Goddess of the Waterfall (แม่น้ำไหลผ่านใจคงฉัน)

The procession to the waterfall was tense, the villagers keeping their distance from Niramol as though her fate might infect them. She wore a pair of white chong kraben pants that hung awkwardly on her muscular frame, and a garland of jasmine was thrust into her calloused hands. She walked with her head high, her jaw clenched, but her fingers trembled as they gripped the flowers.

When they reached the basin, the roar of the waterfall seemed deafening, drowning out the rustle of the forest and the soft murmur of the river. The men guiding Niramol stopped at the edge of the water and gestured for her to step forward.

One of them snickered under his breath. “If the goddess doesn’t want her, we can always find someone else.”

Niramol turned sharply, glaring at him. The defiance in her eyes made the man flinch, but before he could respond, she turned and stepped onto the flat stone near the cascade.

The roar of the waterfall consumed everything as Niramol stepped cautiously onto the slick stones at the basin’s edge. The spray drenched her pants and clung to her skin, but she didn’t falter. She adjusted the jasmine garland around her neck, the petals bruised and wilting, and the veil over her head, her fingers trembling. Every step forward brought her closer to the cascading wall of water that marked the threshold of the goddess’s domain.

For a moment, she hesitated. She had heard the stories since she was a child—of the monstrous goddess who demanded sacrifices, of her wrath and her insatiable hunger. Yet the thought of running never crossed her mind. Her fate had been decided, and Niramol was not one to turn away from what was demanded of her.  

She clenched her fists, her broad shoulders squared, and stepped into the torrent.  

—❀—

The moment she passed beneath the waterfall, the world changed.  

The thunderous roar of the water became muted, as though she had been swallowed by a vast, silent bubble. She opened her eyes, expecting darkness, but instead was met with light.  

The cavern was immense, its walls shimmering with faint bioluminescence that pulsed like a living thing. The floor was smooth stone, worn by centuries of water and time, and in the center of it all was a throne carved from crystalline rock. Silken fabrics draped over it like liquid light, glowing faintly in shades of silver and pale blue.  

And seated upon the throne was the goddess.  

Niramol froze, her breath catching in her throat. She had expected a monster—a creature with scaled skin, ink-black hair like twisted tendrils, and sharp, predatory teeth. The village legends had described her as a horrifying amalgamation of fish and woman, cursed and furious.  

But what she saw now defied every story she had ever heard.  

The goddess was… beautiful. Her pale skin glowed softly, like the moon reflected on still water. Her long black hair cascaded in smooth waves over her shoulders, glistening as though she just emerged from the water. Her eyes were blue and deep, filled with an ancient kindness that radiated warmth. She wore a flowing sabai of silver, the fabric rippling as though it were part of the water around her. 

She leaned forward slightly on her throne, her expression curious and serene. Her voice was gentle, carrying the melody of running water.  

“Another sacrifice,” she said softly, her words more observation than accusation. “The villagers send you to me, as they always do. Another man to appease their fears.”  

Niramol opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The sound of the goddess’s voice left her momentarily disarmed.  

The goddess tilted her head, a faint smile touching her lips. “You do not kneel,” she noted, her tone light. “Bold of you. But tell me—what is your name, mortal?”  

Finally finding her voice, Niramol spoke, her tone steady despite the tightness in her chest. “My name is Niramol,” she said. “And… I am no man.”  

At this, the goddess’s brow furrowed slightly, her smile fading. She rose from her throne with the grace of a flowing stream, descending the steps to stand before Niramol. The air between them shimmered faintly as though the cavern responded to the goddess’s movements.  

“A woman..?” the goddess murmured, her sapphire eyes narrowing in confusion. “The villagers have never sent a woman to me before. Why would they—” She stopped herself, her gaze softening. “Do they truly think I would not notice?”

Her hand lifted, elegant and unhurried, and she reached for the jasmine garland around Niramol’s neck. Niramol stiffened but did not move as the goddess gently untied the fraying garland and let it drift into the water. Then, with delicate fingers, she removed the thin veil that covered Niramol’s face.  

The goddess’s eyes widened as the veil fell away.  

Niramol stood before her, her skin glistening in the faint light of the cavern. Her firm, broad-shouldered frame bore the marks of years of labor, her hands calloused and her arms muscular. Yet her features, angular and proud, carried a striking, fierce, yet soft beauty. Her dark eyes, steady and defiant, met the goddess’s gaze without flinching.  

“You…” The goddess’s voice was soft, filled with genuine surprise. “You are… beautiful.”  

