Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
I ndra’s throne room puts Queen Tara’s to shame. It is the heart of his palace, a pulsing that mimics his own rhythm, making me sweat at its alien intimacy. As soon as we enter, the room’s aura assaults me. The scents of ghee, jaggery, and camphor ooze through the air, silent reminders of prayer and opulence, power and abundance. Hundreds of glorious artifacts hang on the walls, both from the mortal and immortal realms. Paintings of the lord being worshiped. Murals with dancers in sensuous, alluring poses. Tapestries in fine filigree that change pictures as one moves past them. Intoxication pounds my veins to behold them, like I have drunk too much soma.
Magic here is thick and dense. Shafts of golden dust crisscross like light pouring from the ceiling. The ceiling itself imitates a night sky. Stars shimmer like a million fat gems, yet creeping at the edges are storm clouds, roiling and dark.
A slight coldness permeates the air, making me want to rub away the gooseflesh erupting on my arms. It would be an uncultured move, more suited to a wide-eyed mortal visiting swarga than one of Indra’s immortal apsaras. Yet even Rambha, who must surely come to the throne room more often than any other dancer, takes a deep breath. She grits her teeth tight, then relaxes slowly. My contrived confidence from a few minutes ago seems childish. If Rambha herself is so anxious to see Indra, how will I ever make my request to him?
I try to mirror her, but the closer we move toward the throne, the more I become aware of myself in an awkward, clumsy way. Rambha’s tactics will not work for me. It is not simply a breath that relaxes her; it is her devotion to Indra. The lord seizes all the grace in this chamber. There is none left for any of us, not unless we reflect to him a piece of his own majesty. Rambha exists in his radiance, separate and secure in her love. I try to hold on to myself, reminding myself that I am just as devoted to Indra in my own way, that his granting of my boon tonight will only cement it for everyone, but I cannot help my nervousness. My eyes dart everywhere. The floor that seems to be moving. The shifting statues. The gleaming pillars. The darkening sky.
Finally, they land on the deva king.
Lord Indra does not lean back in his usual indolent way. Instead, his feet tap the floor, and a scowl mars his handsome, chiseled face. Jewels glitter on him from head to toe, garnets deeper than blood around his neck, sapphires bluer than the ocean clasped on his wrists, moonstone pearls that wreathe his fingers. His dhoti is azure, the delicate weaving on the embroidery resembling violent clouds veering into sudden calm, before glossing back into darkness—a reflection of his tempestuous mood. His ornate gold crown gleams in a splinter of dawn.
All immortals have a recognizable aura, shining like a halo. Indra’s aura is so radiant that the auras of the devas surrounding him look dark by comparison. It covers him from head to toe, its incandescent light reaching far beyond his person. Golden dust swirls sensuously around his fingertips like an affectionate pet.
He is so beautiful that I can barely stand to look at him. I glimpse him only in instances, my eyes scurrying to the other devas, benevolent Surya of the sun, burly Vayu of the wind, sharp Agni of the fire.
In one hand, Indra toys with his vajra, the lightning bolt that is his greatest weapon, which crackles with electricity and anger, its glittering edges sharp enough to only be a blur of light. In his other hand, a crystal cup magically refills with ruby-red wine even as he drains it. I can tell at a glance the lord is drunk again. Another pang of anxiety makes my heart jump.
Rambha stiffens and stops in her tracks. Her beautiful eyes go wide, and she whispers, alarmed, “Shachi.”
I don’t understand immediately; I am too taken with beholding the lord himself. Then my eyes follow Rambha’s, and I notice standing among the devas is another figure. Goddess Shachi. Indra’s wife and consort, the queen of the devis.
I stumble to a stop. Now that I study her, I cannot imagine how I overlooked her. I have not seen her in years, but she has never looked as resplendent—or as angry.
Her entire being is electrified. Her skin is a golden brown, so shiny that she mirrors the light of her own aura, a seemingly endless spiral of golden glow. Her eyes glint with calculation and intelligence, and she tilts her pointed chin up, staring at Indra down her small, narrow nose. The fiery red sari she wears curls around her luscious curves, sparking with what looks like Agni’s fire, except cooler, contained. Like Indra’s clothes, Shachi’s sari shifts in color, one moment a volcanic orange, then a rosy pink, then the first blush of dawn, until it is a fiery red again. Beside her full bloom, Rambha is merely a budding flower. Compared to her, I am just a seed.
Shachi draws herself up to full height. Her aura sharpens, just for an instant obscuring all the other deities.
