Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
I t is mayhem from there.
I am thrust out of the sky. The next thing I know, I am back in the forest. I blink, and lightning crashes above me, so close that I am dizzied.
Blurs appear everywhere, arrows and discs, magic flung indiscriminately. Celestial horses raze through the ranks of mortals, chariots with blades that injure and maim. Airavat, Indra’s elephant, is berserk, the sound of his trumpeting bloodcurdling. Vayu is unseen, but great gusts of wind cyclone across the land and sky, throwing up mortals in Kaushika’s army, churning trees in the forest.
Vaguely, I register that Rambha was thrown from the sky too. I have only landed safely in the forest because of the protection she has from Indra, extended to me by being near her.
Agni and Surya work together, burning and igniting with the power of fire and sun. Bodies hurtle, explosions in the sky like fireworks. Smoke climbs my nose. Glimpses come to me, apsara magic deluding the mortals into traps laid by gandharvas. Consecrated arrows hurtle through the sky, piercing illusions of seduction. Apsaras fall, blinking away into ashes.
Indra roars, and for an instant, his rage overtakes everything else. His vajra sizzles through the air, cutting tree and forest, to spin through the mortal army. Lightning strikes blind me. Beside me, Rambha cries out. My heart leaps, terrified—
But in a blink the army is gone. Kaushika’s magic.
It appears in the valley, atop a hill, safe for a second on hard terrain instead of in the skies. Kaushika stands at the front, blazing with such strong magic that his body shines like a deva’s. He thrusts his hands out, chanting, and the streak of Indra racing toward him twists in the sky, momentarily thwarted.
Horror and terror grip me.
Kaushika and Indra will destroy each other. Amaravati—and any hope for reconciliation—will be gone with an arrow’s speed.
I try to ascend once more into the sky, but Rambha pulls me back, and both Indra and Kaushika disappear from view, battling elsewhere. Rambha gestures wildly to me, and I see that the forest is loud with cries of death. We huddle together, racing through the trees. A sword avoids us. We are nearly trampled by a runaway horse. I shriek as lightning crashes inches from me, and for a second, Surya shines above, blinding us further with his light. Then I blink and he is gone, pursuing an adversary, and we stumble again, scratching ourselves on trees and magic.
Splinters burst in front of us, and I shade my eyes. Rambha prays next to me, and I draw a rune of obscurity to hide us. I draw a second rune, this one for clarity, embedding it with the intent to see, and the trees explode around us, soaked in golden magic.
In the sky, devas split themselves. Agni is everywhere, fires popping all over the forest, heat lashing my face, cries echoing from the army that is so far away. Islands rise in the tributary of Alaknanda as magic takes unexpected forms.
I can’t focus. There is too much chaos, flares of Surya’s sun, shards of Indra’s lightning, blood everywhere, golden and red.
Rambha screams in my ear, a question. She wants to know the plan.
I have no plan. Only faith. Shiva shines in my mind. I repeat his name over and over again.
Through dust and swirling leaf, I see a motley crew. My friends stand in a small circle of protection under a tree. Rambha and I stagger to Nanda and Anirudh and Kalyani and the others. Anirudh spins runes and chants, and I recognize the call to the innate form of devas. His eyes dart from sky to forest, where the battle is thickest, and even as I watch, Eka and Parasara unleash magic toward a knot of mortals in the distance. A tree trunk crumbles to dust before it smashes into the mortals. My friends have averted Vayu’s aim by calling on his own power.
Next to them, Kalyani and Romasha are just blurs, darting in and out of the protection of the circle. They sprint into battle, carrying injured mortals, one time even a minor deva I don’t recognize, then lay them to rest near us, where Anirudh performs healing chants. Nanda dances, her mudras increasingly desperate, casting illusions of peace around us, maintaining the shield that protects everyone. The illusion stutters, threaded with her panic, watery.
I shake Rambha off and stumble over to Nanda. I grab her arm.
Alarmed eyes question me, but Nanda does not stop. Though she is not looking, her aim is true. The illusion she creates blinds an archer. His arrow redirects over the cliff, saving the life of an unwary celestial. Her next illusion protects several mortal soldiers, making them appear like harmless rocks, while Vayu himself rages, fooled by her power. Nanda’s mouth never stops moving in chants, consecrating her illusions even as she unleashes them. We are protecting one or two people. It is not enough.
“Sing,” I command.
Golden blood trickles down her forehead. She breaks her chant long enough to give me a withering look, as though to ask, What do you think I’m doing?
