A boy called Rama walked into a temple full of marble gods. He sat cross-legged in front of Kali and said, ‘A holy man told me that if I repeated a certain word three million times, I would see the real Kali and she’ll tell me what to do with my life.’  He started chanting and by sunrise, he’d repeated the holy word exactly three million times.

            The temple shook, sending white-tailed doves flapping among the beams, and the real Kali appeared in a cloud of volcanic dust.  She had a thousand dark faces, each one scowling furiously at poor Rama.  Anyone else would have run for their lives.  Kali was known as a cruel goddess, one who could kill people just by hissing at them. Not Rama!  He took one look at the thousand faces and started laughing.

            ‘Why do you mock me, son of beggars?’ thundered Kali, and the very pillars of the temple trembled at her words.  Dove-droppings rained from the rafters.

            ‘I was thinking how inconvenient it would be if you ever caught a cold,’ laughed Rama.  ‘How would you wipe a thousand runny noses with only two hands?’

            Anger flashed like lightning across Kali’s two thousand eyes and one thousand pointed tongues flickered like serpents.  ‘You are a fool,’ she shrieked.  ‘I condemn you to become a clown, a vi-ka-ta-ka-vi.  Everyone will poke fun at you.’

‘Vi-ka-ta-ka-vi,’ repeated Rama.  ‘That’s an interesting word.  I’ve never heard it before.  Do you realise it reads the same from left or right?’

            Kali stopped flicking her thousand pointed tongues and glared at the boy.  ‘You are clever, I concede that,’ she snapped.  ‘And you don’t seem to be scared of me like everyone else.  Perhaps such bravery should be rewarded.  I cannot take back my curse.  You will be a clown.  But you will be a prince among fools, a jester for a king.’

            She raised her hands and in a flash Kali was gone, leaving behind her a peppery smell like the coming of a thunderstorm.  Rama wandered out of the temple, wondering if the goddess’s words would come true.  Would he ever become a court jester?

That very same day he met a rajah travelling with his people across the forest.  In exchange for food, he told him some jokes.  The rajah was so impressed he hired Rama to be his jester and took him to live in his magnificent palace.

            Kali’s curse – and promise – had come true!