“You may be the king of devas,” she says tightly to her husband, “but do not forget, lord, that I command the devis. The apsaras are my charge.”
Indra scowls. “I cannot give up my greatest weapons, not even for you, Queen. You may care for them, but swarga is my heaven. Not yours. As long as I sit on this throne, the dancers are mine.”
The goddess’s eyes flash. “You invite your own doom,” she proclaims. A flash of light—I hear my own shallow gasp—
She is gone.
Lord Indra blinks and sits up. His fingers tighten around his wine cup as silence echoes in the wake of her departure. “It is all because of this damned boy,” he says to no one in particular. “The missing apsaras have created this rebellion from the queen.”
The devas who are Indra’s counselors murmur soothing words, too soft for me to catch, but the lord slams his wine cup on his throne and it shatters.
“We don’t know anything about him,” he snarls. “None of my spies have brought back anything of use. Amaravati is in danger. I am in danger. The Vajrayudh is approaching. Don’t tell me I have nothing to worry about!”
The devas exchange looks. Agni’s fingertips spark with fire. Surya’s golden eyes gleam brighter in irritation. Vayu, who loves chaos, allows a brisk smile to flutter across his lips. Yet none of them say anything.
Indra leans back sullenly. He snaps his fingers. The shattered chunks of crystal disappear from around his clothes, and another wine cup appears in its place, filled to the brim. He takes a moody sip from it.
My nervousness pitches higher. Devas get angry. It is their due. They are creatures of the elements, responsible for the fates of the three realms. Indra himself is the lord of sky and storm, volatile in nature, true to his essence. I know this and love this about him. Yet I have never seen the lord and his queen fight in such a public manner.
Is this because of the Vajrayudh? The celestial event occurs once every thousand years, and it is a stark reminder of Indra’s limitations. King of heaven he might be, but even he cannot control all the powers of the universe. During the Vajrayudh, all celestials grow weaker. Amaravati shuts her gates, and no souls are allowed in or out. The devas rest, and Indra himself retires to his palace in the comfort of gandharvas and apsaras to lose himself in song and dance until the event has passed. It is essential that the devas and devis are in harmony, and Amaravati peaceful, during the Vajrayudh. Without that, heaven itself can implode, eaten up by rising magical chaos.
Next to me, Rambha seems frozen, staring at Indra. I clutch her hand with my sweaty one and pull her away to the shadow of a pillar, grateful we have not yet been seen in the hubbub.
“Rambha,” I whisper urgently. “What is going on?”
“It’s Kaushika,” she whispers back, tearing her gaze away from the lord. She looks stricken but shakes her head to clear herself of the emotion. “The prince is becoming stronger each day. When first he declared himself a sage, other sages came to pay him their respects. Indra too sent gandharvas to treat with him as per tradition. But Kaushika only laughed at the singers and dismissed them. The lord is reasonable—he has bent to sages before—but this unprovoked insult? Indra could not abide it. He sent his followers to challenge Kaushika in combat, but Kaushika is of warrior stock, and he defeated the kshatriya devotees with ease, humiliating Indra again. It was then that the lord sent apsaras to Kaushika—yet those apsaras haven’t returned. Shachi is furious they are missing.”
Rambha quietens and memories of Shachi flood me. Running in her garden, chased by her laughing handmaidens. The first jewel I was given, a thin gold chain the queen removed from her own neck. Sweetmeats and ambrosia she brought to the apsara girls while we crowded around her, pawing at her sari. Apsaras are Shachi’s daughters, in a way. The oldest of us were born of the Churning of the Oceans, from which Shachi herself came—but the younger ones like me were born from the union of other celestial beings. I have never known my parents, but I have not needed to. An apsara’s birth is a blessing for all of Amaravati. I grew up with other girls in Shachi’s grove, was sent to train for Indra’s army on my maturation. The day I left the grove, the queen’s eyes followed me with sadness. I thought she was melancholy because I had outgrown the innocence of my childhood. Yet perhaps she did not like turning me over to Indra? Did she fear our missions? Does she fear Kaushika too?
“Can Indra not simply smite this sage with the vajra?” I ask. Not even immortals can survive a strike of celestial lightning from Indra’s bolt, after all.
But Rambha shakes her head, anxiety pooling in her eyes. “Indra cannot directly harm Kaushika, not unless the sage performs an unquestioned act of war against heaven first. If we had any evidence of Kaushika killing our sisters, that would be enough for the lord, but the mortal covers his tracks well. He is devoted to Shiva, the Destroyer, and Indra dare not make a careless move. Yet if this sage continues to spread irreverence for the lord …”
“All of our magic could vanish,” I finish grimly. “Our dance. Our illusions.”