It exacts a cost. Agni’s fire climbs up a mortal, their flesh burning.
“No,” I say urgently. “For me. Nanda, sing for me . So I can dance.”
Amaravati’s magic floods into me. It pushes against me. My prana surges, all my chakras activated. Is this a mistake? It is our only chance.
Her eyes widen. She understands.
In a blink, the half-formed illusions she has created disappear and are replaced with a mridangam. An earthly instrument made from clay. A mortal instrument, but an instrument of Shiva, one that accompanied his own maya-splitting dance, the tandava, thus making the mridangam an instrument of the devas too.
Nanda begins to beat against it, the sound thundering in my ears. Around us, mortals and immortals fall, but her eyes blaze. She throws her head back, and a robust song emerges from her mouth, clear, high, cutting through the noise like a sword. It is an illusion, but one that ensnares every being, so strong is she in her magic. Dance , I hear her command.
I close my eyes, curl my wrists, and rise into a sky that is thick with weapons.
I dance.
I FORGET THE BATTLE. I TUNE OUT THE SCREAMS .
Am I even capable of love? I ask Shiva. He gazes at me sadly.
You violate , Kaushika says. That’s your entire existence.
Rain lashes me and I embrace it.
A vision of the universe. Infinite. Peaceful. Indifferent.
I throw my head back, unaware that I am dancing. What is dance but an expression of who I am? And who am I if not what Shiva himself has declared for me?
I spin, and Amaravati floods me. It gushes like a river, collecting my doubts, submerging them, elevating my own prana. The illusion carves around me, and even though my eyes remain closed, I can see it.
Kaushika holds me, telling me of his vow and his childhood. Indra tills the land of the mortal realm a millennium ago. I dance for Tara, and she falls for my seduction, sick with love. The apsaras weep for their fallen comrades and lost sisters while Indra sits on his throne, watching Amaravati’s power die, helpless and defeated.
Devas need the mortals, but mortals need the devas too. What is Surya without the fields he warms? Who is Indra without the rain for crops? Merely objects, and dead things. Essences, formless and alone.
I dance, and around me my illusions swell. War and war and war, I show them. Who does it benefit? Everyone has a side. Everyone has reasons. Pointless, all of it.
Nanda’s song becomes a litany of her own grief. Others begin to join her, gandharvas—singers of heaven—peeling away from Indra’s own army. All their voices rise, reaching into swarga itself.
Arrows and astras fling past me, missing me through sheer luck. They escape under my wrist, pass my ankle, sizzle by my neck. I am a light of my own in the sky, dancing between clouds. I am a shield of my own making, protected by my conviction.
Amaravati’s power rises in me and my mudras become runes. Lotus Blossom merges with the rune of patience. Rise of the Dancer melds into the rune of harmony. I open my eyes, breathless, and see then that I am not alone.
Rambha has joined me. She mimics my movements, and a thrill passes over me. Rambha is following me ?
The awe lasts only a second, and I grip my peace even as I feel the emotion from her. Her pain and sadness, for me and for Indra, and even for Kaushika. Her understanding for what I have been put through, and her distress for Nanda. This dance is revenge against our loss. The peace we seek is vengeance. We are weapons but not of destruction. Illusionists, but the breakers of illusions too. Creatures of lust, but those of love too.
We dance, and create, and hope.
Mudra by mudra, the weapons start to distance from us. Lightning cracks but does not pierce us. Indra’s gaze burns on me as he pauses to see what we are doing. His eyes rove over Rambha, and I see his rage as the storm circles us. We are in the eye of it, cradled by him, punished and pushed by him.
We mold the illusion, and it spreads, cutting through the seduction of hate and power, which are the reasons behind this battle. I tug at the emotions of all of us assembled here, the fear of the devas, the determination of the mortals, the desperation as we stagger, unable to understand how we balance one another.
We spin, and in our dance is life, and peace, and love.
Devas blink, seeing the devis manifested in our enchantment. Prithvi, the goddess of earth, shimmers as we apsaras create her form. She is naked, but it is not sensual. It is grief—look what war has done to her. Surya, her consort, averts his eyes in shame. He flashes, visible over a knot of mortals, then he is gone away from the battlefield. He has had enough.
I rejoice silently but do not stop dancing.
I call upon Aditi, the goddess of order. It is Vayu who relents to her. Made of mischief as he is, he recognizes stability. He sees her and grows abashed. A whirlwind of emotion flutters on his face, and then he leaves the battlefield too.