Niramol blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in the goddess’s tone. She had prepared herself for scorn, for anger, but not for this. 

The goddess stepped back, her expression contemplative. “Why would they send a woman?” she murmured to herself. “Did they truly think I would not care? That I would see no difference between you and the others?”  

Niramol hesitated, unsure if she should answer. “They said…” She faltered, then straightened, her voice firm. “They said you wouldn’t mind. That you might not notice.”  

The goddess’s expression shifted, her eyes filling with something akin to sadness. “Is that what they think of me?” she said softly. “After all this time, after all I have given them, they believe I am indifferent to their offerings? So blind?”  

Her hand rose to her chest, her fingers pressing lightly against her heart. “I have watched over them for centuries,” she said, her voice tinged with sorrow. “I have blessed their crops, guided their fish to their nets, and kept the river gentle so they might thrive. And yet… they see me as a creature without care or thought.”  

Niramol’s lips parted, but she said nothing. She had never considered the goddess in this way—never imagined her as anything but the vengeful, monstrous figure from the stories.  

“You are not what I expected,” Niramol said quietly, the words slipping out unbidden.  

The goddess’s gaze returned to her, soft and curious. “And what did you expect, young lady?”  

Niramol hesitated, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. “The stories… they said you were a monster. A creature of scales and teeth.”

At this, the goddess laughed—a light, musical sound that rippled through the cavern like sunlight on water.  

“A monster,” she repeated, shaking her head with a faint smile. “Is that what they tell you? Perhaps I should be flattered. Monsters are remembered, after all.”  

She stepped closer to Niramol, her gaze warm but piercing. “And now that you see me as I am, what do you think?”  

Niramol swallowed, her throat dry despite the damp air. “I think…” She paused, struggling to find the words. “I think you are nothing like what I was told.”  

The goddess smiled again, a kindness in her expression that eased the tension in Niramol’s chest. “Perhaps we are both unexpected,” she said gently. “But do not worry, Niramol. You have nothing to fear from me.”  

For the first time since stepping into the goddess’s domain, Niramol felt the weight of her fear begin to lift. As the goddess stood before her, radiant and otherworldly, she realized the stories had done her no justice. This was not a creature of wrath and cruelty—this was a being of beauty, power, and quiet sorrow.

The cavern pulsed softly with light, the water around them shimmering like liquid stars. Niramol's breath was steady, but her heart was racing. She had not expected to be here, alive, still breathing after stepping into the domain of one who was said to devour all who came before her.  

The goddess regarded her with a thoughtful expression. Her pale hands folded gracefully in front of her, and the faint glow of the cavern danced in her eyes. She stepped closer, her movements fluid. 

“You are unlike any they have sent before,” the goddess said softly, her voice warm, almost wistful. “They sent you to me expecting you to disappear, expecting me to take what they offered without question. But you… you are different. Strong, beautiful, and…” Her lips quirked upward into a faint smile. “Defiant. I see it in your eyes.”  

Niramol stiffened slightly, unsure how to respond. “I only came because they made me,” she said, her voice low but steady.  

The goddess tilted her head, her smile fading into something more serious. “I know,” she said gently. “And for that, I am sorry. Your village has grown so accustomed to their fear that they no longer see me for who I truly am. They send me lives, thinking it is the only way to survive, never realizing how much more I could give them if they simply asked.” 

Niramol frowned, her brows knitting. “You don’t want the sacrifices?”

The goddess shook her head slowly, her long black hair rippling like a river’s surface. “No. I have never wanted them. The men they sent before…” There was a pause and Niramol leaned closer in curiosity. “I turned them into golden and silver fish and released them, returning them to the flow of the river, where all life begins and ends.” The brunette let out a sigh of relief at the goddess’s words. “They send the gifts to your village in my place. Push the baskets and guide the food to the fishermen. Their spirits are at peace, and they harmed no one.”  

The words struck Niramol like a stone to the chest. The villagers had been wrong all this time—terribly, irreparably wrong. And yet, the goddess spoke with no anger, only sadness.  

“But why didn’t you tell them?” Niramol asked, her voice tinged with frustration. “If you don’t want their sacrifices, why let them go on believing you did?”  

The goddess sighed, her gaze dropping to the rippling water at her feet. “I tried,” she said softly. “Once, long ago. But they would not hear me. Their fear was louder than my voice. They made me into the monster they needed me to be, and I… let them so they would feel safe.”  

Niramol’s chest tightened at the goddess’s words. The weight of her village’s misunderstanding—the years of needless fear and loss—settled heavily on her shoulders.   