The thought turns my stomach, filling my mouth with sourness. I have struggled with how my dance is used, but who will I be without it? Despite my uncertainties, I have always been devoted to the lord—it is why I dare to come here with an agenda of my own. Yet mortals are so shortsighted and fickle. Indra is the lord of rain and water, of storm and sky. Without him, the mortal realm would suffer, crops die, lands grow arid. Shouldn’t a sage know this? How can one be a sage yet be so misguided? This ridiculous man is threatening everything I love. The ceiling darkens, the lord’s anger pressing beneath my veins, soaking my own resentment.
I am about to speak, to ask my questions, when thunder rolls overhead. “Rambha,” Indra’s deep voice calls out, and my knees shake without my volition. “Why are you here?”
Rambha falters in front of me, the tiniest of pauses, before she steadies herself. Straightening, she continues toward the throne, and I follow, the lord watching the both of us approach. Nervousness crawls over me in a beelike hum, and I try to repeat my justifications for what I am about to do, but the closer we come, the more my mind scatters. It is all I can do to put one foot in front of the other.
Lord Indra raises his brows, irritated at our intrusion, but sighs when Rambha bows deeply to him. Rambha’s hands move in subtle dance mudras. Her necklaces and rings shine brighter. She is using magic, creating a delicate illusion for Indra himself, perhaps to calm him, and Indra must surely understand this. Yet far from being annoyed that she is attempting to manipulate his mood, he looks amused. Distractedly, I wonder what she is showing him. I wonder at their relationship, and the way his divinity coats her.
“Well, Rambha?” he asks.
“Meneka has returned, my lord,” she answers quietly. “From another successful mission in the mortal realm. Your devotees are still protected.”
Indra’s eyes travel to me, noticing me fully for the first time. I am absorbed by his intense scrutiny.
“One of the ones you sent to Kaushika?” he demands. “What did you find, girl?”
“No, my lord,” Rambha interjects hurriedly. “A different mission. One to Queen Tara of the nation of Pallava. She who terrorized many, including your devotees. Who was on a crusade to gain power beyond her reach. This has been a difficult journey for Meneka, my lord, but she has done as you commanded. As per tradition, she is here for her boon.”
Indra leans back, his expression already bored now that he realizes I’m an ordinary apsara. “You’re blessed, daughter. Go take the rest that is your due before you have to prove your devotion to me again.”
He plucks a few rings from his own fingers and tosses them toward me. I catch them, feeling their weight. I can tell how powerful the rings are, how much of Amaravati’s magic they hold. This is a treasure beyond expectation for any apsara, one the lord has stripped from his own body in front of his devas. I know I should take the gems and leave. That my chance is already lost. But desperation floods me, spilling into panic. How long will it take, how many more missions, until the time is right? I nursed the possibility of my boon through my time with Queen Tara like it were a beloved child. I endured the trials of my wretchedness because of this one faint hope. I cannot take another hollow mission, another disappointment.
I know it is a mistake. I know I am being foolish. Yet I step forward, the careful words I prepared, the strategy I planned, flying from my mind like startled birds.
“Please, my lord,” I blurt out, and my voice is a croak. “I don’t want these amulets. I would beg you allow me to remain in Amaravati instead. I would ask you allow me relief from any future missions.”
Indra is half-turned back toward his devas. One of them has already begun speaking. Echoing in my ears, my words sound so coarse that I can scarcely believe I have uttered them. I think the lord has not heard me. I hope he hasn’t heard me.
Then Rambha’s jaw drops.
Lord Indra turns back to me, his face incredulous.
“What did you say?” he hisses.
So strong is his magic that the very air congeals with his anger, ramming me down to my knees. I thump inelegantly, my breath slammed out of me. Above, the ceiling crackles and the stars disappear. Storm clouds take over fully. The coolness of the chamber is replaced with a horrible, suffocating heat.
All my thoughts twist inside me. The tether connecting me to Amaravati blooms, radiant despite Indra’s anger, or perhaps because of it. I want to be diplomatic, but in reaction to his power, truths tumble out of me without my permission.
“All apsaras are granted a boon of their choice, my lord,” I whisper. “I only want what is mine.”
Indra’s disbelieving gaze moves from me to Rambha, but my friend’s eyes are wide. It is clear she had not expected this. Guilt pierces my cloud of haze. Maybe I should have told her what I intended, but Rambha would have tried to stop me. Besides, if Indra is going to be angry, at least she won’t be punished. It is better this way. She will not be harmed, she will walk away from it, my foolishness will not have endangered her—
Indra stands up.
