Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
L ater that night, I knock on his door.
His hut is by the perimeter of the hermitage, the largest of the settlements within the compound. A window points toward the gardens where the bael tree is. The hut itself overlooks the dark, brooding forest—fitting for this man who keeps one eye on intruders and the other on his disciples. Golden light pools inside, visible from the crack beneath the door. Shadows shift as I raise my fist to knock again.
Kaushika flings open the door, filling up the space with his endless shoulders and impatience. For once, he does not wear the uniform of the hermitage but a night-black kurta and matching pajamas. An old brown scarf drapes around his neck, and on one shoulder he carries a jute bag.
Annoyance grows on his features when he sees me. We are but a handsbreadth away from each other, but I hold my ground, resisting the urge to stagger back as he looms.
He doesn’t retreat either, but his frown grows deeper as though he is aware of this childish game of superiority between us, yet still intends to win.
“What do you want?” he asks gruffly.
I answer with my sweetest smile, knowing it will only aggravate him further. “I came to ask if Navyashree is all right. After what happened to her in today’s lesson.”
Kaushika’s eyebrows rise, his scowl replaced by curiosity just for an instant. “I did not know you were such fast friends.”
“We are not. I simply wish to know.”
“Why?”
“She is a fellow human being. A disciple of the hermitage. Should I not care that she burned?”
Kaushika only snorts.
“Do you not care?” I ask, tilting my head. “You saved her and depleted the magic you hold inside of you in the process. She is your student.”
“I did my duty,” he says flatly. “Nothing else. I would not get sentimental about it.”
This time I quirk an eyebrow. “No sentiments about saving a life? How interesting.”
Confusion flickers in his eyes. I let the silence breathe, watching the passage of emotions on his face, doubt and outrage and a fleeting sense of shame. A few choice words, and he has begun doubting himself? I want to laugh because of how easy it is to rile him, and how it is usually the sincerest of my marks who respond like this. He reminds me of Nirjar in his openness—but I cannot think of Kaushika as sincere. It is one step away from pitying him, and then growing fond of him, and then what will become of me and my mission? I mentally shake myself, remembering the hate I first saw on his face.
Kaushika mutters something under his breath, then eyes me with consideration. He shifts his sack from one shoulder to the other, a relenting in the gesture.
“She is all right,” he mutters. “Romasha has taken over her healing. You can go ask her for more details if you want.”
He makes to push past me, but I stand on tiptoe as the candlelight in his house dies away. The hut swims in shadow, the only light coming from the starlight pouring through the windows. Absently, I wonder about his relationship with Romasha. She is certainly beautiful, and I have seen the way the both of them speak to each other in comfortable companionship. Are they merely friends? Or is there something more potent growing between them? If Kaushika and Romasha have an understanding, even budding feelings of romantic affection buried under their vows of asceticism, I can use it to unravel him. Romasha is hardly my competition, yet if I became more like her, he would pay me some mind. Perhaps that is the shape of his seduction hiding behind his shield—an image concealed not because he fears apsaras but because he fears his own desires and what it means for his vows of asceticism. How easy it would be to break him, then; just another mortal afraid of himself, despite his proclamations of self-knowledge. It is such an ironic thought, I cannot help but grin.
“Romasha?” I murmur. “She is so strong, but I would not think you would give over healing to her. Navyashree seemed so hurt, and wouldn’t it weaken Romasha too? Why would you burden her with such a thing? Are you going somewhere?”
“Yes,” he says shortly, and shuts the door behind him. Another murmur, and air shimmers across the doorway and over the house in a warding.
I lift my head to see he has been watching my curious reactions. I clear my throat. His scent coats me, entrancing me in a dangerous way with the hidden notes behind it, but I do not climb down the two short stairs that lead to the veranda. I am blocking his way, and if he stirs he will touch me, but even that will give me more information about him, so I simply drop my lashes, this time infusing my smile with self-effacement.
“I was hoping to speak with you tonight. The Initiation Ceremony is coming closer, and I need you.”
“You need me,” he repeats flatly.
“To teach me. To give me instruction.”
“And what kind of instruction would that be, Meneka?”
I blink. I know what I am doing with this conversation—but is he flirting back ? Am I wrong about him and Romasha? Is this a trap? My heart beats faster. “Why, Sage Kaushika,” I murmur, widening my eyes, “it can be any kind of instruction you please.”
He does not say anything, but he tilts his head. For an instant, a shade of a smile lurks on his lips, rewarding me. Then it disappears, just as fast as it had come.
