Vishnu’s Navel: My Creation Myth by Sherry Duggal

My family friend’s dog tugs on my white frilled cotton dress—saves me from falling down the stairs. I am four years old. My mom says that it didn’t happen. Like the big bang? My mom doesn’t remember what the big bang theory is, but is wrapped up in her own creation myth: Brahma the creator rising from Vishnu’s navel on a lotus. Vishnu, the one who preserves.

Did the dog really save my life?

The energy that makes up the cosmos was squeezed inside an inconceivably small space—far tinier than a grain of sand or an atom. My memory doesn’t take up space in her body.

Did I not tell anyone? Do memories lie?

My mom’s denial is no less than an explosion.

In Greek mythology Canis major is a dog with a blazing face. It holds Sirius, the brightest star in its jaws. The fastest dog in the world. It always catches its prey. Like the dog who caught my dress in its mouth.

The fragments of my memories swallow all the light like a black hole. Why do I choose to remember stars collapsing instead of the beautiful constellations they can create?

My life is full of black holes. But are they really black?

I run after childhood memories. Canis minor is the Teumessian fox—the little dog that could never be caught. Will I catch up?

Predator and prey. A paradox captured in the sky.

Perplexed by their contradictory fates, Zeus turns both dogs to stone. Casts them into the sky.

My mom says not to think about the past. She is Durga, the fierce Hindu warrior goddess who conquers all.

Perplexed by my constellations, I follow the light. Hope not to get turned to stone.

Memories are not always faithful friends…

Memories are like people. I want to become a star when I die. I now let the light shine through.

Lost parts of me evolve. Unacknowledged. Even during the day when I look up, my memory becomes a cloud—continually shifts from vapor to rain to frost to mist.

Then who am I?

The gods placed the lesser dog at the banks of the Milky Way river so it would never be thirsty.

I am caught up in the endless hunger and thirst for meaning in shadows, the echo of memories, light.

Stories lie hidden in the background like the dog who saved me from myself.

Sherry Duggal trained as a naturopathic doctor, is now currently focused on her art practice. A published author of two books, her work explores questions around identity, belonging and how we remember individually and collectively. While exploring the link between body mind and spirit Sherry Duggal believes that questions are the essence of life. Her curiosity has led her to an in-depth exploration of her Indian heritage. Inspired by visual art, mythology, overheard conversations and snippets of filmi dialogue she adds a cultural nuance to the different shades of that which is her.