Lightning crackles around him, fingertips to crown. His entire being shines with outrage. His clothes, his very skin, become so glorious that my eyes blink shut. I can hear thunder start to build beyond the palace walls, all through the city of Amaravati. My heart rattles in my chest in quickening terror as I feel him approaching me. Heat scorches me, seeking to burn the flesh from my bones. I am still on my knees, and suddenly grateful for it. My body would not support my weight right now.
Indra looms over me. His voice is dangerously soft. “Is this treason pouring from your mouth? You wish freedom from your service, daughter?”
I swallow again, and panic makes me incoherent. “N-No, my lord. It is because I wish to serve! P-Please. You allowed this of Rambha. I wish—simply consider it for me too. In the mortal realm, my devotion to you suffers, but here, living in Amaravati—the city needs this, with the magic depleting. I can—if you will allow me—”
Lightning crashes above, silencing me. “How dare you speak to me of devotion as you try to shirk your duty?” he whispers, his quiet voice deadly. “Apsaras are my weapons. My army. It is an honor to go on these missions. You will never be free from them.”
Indra’s power is too strong. My eyes water from the pressure his presence is exerting. I smell the cinnamon wine on his breath, and the fumes choke me.
Still, through the viselike grip of his magic, one thought stands clear in my head. If I accept his answer, if I’m made to go on another mission to seduce a mortal, I will forever be lost. Queen Tara’s yearning face and the faces of the other mortals I have seduced flash before me, cutting through my panic. I look toward Rambha, though I don’t dare meet her eyes.
A terrified whisper escapes me, foolishness unable to be stopped. “Please. P-Please, there must be something I can do. Something … ”
“For such a treasonous demand, for such a special gift?” Indra sneers. “Perhaps if you thwarted a problem like Kaushika, I might consider it. Yet nothing less than that would be a sign of your true devotion. Now, leave my sight, daughter, before I truly get angry.”
Rambha’s hand closes on my wrist tightly in a warning not to say any more. She yanks me to my feet and gestures curtly with her head for me to follow her. Lord Indra is already turning away, disgusted.
Yet all I can think of is that such a chance will never reappear. If I don’t get my boon now, if I don’t lock Indra into a promise, I will never be able to escape my destiny, doomed into this cycle for the rest of my immortal life.
Desperation claws at me. The words hurl out of me without any further thought.
“I’ll do it,” I cry, shaking Rambha off. I am already reaching forward, my hands seeking his grace beseechingly. “Lord Indra, my lord, please, please. I’ll do it.”
He turns to me again, his face filled with surprise.
I force myself to meet his gaze, even as my entire body trembles. My own voice comes to me as though from a distance. “If you promise I never need to leave Amaravati after this deed is complete, I will seduce Kaushika. I will neutralize him so he is never a threat to you again.”
O F COURSE, IT ISN’T AS EASY .
Even though my heart pounds loud enough to be heard in all of Amaravati, Indra merely raises his eyebrows and returns to his throne to drink again. He waves his hand carelessly, and suddenly I cannot hear any more of the discussions between him and his devas.
From Rambha’s expression, she is under Indra’s enchantment too. She fumbles for me and crushes my hand in hers. Her breath comes out in shaky whispers. She doesn’t look in my direction, but her skin is too cold, her aura conversely smelling burned. A thousand doubts and questions must surely circle her mind, though she says nothing, perhaps fearing the lord’s wrath. Instead, we both stand silently next to each other, trying not to shiver. I attempt to draw comfort from her touch while my heart races with adrenaline.
I cannot believe what I’ve done. What was I thinking? I’ve never seduced a sage.
Mortal magic comes in many forms, but the strict meditation of a sage kindles its own rival power to the devas—one that can overthrow Indra, cast the lord into the mortal realm, even render his magic useless within Amaravati. Sages use prana, the untainted energy of the universe, to bend the forces of reality. Only apsaras like Rambha are ever sent to seduce them, and even she was terrified when talking of Kaushika.
The sheer scope of this man dazzles me. This is swarga, the heavenly realm of the devas, and it is already suffering because of Kaushika. Very few things can destroy a celestial, but Rambha thinks that the prince-sage has killed some of the most powerful apsaras already. His irreverence for Indra is reducing Amaravati’s magic. What chance do I have?