“As flattered as I am,” he says dryly, “I do not fraternize with my students.”
Did he read into my observations about Romasha too? Am I giving too much of my identity away, to move this fast? Either way, I blush prettily. “I only meant that you could teach me. Runes are my preferred form of magic, as you know.”
“Oh, I know, but I don’t teach either. Not until the Initiation Ceremony.”
“In that case, we are hardly your students until then, are we?”
This time a surprised laugh escapes him. “Oh, you are amusing, certainly. Much as I am enjoying this, I have no time for such inane conversation right now. Step aside, please. I must be on my way.”
“But I need—”
“I don’t care what you need. Your learning is your own business.”
“But—” I begin, trying not to let my desperation show. I am so close. I made him laugh. He is enjoying this despite himself. “If you only teach me—”
Yet already his laugh is turning into a frown. “Step aside, Meneka,” he says again. “I do not have the time for you tonight.”
This time, his command is unyielding. I dare not refuse.
I obey silently.
Kaushika moves past me, the ends of his scarf billowing. He makes his way not to the stables or the road that leads outside the hermitage to the closest village, but to the forest. The hermitage still echoes with the quiet chants of practicing students, and I glance behind to see a few disciples weaving between the huts, headed either to the pavilion or the shed, perhaps to discuss their study. No one is watching me.
Keeping my distance, I duck my head and follow Kaushika.
In minutes, I am surrounded by trees, the sounds from the hermitage dying. Kaushika has disappeared from view, but his aura leaves a powerful afterimage and I track it like a hunter, pursuing the swirling colors of his magic. Starlight glints between trees, and petrichor eddies between grass blades. For days, I have expected rain, though there has been nothing but this teasing scent. I wonder what is occurring in Amaravati, if Indra is keeping his rain from the hermitage deliberately as a punishment for Kaushika. I think of Rambha, and what she would say if I told her I buried all my jewels, and then my clothes, into raw earth, that I’m not even using them yet for this mission. The colors of the sage’s aura diminish, moving from leaf to branch, and I hurry, rounding trees, ensuring my footsteps are quiet.
Before long, Kaushika’s aura begins to strengthen. I slow down, my tread becoming even more careful. I have no explanation for if he catches me; my only plan is to not get caught. I weave my way between the trees and finally see him. His tall frame approaches another man, this one older and smaller, though standing no less erect for his age. A gray beard lies tightly coiled over the man’s cheeks, and a kind smile lights up his wizened eyes. Kaushika drops to his knees and bends his head low to the other man’s feet in a gesture of deep respect. Curiosity flames within me. The older man’s aura is powerful, but somehow it does not compare to Kaushika’s own. Who is he that Kaushika is humbling himself this way? Why are they meeting in such secrecy?
The man murmurs and Kaushika rises. They begin to walk again, following the path until the canopy of trees gives way to a lake mirroring the starlight. Fed by the River Alaknanda, this lake is the closest body of water to the hermitage, spanning several meters. I have seen it on one of Anirudh’s maps, and a pang of homecoming sharpens in my chest. This is a mortal lake, no different from any other, but all water belongs to Lord Indra. Does Kaushika even understand this?
He and his companion walk around the shoreline, shoulders bent toward each other as they discuss something with a feverish intensity. The old man shakes his head, and Kaushika flings out an arm in a gesture of protest, but then nods reluctantly. They settle themselves on a rocky outcropping, and Kaushika moodily listens while the man speaks.
I think fast. The two men are too far to see me, intent on their conversation, yet I am too far to hear them. In order to learn anything, I would have to risk stepping into the clearing, or swim into the water. Well, that’s an easy enough choice, then.
I am surrounded by trees, darkness shrouding me. I disrobe swiftly, hiding the clothes from the hermitage under a rock. As quietly as I can, I touch the cold water with my toes. The water recognizes me as a creature of Indra; it responds to my celestial nature. It laps closer, obscuring me in a quiet, rising wave as I crouch and enter the lake. In seconds, I am submerged, swimming toward the two men, knowing the lake will conceal me.
Still, my skin chills instantly. Even though I can breathe underwater indefinitely, the cold will affect me. How amusing that if I could churn the fire of tapasya, I would be able to warm myself. Praying that the men do not intend to linger, I rise unseen and unheard, ensuring I stay just beneath the surface as I come closer to them. From here, Kaushika’s voice is blurry, but I sing a hymn to Indra in my mind, and the sounds become sharp at once.