Even after everything, a part of Niramol still hesitated to believe. If the goddess was honest and had been protecting the village all these years, then what else had they been wrong about?  

She exhaled slowly and met the goddess’s gaze. “You say the villagers don’t understand you,” she said carefully. “Then show me.”  

The goddess tilted her head, intrigued. “Show you?”  

“Your power.” Niramol’s voice was steady, but curiosity flickered in her dark eyes. “I want to see it for myself. If I’m going to prove to them that you aren’t what they think, I need to understand you first.”  

A slow, knowing smile spread across the goddess’s lips. “You’re bold,” she mused. “I like that.”  

She rose effortlessly and walked to the pool at the cavern's entrance. The goddess stepped onto the water's surface, and as she lifted her hands, the water around her stirred—not from the cavern’s natural flow but from something deeper, something unseen. The stillness broke, and suddenly, the pool swirled, its surface shifting as though touched by an invisible hand.

Niramol watched, wide-eyed, as shapes began to emerge from the water.  

At first, she thought they were ordinary fish, but as they swam closer, their forms gleamed unnaturally. Each one shimmered like sunlight on a polished blade, their scales made of pure silver and gold. Their eyes were dark and intelligent, watching her in a way that sent a chill up her spine.  

“These are the ones your village sent to me,” the goddess said softly. “Men who were meant to die, but instead, I gave them a different life.”  

Niramol’s breath caught. “Right… you turned them into fish.” 

The goddess nodded. “I released them from their fate and allowed them to live as part of my waters. They do not suffer. They are free.”  

One golden fish swam close to the pool's edge, brushing against Niramol’s fingers as if recognizing her. She hesitated before trailing her fingertips over its gleaming scales, feeling an unnatural warmth beneath her touch. “They’re… beautiful,” she whispered. 

The goddess stepped closer, her presence like a quiet current wrapping around the taller woman. “Would you like to see more?”  

Before Niramol could answer, the water rippled again, and from beneath the surface, shapes rose—long, sinuous forms that twisted in and out of the cavern’s shimmering glow. River eels, their sleek bodies glistening, circled the goddess as if drawn to her presence. Turtles surfaced, ancient and steady, their deep-set eyes filled with something wise and old.

Then, as if called by an unspoken command, the creatures stilled. The cavern fell silent, save for the gentle lapping of water.  

Niramol swallowed. “They listen to you.” 

The goddess nodded. “The river is not just water, Niramol. It is life. It sings to those who can hear it.” She extended a hand, and as if responding to her silent request, one of the silver fish leaped from the water, arcing in the air before landing with a soft ripple. “I do not command them. We simply understand one another.”

Niramol exhaled, shaking her head in quiet amazement. “And the villagers think you’re some mindless beast.”

The goddess chuckled. “Fear has always been louder than truth.”  

Niramol dragged a hand through her damp hair, overwhelmed but… fascinated. “You could do so much for us,” she said. “If they’d just listen.” The goddess’s expression turned wistful. “Perhaps,” she said. “Perhaps not.”

For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of the revelation settling between them. Then, the goddess’s lips curved into something playful.  

“You must be hungry.” Niramol blinked at the abrupt change in topic. “What?”

“You’ve traveled far, endured much. Allow me to offer you something in return.”  

Before Niramol could protest, the goddess stepped toward a smooth, flat rock near the side of the cave. She lifted her hand with a graceful movement, and the water answered her call. A stream arced through the air, carrying fresh fish and river greens that settled neatly upon the stone.

Niramol watched in stunned silence as the goddess knelt and conjured a small blue flame upon the surface of her palm with a flick of her wrist. The fire did not burn as normal flames did—it shimmered coolly, like captured lightning, its energy coiling and shifting.  

“This is—”  

“Spirit fire,” the goddess supplied. “It does not destroy. It transforms.” 

Within moments, the fish were cooked to perfection, their grey scales crisped at the edges, their scent rich and mouthwatering. The greens wilted slightly, their color deepening, earthy and sweet.  

The goddess turned to Niramol, her expression unreadable as she placed the food before the mortal. “Eat.”

Niramol hesitated. It felt… strange to be served by a being her people had feared for so long. And yet, as she looked at the food before her, the warmth of the goddess’s quiet kindness made her chest ache. “Don’t worry,” the goddess chuckled. “It’s not one of your friends.”

Niramol sighed in relief and reached for a piece of the fish, breaking off a portion with her fingers and bringing it to her lips. The flavor was fresh, rich, and impossibly light, unlike anything she had ever tasted, as if the river offered up its bounty in the purest form.  

