Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
I tell no one about my private lesson with Kaushika. The day after the temple I meet Anirudh and Kalyani again in the courtyard for practice before breakfast, and the anxiety on their faces transforms into wonder and relief when I silently re-create the rune of delight I made for Kaushika.
Without his consecrated amulet, the rune is weak this time. Still, the shape grows for a few seconds, shimmering like dewdrops, reflecting in the mortals’ widening eyes. Kalyani begins whooping and clapping even before it fully forms. Anirudh’s serious face shines with quiet satisfaction. I release the rune, and it explodes like a silent firecracker, too frail to suffuse me and my two mortal friends with its power.
Even so, startled laughter echoes around us, made not through magic but sincere joy. Suddenly, I am surrounded by others who have watched this. They pat me on the back, congratulate me, embrace me. The usual murmuring silence of the courtyard is broken by elated celebration and laughter. I cannot help but smile back, unable to hide the pride on my face.
“You did it,” beautiful Romasha says with a rare smile. “You must tell us what changed in your practice to finally allow this.”
I look beyond her to all the listening ears. Burly Jaahnav, who is the tallest disciple in the hermitage, his aura always peaceful, his ideas on dharma always pious; little Durvishi, who is the youngest and most thoughtful, who could argue even Kaushika into rueful acceptance of her philosophy; smiling Parasara, who everyone believes will follow the path of a rishi first because of his utter devotion to Shiva. Dozens and dozens of them, abandoning their practice, eager to listen to my words. Each and every one of them kind and gentle, wanting me to succeed so I can bring honor to the hermitage. Each and every one of them a danger to Lord Indra on their ascetic path to become sages, who would destroy maya, destroy me and my kind, in their pursuit of enlightenment. My moment of pride shatters like broken glass.
My smile is brittle. “I remembered love.”
“What do you mean?” Eka asks. She is smaller than I am, though the same age. Her aura is red and gold, scented with cinnamon.
I drop my eyes. “I am not sure Kaushika will like me to speak of it.”
As expected, that simply stirs more questions.
Kalyani squeezes my hand. Anirudh cocks his head curiously.
I meet his gaze. “You were right. It was the ascetic path I was failing at. But it was not my failure, it was the failure of the path itself. The power of the universe is that of love, the utter devotion Shiva and Shakti have for each other. This is what I remembered at the temple. This is what a yogi must understand to truly unlock their power.”
Next to Anirudh, Romasha stills. Her eyes narrow in thought, a sharp glance thrown at me. The others begin murmuring, Parasara saying how he had considered this too, but did not think to speak it, Jaahnav and Eka debating whether Shiva is angry with the hermitage because of this oversight. I let the mutterings build as others begin to chime in, then when it threatens to become too loud, I flicker my fingers to create another rune, the peaceful aum that connects individual prana to that of the universe.
This time I curve my wrists into a mudra of Light’s Dance as well. It is a risk—especially now that Romasha is watching me so intently. I remember how I wondered if Kaushika had feelings for her. I do not believe that anymore, not after witnessing the shape of his seduction—but she is still someone to be wary of, suspicious as she is of me. Yet it is this very suspicion that emboldens me, streaking through me like a lightning bolt of rebellion. I cannot show the yogis any true illusions lest they learn who I really am, but merged in this way with a mortal magic, the rune rises above us with the rainbow power of the cosmos.
The chatter cuts out abruptly as all eyes track it. It is larger than any rune I’ve seen anyone create, half true and half illusion, growing above the courtyard, over the very hermitage, revolving and shining like a beacon. I hold on to the tether from heaven, feeding the illusion half of it, even as it expands. Then I release it, letting it shower everyone with sparks of light.
“Love,” I say softly, “is an understated power. Would you not agree?”
The others stare at me, and I see the seed of doubt grow within their eyes. It rewards me, it shames me, and I greet this blend of emotions like the familiar friend it is.
I am besieged by questions for the rest of the day. Disciples I have never spoken to come to me, making an excuse to assist me with my chores, wanting to know more about the Goddess. Aypan, an androgynous yogi who usually prefers meditation to debate, clutches my hand in theirs, speaking of Shiva as Ardhanareshwar, the form of the Lord that is neither male nor female. I embrace them, stroking their hair, the firewood we’re collecting forgotten as we reminisce about past lovers and how we left pieces of ourselves in their souls. I think of Kaushika and his injunction to let the past lie, and Indra smiles in my head from memory. I laugh with Aypan, knowing I am finally succeeding in my mission.