“—is foolhardy,” the older man says. “You are training your disciples too fast. Demanding they learn too quickly. You are allowing too many people within your hermitage, and are becoming a concern to the other sages. If you wish to present your students to them—”
“I am refusing people,” Kaushika interrupts, irritated. In my mind’s eye, I can almost see the intensity of his eyes, the frown crinkling his brows. “Fewer will stay after the Initiation Ceremony. I will only allow the ones who are most devoted to the path, the ones who truly know their own souls, to train with me. Agastya—you yourself taught me not to deny seekers of the truth. That this knowledge is meant for everybody. Surely you would not ask me to stop?”
“I also taught you restraint. Are you exercising that choice, my son?”
“To be a sage is to be free. This is my hermitage. I must govern it in the way I see fit, precisely like every sage does with their own school. Surely the others cannot object to that?”
“Do you think Vashishta will not?” Agastya asks.
“Vashishta has always hated me,” Kaushika snaps. “Before I came to you to train me, I went to him too, but he humiliated me, berating my youth and arrogance, claiming I was drunk with power. He would deny me my place as a sage despite my tapasya, despite what I have done for the knowledge of mantras.”
“He values emotional control,” the older man replies mildly. “I would ask if your loss of temper has held you back.”
A silence breathes with those words. I imagine the passage of emotions on Kaushika’s face, frustration and guilt and resignation. Agastya and Vashishta , I note. Two of the most powerful rishis in the mortal realm. Songs are sung in Amaravati of Indra treating with them, even inviting them to swarga for conferences and advice. Mortals though the two sages are, they are hundreds of years old. They know the lord intimately, part friends, part rivals. What do they make of Kaushika’s irreverence to him? Do they even know of it?
“Forgive me, guruji,” Kaushika says formally. “I did not intend to be disrespectful.”
“You are powerful, Kaushika. No one can deny you your status as a rishi. Yet in accepting you as one of them, the sages sought to bring you under control. There is an understanding that you will live by their dictates.” Agastya sighs, and I almost feel the ripple of air. “Vashishta wants to know if Shiva has seen fit to bless your hermitage. It is the one thing he returns to, always quoting Shiva’s absence as an indication of your brazenness. Has the Lord come yet?”
My pulse pounds in my throat, and I have to forcibly remind myself not to breathe out and dispel bubbles. I hold myself very still, my hair swirling around me.
“No,” Kaushika says.
Disappointment bleeds from his voice, but all I feel is a mingled sense of horror and relief. Kaushika aims to call Shiva himself to the hermitage, and Shiva has not listened so far, but what if he relents? What would happen to Indra and Amaravati if Kaushika ekes out a boon from the Lord of Destruction ? Shiva is the Innocent One, unaware and uncaring of the politics of the mortal and immortal realms. Should Kaushika ask him for weapons to take down Indra, he could grant Kaushika’s wish without realizing what he is doing. I recall the hymns practiced in the hermitage, mantras recited to empower sages, and those asking for his blessing to annihilate maya. What can occur with such powers unchecked? I shiver, and it is not merely because of the frigid lake.
“We are devoted,” Kaushika says, frustrated. “ I am devoted. The hermitage is a reflection of my own piety to Shiva. Why does the Lord not come?”
“Perhaps,” the other man says, “your disciples are not as devoted as you think.”
“Those who are not will leave soon enough,” Kaushika says darkly.
Coldness creeps into my bones. The impossibility of my mission tightens my throat. I swallow, trying to dislodge the knot of despair. The other sage speaks again, and I strain to listen.
“We have agreed you are a rishi, Kaushika,” he says. “However, allow me to offer you some wisdom. You are still bound by the pursuit of power. Your past hangs over you, and you seem unable to rise above it. You create karma, one action into another, but a true rishi breaks the karmic cycle like Shiva himself.”
“And I will,” Kaushika says forcefully. “You are right, guru, that my past still governs me, but you are wrong too. It is not for mindless power. I do it to satisfy a sacred promise, one I must see fulfilled. That I need to see fulfilled. What good am I if I cannot follow what I think is righteous? What good is my tapasya if I do not even keep my word?”
“Only you can decide that, son,” the guru replies mildly.
Kaushika grunts, and I remain still. The cold is so terrible that I am burning now with it. I ask for heat from Agni, lord of fire, but even as I pray, I know he will not answer this easily. Agni is tempestuous; he flickers in my mind, the way I saw him last in Indra’s throne room, his pointed face glinting with a sharp smile that never reached his eyes.