As she chewed, she became acutely aware of the goddess’s gaze upon her. She looked up and, for the first time since arriving in the cavern, found herself holding the goddess’s stare.

Deep as the river at midnight, eyes watched her with quiet intensity.  

Niramol swallowed.  

The goddess tilted her head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her pink lips. “Do you approve?”  

Niramol cleared her throat, trying to mask the sudden warmth creeping up her neck. “It’s good.”  

"I’m glad." The goddess chuckled, the sound low and melodious. “It's been a while since I cooked for someone else, I was a bit worried that it wouldn't even be edible”

Niramol tried to focus on the food, but the air between them felt charged, like the electric stillness before a storm. The goddess, for all her power and mystery, seemed completely at ease, watching her with that same soft amusement.  

Niramol forced herself to break the moment, looking back at the water.  At this, the goddess laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, Niramol,” she murmured, and for some reason, hearing her name spoken in that voice sent a shiver down her spine. She wasn’t sure what this feeling was, this strange warmth blooming in her chest.  

The goddess rested her chin on one hand, her gaze softening as she studied Niramol’s face. “You are so different from the ones before you. You are not afraid of me. And because of that, I will entrust you with a task.”  

The immortal woman rose and from behind her throne, she lifted an urn made of gold, its surface etched with intricate patterns that shimmered like sunlight. Beside it was a small chest inlaid with mother-of-pearl, its lid carved with the image of lotus flowers. She carried them to the human, her movements as effortless as a stream winding its way to the sea.

“These are my gifts to you,” the goddess said, her voice steady. “The urn holds water from my domain. It will heal any wound, no matter how grave, and nourish any crop, no matter how dry the soil. The chest contains silks finer than any your village has ever seen, woven from the light of the river itself. They will bring you and your family prosperity.”

Niramol stared at the gifts, her throat tight. “I… I don’t understand. Why are you giving these to me?”  

The goddess smiled softly, the corners of her mouth lifting with quiet amusement. “Because you are worthy of them,” she said simply. “Because you came here not with arrogance or cruelty, but with courage. Because I want your village to see that I am not the monster they imagine. You will return to them with my message, and with these gifts as proof of my kindness.”  

She set the urn and the chest in Niramol’s hands, and Niramol, though hesitant, accepted them.  

“But…” Niramol faltered, unsure how to phrase what she wanted to say. “What if they don’t listen? What if they’re too afraid to believe me?”  

The goddess’s expression softened further, and she reached out, her hand moving with deliberate care. The younger woman flinched slightly, but the goddess’s touch was gentle as she tucked something behind Niramol’s ear—a small, radiant blue jasmine flower, its petals glowing faintly like starlight.

“This is an immortal bloom,” the goddess said, her fingers lingering for a moment. “It will never wither, never fade. It is a reminder of who you are, and of what you have survived. When they see you with it, they will know you have been touched by me. They will have no choice but to listen.”  

Niramol swallowed hard, her fingers brushing against the delicate petals of the flower. “You think I’m beautiful,” she said, almost in disbelief.  

The goddess smiled—a radiant, warm smile that lit the cavern more than the glow of the walls. “I know you are beautiful,” she said. “And you should know it too.”  

Niramol felt her cheeks flush, her voice caught somewhere in her throat. The goddess stepped back. “Go now, Niramol,” she said gently. “Return to your village and tell them what has happened. Tell them there will be no more women sacrifices. If they send another, I will not show such mercy again. But if they choose to honor me with their hearts and their hands instead of their fear, I will bless them beyond their imagination.”

Niramol hesitated, her hands clutching the gifts tightly. “And if they don’t listen?” she asked, her voice low.  

The goddess’s eyes gleamed, and for a moment, there was something ancient and unyielding in her gaze. “They will listen,” she said simply. “Because they will see you, Niramol. And they will know you speak the truth.”

With a wave of her hand, the water around them surged upwards, and Niramol felt the warm current pulling her away, back towards the waterfall. The last thing she saw was the goddess, standing still and serene in the glowing cavern, her dark eyes watching with quiet certainty.

—❀—

When Niramol broke the surface of the basin, the roar of the waterfall returned, crashing around her like thunder. She gasped for air, the weight of the urn and the chest steady in her hands. The immortal flower tucked behind her ear glowed faintly, untouched by the mist.  

She glanced back at the waterfall, her chest tight with emotion. The goddess’s words lingered in her mind, as did the warmth of her touch.  

With slow, purposeful steps, Niramol began the journey back to the village, ready to tell them everything.