiving them at the same time.


I first encountered this story when I was studying Kathak, a dynamic form of Indian dance that also involves storytelling. The dancer recites the story partially as the narrator, switching back and forth from third to first person and, through the course of the story, inhabiting all of the characters—the monster and the scared friends, as well as Krishna himself. It is a very powerful story, and each time I danced it I felt it became more and more a part of me.

Then, in November of 2004, I had a spiritual experience relating to this story. I was out on the sand dunes in Fort Bragg—an amazing landscape where a vast expanse of desert suddenly transforms into the wide open sea. I started dancing the Kaliya-daman simply because nature and wide-open spaces make me want to dance. Then, suddenly I came to the part where Krishna drops the ball into the water. I looked into the deep, endless ocean and realized that this story was not simply a story. It was happening to me right now. I had thrown the ball into the dark water where the demon was lurking. It may not have been the exact demon that Krishna saw, nor was it any kind of actual living monster. To me, the ocean itself was the demon serpent—endless and unfathomable, so powerful it could swallow me whole. Suddenly, I felt very scared and very bold all at once. I knew I had to encounter this demon. I had to encounter it like Krishna encountered Kaliya. So the moment the dance was over, I ran toward the ocean and jumped straight in. It was November in Fort Bragg. The day was completely cold and foggy. It was a decent walk back to the car, and I had no suit or towel. But somehow in that moment, it didn't matter. The coldness of the water, the rumble of the waves, the unimaginable depth and force, only increased my courage. I emerged from the water jumping, laughing, feeling as though there was nothing I could not do. I was alive; emboldened; ready not only to face the world, but to dance through it.