Kaushika speaks again, and his voice is softer. “What else do the sages require of me at the Mahasabha?”
“A justification for your meadow beyond the reasons of your vow. They will question you on it.”
Meadow? My ears perk, and I swim closer, trying to fight against the chill.
“They view it as an act of rebellion,” the guru continues. “You understand that is why they have called the Mahasabha, do you not? To make you answer for it? Your presentation of your students is only secondary.”
“My meadow is not for my benefit alone,” Kaushika replies. “It is meant to assist all of the mortal and immortal realms. Surely the sages see that the times are changing. I understand such an act is not tradition, that it has never been done before, but I do not pursue it as a challenge to any being. I do it to fulfill my existing karma. As sages, are we not meant to push the boundaries of knowledge?”
“Yes, but in righteous ways,” the guru says quietly. “The meadow is a magnificent display of magic, but Vashishta will not countenance it. The very thought of it infuriates him. It is true that sages push the boundaries of knowledge, but there is a balance to this universe. You must accept this, even if you do not like the balance. The karma you keep building blinds you from this, and all your beautiful words and arguments will not sway the Mahasabha. Vashishta is convinced the meadow is a crime against nature. Even I do not think it is wise. You must consider if there is a different way to achieve what you want.”
There is another silence. I imagine Kaushika staring at the lake as he considers this. The two men do not speak again, but they do not move either. My body grows stiff. My mind slows with every instant. I wonder dreamily if I can simply freeze here, aware of my own immortality forever. What would such stillness be like? A slow horror worms within my heart to contemplate it, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Above me, I hear the two men begin their conversation again, but suddenly, I can no longer focus. The cold attacks me, lulling me toward perilous sleep, sleep I know I will not wake from. I try to move my toes, but it creates a large ripple, one that could expose me if the men were to investigate. I should have swum back into hiding several minutes ago. I am too chilled to do so now, without attracting attention. All I can do is remain here, trapped with knowledge and my recklessness.
Just when it becomes unbearable and I am about to rise, risking discovery, I hear twigs crack above. The two men stand, Kaushika murmuring about accompanying the sage part of the way.
I force myself to count to a hundred. I make it only to fifty before I have to float to the surface, teeth chattering and limbs numb. No one is about, and the night is undisturbed again, but when I find my clothes and dress, I do so quickly, not bothering to dry myself, knowing I cannot be caught here.
My way back to the hermitage is a haze. I rub my skin to warm it, and some of my concentration returns—enough to wonder at what I heard. What is this promise Kaushika made? What did the guru mean when he said Kaushika was caught by his past? Does Kaushika have enemies among the other sages, ones who support Vashishta more? It would not be odd—sages frequently argue about the best way to reach enlightenment, their rival powers a source of conflict among their own kind. Is that something I can use? What is the meadow, and why is it a crime against nature? Does it have anything to do with Indra?
The questions tumble within me, one sparking into another, fleeting embers I cannot catch. I frantically sieve everything I’ve learned, looking for answers, yet in the end all the questions distill into those from the very beginning, dictating my purpose here, my mission.
What is the shape of Kaushika’s seduction?
And how do I get past his shield?
B Y THE TIME I AM BACK AT THE HERMITAGE, I AM WARMER through sheer adrenaline, and I have a plan. There is no one about when I arrive, not even any late-night lingering students. Sleep has overtaken the hermitage, and except for the candlelight by Shiva’s altar within the pavilion, all the buildings lie in darkness.
I hesitate only for an instant. Kaushika has warded his house, but this could be my only chance. I open the door and dart inside, aware that I am tripping the ward.
There are others in the hermitage who have their own homes, Romasha and Anirudh, Parasara, and Eka, and even Durvishi, who arrived not too long before I did. All of them have demonstrated excellence in their practice. I have not been in any of their houses, yet I imagine they all look similar on the inside.
The cottage is a single room with a wooden partition that leads to a veranda outside. Night birds twitter in and out of the rafters, and a dry breeze whooshes through cracks in the windows. I dare not light a candle, but I don’t need to; there is enough starlight gleaming in to illuminate a cot in the center of the room with a threadbare blanket.