Suddenly, I feel small. Defeated. I think back to how hard my mission with Tara was. How every seduction for her sloughed pieces of my own self away, leaving me naked and wretched. My dance is a drug I do not want to escape, but the agony and ecstasy of performing in a mission, the self-loathing and the doubt I lived in within the mortal realm—these warped my love for my art in irredeemable ways. If the experience with a mortal queen exacerbated the ever-present turmoil within me, what would the seduction of Sage Kaushika do? I want to take my reckless request back, but it is already too late. Indra’s charm lifts and all his devas watch me, inscrutable.
The lord leans forward. The anger has completely left his face. Now he looks wary, watchful. “Come forward, the both of you,” he commands.
Stumbling, we move. I am aware of Rambha only in pieces. Indra’s entire attention is on me. His overwhelming radiance drenches me from head to toe as he examines my beauty.
“How good is she?” he asks, the question directed at Rambha.
I hear a choking sound catch in her throat. “She is not the one I would pick, my lord,” Rambha whispers. “She does not even know the most useful mudras yet. She spoke out of turn. She has never challenged any sage, let alone someone as dangerous as Kaushika. For the love you bear me, lord. Please don’t let her do this.”
Indra studies her for a moment, almost coldly, before turning back to me. “Is she capable?”
It is the second time he has asked. I know Rambha does not dare refuse him a clear answer. Thoughtless though I have been, even I understand the look on his face. His eyes narrow slightly in barely veiled irritation that she should think to challenge him in front of his devas, after I myself did with my boon. The corners of his mouth twist in warning; now is not the time to test his patience. It is all a subtle reminder. He is a king. Rambha, though favored, is but a courtesan.
And I , I think despairingly, I am nobody at all.
Rambha’s voice trembles, but her answer this time is unambiguous. “She is unique. She prides herself on never becoming involved with a mark, a failing I have tried to stamp out, yet it has only made her more creative with her missions. Her wits and resourcefulness cannot be denied, and it is because of those that she accomplishes her missions so successfully. While her illusions are rawer than other apsaras, she has been successful so far because she has learnt not to rely only on her magic and beauty. Instead, she studies her enemy deeply, carving her illusions based on who they are and what they fear. In a few years I would have her seduce more challenging marks, and with more training, she could one day become heaven’s greatest weapon. But please listen to me, my lord. She is not yet ready. You would be sacrificing a valuable asset—”
“And you, Meneka,” Indra interrupts. “You volunteer for this mission?”
My mind is still whirling from Rambha’s words about me. That she should think so highly of me, that she should think so little of me … Is she right? Do I have it in me to become swarga’s greatest weapon?
“Yes,” I whisper, raising my eyes to the lord.
“Then I agree,” the lord says simply. A smile alights on his lips. It transforms him and the throne room. The storm clouds clear. Stars rush in with a sublime shimmer. Agni, Surya, Vayu, and all the other lords exchange glances, their own auras becoming resplendent now that Indra’s fury no longer overwhelms them.
Indra moves forward in a blur, and then his hands are on my shoulders, straightening my posture, giving me strength. I am dazzled by being touched by him. Colors, sunshine, laughter—all of these spin in me, my own soul reacting to his divinity now that he looks upon me with such favor. I feel intoxicated, invincible. Magics I never knew I was capable of seem within arm’s reach. The illusions I can ordinarily do as an apsara are laughable; there is so much more grace I am suddenly gifted. Is this how Rambha feels all the time? An absurd laugh escapes me, and I smile at her with pride and kinship, yet she utters a gasp.
“My lord,” she says before I can speak. “I must protest. Meneka spoke in error—let me handle her. Let me take this mission. I beg you.”
“I cannot spare you,” Indra says shortly. His eyes glint with the reflection of his hundred jewels as he considers me. “The mission is yours, daughter. Seduce Kaushika in the mortal realm. Find out his true agenda for heaven. Learn his lusts and secrets, and thwart him from his power-seeking ways. You shall get your heart’s desire—your freedom from any future missions. You shall be a goddess, a devi, in Amaravati. No one shall question your devotion to me or to swarga.”
Say no , Rambha’s look urges me. Ask for forgiveness. Please, Meneka. Please.
I am doing this for us , I try to tell her without speaking.
She blinks as though she has heard me, and I glance back at the lord. “I accept,” I breathe.
“Then go,” Indra says, waving a bejeweled hand. “Do not tarry a minute longer. The Vajrayudh approaches in six turns of the moon lord. You must stop Kaushika well before then.”
He turns his back on us to return to his throne. We are already forgotten.
Rambha’s body trembles with rage and fear. Her lips part, as though to implore the lord again, but then her hand grips me once more, this time painfully. We bow silently, and she wrenches me out of the chamber.