Every festival, every version of the mythological lores we inherited gave us only fragments of the goddess -the fasting, the waiting, the good girl. She was never the daughter who read her own destiny in her palms; who beat her husband at dice and made him court her twice; who tore open heaven for one son and remade another from her own skin.

I, Shivani is the goddess speaking for herself as a woman: daughter, beloved, wife, mother, destroyer, and finally, herself. She reclaims what was left out: the three-thousand-year penance, the rage that returned her to Kali, the stillness she chose for herself at the end.

I, Shivani is every woman's story if she wants it. This is the story where she gets to choose. Every single time.