I arch an eyebrow at that. So. The great Sage Kaushika allows himself the comforts of a cot and a blanket, whereas new initiates such as myself must sleep on plain straw. How unsurprising. It is his due, certainly, but it irks me nonetheless. The last few nights have been especially brutal. I have woken with aches in my body, muscles I did not know I had hurting when I move. Only the stretches from my apsara practices have helped remind me that I am, in fact, an immortal.
My eyes wander to the floor, where a dozen books and scrolls lie piled one on top of another near a seating cushion. I approach them and flip through. A few of them are records of yogic poses, depicting the flow of prana. Obscure, half-known mantras cover the rest of them, verses that Kaushika is clearly researching. Petitions from royals flutter in the light breeze, caught between some of the pages. I recognize the names of a few kings and queens heaven has been interested in.
In one of the tomes, something catches my eye, slipped carefully underneath the wooden binding. A piece of yellowed paper, folded and folded again, so small that it is only as large as my thumbnail. Curious, I open it to reveal a faded letter. The calligraphy is too worn. I cannot read the whole of it, though some words jump out at me, soul and rebirth and punishment. I cannot help but feel that this letter and its contents are relevant to my mission somehow.
From the looks of it, it is several years old. Threads of the parchment come apart between my fingers, though my touch is gentle. I imagine Kaushika smoothening this paper out, staring at it, rereading the words he has probably memorized. I imagine his long fingers making the same movements mine are. Who wrote this? What does it say? Why has he preserved it here at the hermitage when he wishes for all of us to forget our pasts? Or is this simply another hypocrisy—like the cot he has allowed himself, which oddly looks so tempting at this very moment?
An owl hoots outside the hut, and I jump. Carefully, I fold the letter back and push it between the bindings of the book. I have been here long enough. I approach the door, attempting to leave, but even as I put a foot over the threshold, a vibration goes through me, stopping me. It is as though something is forcing me back, refusing to let me through.
Frowning, I try again, yet the energy persists, preventing me from leaving.
I have no time to puzzle it out. I hear voices approaching, and I retreat to the closest corner. I clutch Amaravati’s tether to me, and my fingers move in a quick mudra, Surya’s Eclipse. The illusion forms over me, rendering me invisible, so that when I move my own hand, I see nothing but the thatched wall of the hut. I press my lips together and ensconce myself in stillness.
Two shapes arrive at the threshold. I can tell they both came from different parts of the hermitage, for Romasha whispers, “You heard it too?” Light flickers in her hands, the very same ball of fire I’ve seen her wield before.
Anirudh does not reply, but he holds a similar ball of flames, his appearing like waves of dark lava. Both of them enter Kaushika’s hut, holding their lights up. A sound skitters across the floor, and Romasha starts, almost unleashing her fire at it, but stops when she notices it is only a squirrel.
I squeeze myself back against the wall, knowing I am invisible to them yet breathing hard. I triggered the warding deliberately, to see who would come to Kaushika’s hut in his absence. That it is these two should not surprise me; after Kaushika, they are the most learned and powerful in the hermitage, conducting lessons between them. Yet my heart sinks as I see Anirudh prowl through the cottage and check inside the cupboard and under the cot. Romasha I do not know well, but Anirudh has always been kind to me. He has been friendly.
The two of them meet in the center of the hut, looking around. Romasha’s shoulders relax. She extinguishes the fire between her fingers and slumps a little.
“Do you think Kaushika made a mistake?” she asks.
“He doesn’t make such mistakes,” Anirudh replies, frowning. He has still not relinquished his fire.
“Maybe someone came looking for him but didn’t enter his home at all,” Romasha suggests.
Anirudh nods slowly. “Yes. Yes, of course. If anyone had entered, the ward would trap them, wouldn’t it? We would see them. Perhaps they only triggered it unknowingly.”
His body relaxes as he accepts this explanation. The fire he conjures finally fizzles out, and all of us are awash in darkness. My heart thumps in my chest, loud enough that I fear they will be able to hear it if they only attune themselves. A dozen thoughts churn within me. Whatever Kaushika is planning, these two must be in on it as well. He deliberately warded his house—perhaps it is common practice, something he does before he leaves each time—yet I saw nothing in here worth hiding or taking. It means the warding itself was meant as a trap to ferret out our true intentions, like the one in the forest that I walked into. Both Anirudh and Romasha came in expecting intruders, and more than that, to mete out punishment with fire. If I hadn’t concealed myself, what would have happened? Are they capable of killing too? Is this how my sisters died?
I try to still the gibbering of my mind.
When the two leave, I slip out behind them, unnoticed.