Matronly Shubha confides in me that she left her family behind to learn at the hermitage. Tears glisten in her eyes as the both of us knead dough. “These sugar rotis were her favorite,” she says, speaking of her young daughter. “I think of her every day, but I have wondered if doing so was a betrayal of the asceticism Kaushika requires. Is this why my magic suffers?”
“Without love, asceticism is sterile,” I say sympathetically. “Thinking of who you love will only enhance your magic for the Initiation Ceremony. It has mine.”
She nods, weeping silently, and I pat her shoulder, knowing that another one of these yogis is mine.
Kalyani herself tells me that she left a young man behind in her village. She removes a faded lily from her pocket, preserved through magic, its petals glistening with trapped dew. “He gave this to me on the day I left,” she says quietly. “I’ve burned everything else I brought with me when I came to the hermitage. But this one thing I could not.”
“Perhaps you never need to,” I reply softly. “If you can channel your affection into your prana, would that not be in service to Shiva too, in a way?”
Kalyani nods contemplatively, and my own prana rushes through my heart, a blazing torrent of water. Lacing this power is a twisting strand of fear. Kaushika will not like any of this. He will be angry, perhaps seeing how I have warped his admission of my knowledge of Shiva into something he would never countenance for the whole hermitage. He might even seek to remove me from here, yet I have gained enough influence. I will not leave easily, and the others will protest. His hermitage will break apart if he tries. Thus, worried though I am, I shine in my own luster, finally embracing that I am worthy of this mission. Have I not accomplished what other apsaras could not? Kaushika is vulnerable, his group of yogis weakened. The sweet poison of my words flows stealthily among them, unseen, unchallenged.
That night the hermitage rings not with hymns and mantras to Shiva but to Shakti—hymns I learned playing by Queen Shachi’s knees while she threaded flowers in my hair. A student whose name I don’t know sings this song now, and I sit at the back, chanting with the rest of them, attempting to hide my smile.
The next day, Shailesh and his husband, Daksh, openly hold hands, touching each other incessantly during the courtyard practice. Two days later, I see Sagara and Narmada sneak off to the forest, giggling while undoing their topknots. A week after, Sharmisha falls upon Advik in gratitude and triumph after mastering a particularly tricky mantra, brazenly kissing him as though she is in an apsara grove instead of in a communal pavilion within an austere sage’s hermitage. Laughter breaks out at this instead of censure, other students clapping and whooping, and this time I have no need to hide my smile. Mantras are hummed, the lingam is adorned in flowers, and once I even see Ineshina and Leela dancing within the pavilion, their forms crude but no less beautiful, as they offer their performance to Shiva.
I expect Anirudh or Romasha to chastise me for my encouragement of these students, but neither of them say a word, even though Romasha’s demeanor grows frigid toward me. I wonder if it is because she suspects I am an apsara, but perhaps she is simply a prudish creature. I have encountered many a puritan in my missions, afraid of their own bodies’ reactions to me, and if ever there is one to exist, it would be within an ascetic hermitage. I steer clear of her, offering her nothing but the mildest of conversations.
Yet with everyone else, my power grows, an electricity charging through me like currents of Indra’s power. Once or twice, I even nudge the disciples toward cleaner forms, knowing that to do so is reckless but feeling the same sense of pride they undoubtedly felt for me when I finally created runes.
All this time, the image of Kaushika’s seduction burns behind my eyes. I see myself, hands buried in his hair, his eyes shut in exquisite agony. Each time I relive it, my skin feels on fire, as though I am on the precipice of a revelation. For no other mark has this final image of seduction formed so quickly; it ought to have taken months of dancing and manipulation of his original lust for me to see myself in his mind. How did this form in him without any provocation? Has he been thinking of me all this time? Is he not as indifferent to my beauty as he pretends to be? The thought makes me shiver as I reinterpret my every interaction with him. As I think of how close my mission is to completion.
If I already saw this image—the final image of seduction—I need only to adjust its contours before I charm him completely. I need only to investigate his preferences and create illusions of those over and over again in different forms, so that one day all he can think about is me. Each illusion will need to be more pinpointed, more accurate, the mudras I use a beautiful blend to create the exact vision he sees in his mind. Each revelation of his lust will need to inform the next illusion. Will he like my nails tracing his skin? How should my expression be in those visions? Should I be excited, ashamed, nervous? Each of these are decisions I must make to find the heart of his desire—yet this phase is truly the most enjoyable one of an apsara’s mission, even perhaps the easiest.
Eventually, with each illusion an unmissed arrow to weaken him, he will finally become my thrall. Night or day, waking or sleeping, every other thought and concern will abandon him. Just like Tara. Just like any other successful mark. Could it be that this mission, after everything, really is the simplest one?
I can go home , I think, my mind dizzy with the implications . I can be with Rambha, never leaving Amaravati again. She smiles in my memory, but the images of Kaushika’s seduction interrupt the victory the closer I come to achieving it.
I am invited to help lead the prayers, becoming second only to Anirudh and Romasha when it comes to answering philosophical questions. When I conduct the sessions, I imagine Kaushika watching me. I imagine the hunger in his eyes, the whisper of his fingers and what it would feel like if he should interlace his hands in mine again. The shape of his seduction dances within me, and excitement and adrenaline flow in my veins at how close I am to conquering him. At how I am destroying him though he does not know it.
During practice, I blend my runes with mudras again to entrance the others. We all watch the shapes spark in the air. Each time I wonder how this is possible. Prana is Indra’s power. If I am able to channel it like him, can other apsaras too? And if so, what does it mean for our service to Amaravati, and to the lord himself? My thoughts are tangled, each of them overrun with memories and hopes. I see Indra on his throne promising me, You shall be a goddess. Kaushika’s breath burns on my cheek, the way his hands squeezed my fingers. You’re unbearably beautiful.
I am surrounded one afternoon by a dozen other students, listening to them speak of their families, the longing to return to their homes apparent in their voices, when I finally see Kaushika. The mortals and I are making our way to one of Romasha’s lessons to learn yet another powerful mantra, but Renika, a young attractive woman with gaps in her teeth, shakes her head.
“Do we need to listen to Romasha anymore?” she says. “It is clear she does not see the value of love in our paths.”
“Her mantras are supposed to help us with the Initiation Ceremony,” Kalyani says while others mutter. “Is that not what you want?”
Renika shrugs moodily. I say nothing, but she is only one of the many disciples who no longer care about the ceremony, who might even wish to fail and return home. She is one of those who has taken to dancing in order to offer devotion to Shiva, claiming that he is—after all—the Lord of Dance.
“What about you, Meneka?” Kalyani asks. “Will your demonstration at the ceremony be a confluence of runes? Or do you have a specific powerful rune in mind?”
She pauses, and her gaze shifts beyond me to the bael tree, where the rest of the students are collected. Romasha is not leading the class; it is another disciple called Viraj. The usual crowd is collected under the tree, students settling themselves, chatting in quiet voices, but Kaushika steps through, Romasha and Anirudh on his heels. Two other disciples trail them, Eka with the serious brown eyes and a deep knowledge of nadi channels, and Parasara, with an aura so strong it occasionally rivals Kaushika’s own.
There is a strange look on Kaushika’s face as he stops in front of my group. His clothes are crumpled, and his hair is in slight disarray. There are bags under his eyes, and he looks haggard beyond recognition.
My palm rises, almost as though to cup his cheek before I arrest the movement, both shocked that my body should think to make it and shocked that he seems to need it.
Where has he been since that night in the temple, and what has made him return in this condition? Will he chastise me for what I have done to his hermitage in his absence? Will he simply ask me to leave?
I brace myself to fight, exchanging a nervous glance with Kalyani, reading the same thought on her mind. The others slink away, reprimanded by Kaushika’s very presence. I see them from the corner of my eye, glancing toward me and Kalyani before melting into the crowd. Viraj begins the class, but Kaushika does not seem to notice any of this. He stands there, assessing me and Kalyani.
My anxieties climb with his silence. Romasha must have told him what I’ve been doing. He is going to expel not just me but Kalyani too. My friend and I laughed about Romasha’s primness while trading magical learning, but perhaps we were overheard. Perhaps she has told him about our insolence, about her suspicions of my true nature as an apsara. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, and Kalyani squeezes my hand.
“Your help is needed,” Anirudh says. His voice is unusually somber, his eyes flat.
“Help for what?” Kalyani says.
“Are you sure?” Kaushika turns to Romasha. His voice is frayed thin. “These two are very new. There are more accomplished yogis here.”
She nods. “They are our strongest. Along with Eka and Parasara. The magic they have inside of them, at this very moment, is more than anyone else’s. You need raw power, do you not?”
“Power for what?” Kalyani asks. “Help what?”
No one replies, and Kalyani and I exchange another look, this one more disturbed. Parasara and Eka shrug at us. They do not know what is going on either.
A thrill of fear climbs through me, anticipation and nervousness making my muscles tight. I realize that whatever is to come next, it will influence my mission in untold ways.
Kaushika’s gaze is grim. “Prepare them. We ride in one hour.”