Raka, Parendi, Mahi, other devis emerge from our mirage, and one by one the devas grow shamefaced. They flicker, then leave. A deep breath, and I see tired mortals returning to their ranks, stumbling away as the attack abates. The most powerful of them, Kaushika, forms a ward and shield around his straggling army, while the sky clears.
Last of all, I create an image of Shachi herself for Indra. Her beauty, kindness, fierceness glow from my illusion. She is taller than either me or Rambha, her beauty more than both of ours combined. Her skin is golden brown. She is the queen of swarga, a daughter of an asura, married to the lord of heaven.
Look at her , I urge . Would she want this? She has not joined your battle. Why do you think?
High above me, Indra blinks, his hand around the vajra tightening.
He is a distant dot, yet clear to our celestial eyes nonetheless. His gaze cuts across the illusion back at us. He stares at Rambha, and her nervousness pounds at me through our apsara bond.
It is between them now.
I leave the illusion in her hands.
Amaravati tugs at me, and I spy Kaushika on the ground. He stands with his army again, blazing, all the chakras glowing within his body. He is coated in magic, watching me warily, seeing the illusions I carved. I float toward him, and suddenly he is there, rising to meet me. I hear his voice, golden and beautiful, across the barrier. He sings his mantras to maintain his shield from the devas and celestials. To maintain it from me. He watches me but does not stop.
Let me in . I know he can hear me.
He blinks, but the shield does not give.
Let me in , I say again.
Kaushika’s mouth pinches in pain. We stare at each other across the divide, his defense pulsing against me. My prana flows in waves of illumination, drenching me from head to toe. I can break his magic if I want, so great is my power. He knows this. He can see it.
Who are you? He asks.
Find out , I challenge.
Kaushika blinks again. A wry, humorless smile forms on his lips.
He opens the barrier.
I SHOW HIM.
The second the shield drops, I shoot toward him.
I take him in my arms, and his shock radiates to me. Whatever he expected, this was not it. Magic whirls around us, raising us, cocooning us. He is still singing, chanting, protecting his people from the imminent onslaught of the devas. His eyes widen in question and confusion, even as shlokas and mantras pour out of him. His arms encircle my waist, and he pulls me closer.
It surprises the both of us.
His mantra stumbles, a mistake as he drops a note, then hastily picks it up. He looks at me, startled, both at his mistake and at his desire. I press my body to his. I interlace his fingers with mine. I stare into his wary eyes.
Holding him, I move.
It is a dance like no other, his body rigid and unmoving against mine. My body sways, ever so slightly. He sings—and I do what I do best. I dance.
Our magic entangles together. Note by note, twist by twist, it merges.
With our bodies so close, touching, our fingers entwined, a vision of love overtakes us.
He is carried away, both with his control and without. He is horrified, and curious, as I show him who I am, and who he is. Who we are, together.
A mirror forms between our very beings, like the time it did when we saved Kalyani. I will him to see within me, laying my heart bare. He dips himself into me, a touch in a pond, a hesitant exploration. Look inside , I say. What do you see?
I see you , he responds from a lifetime ago, and the memory grows alive in both of us. A vision of beauty, sacred and deep.
Kaushika shakes his head, pulling away, face distraught.
Stay , I whisper, and the illusion magnetizes with my emotion. Stolen kisses. That night on the pond. The words of devotion we said.
Real , I tell him. All of it was real.
Rainbow colors surround us, and in every direction we look we see only ourselves. Hand in hand, laughing. Me astride him, riding him. Him kissing my wrists with reverence. Our foreheads touching, like we are praying to what is between us.
Who are you? he gasps.
I sway.
Who are you? he pleads.
The mirror shows him.
The image rises above the both of us, clear for every mortal and celestial to see. It is a vision of me as I crouch in prayer by the kalpavriksh to make my wish. My voice echoes across the battlefield. Help me find devotion.
My story, my own legend, shines in waves. The journey to the mortal realm. The seduction of mortals. Falling in love with Kaushika. Exile and losing myself. I stare at my own lore, shocked with my power, and how it has always resided within me, waiting. It is there, laid naked, for everyone else to see as well—and beyond it, the kalpavriksh blooms, fruit forming with every step of my own journey. Fruits that are the realization of my own incoherent, vulnerable, honest, foolish wish. To stay true to myself.
In swarga, the kalpavriksh flowers.
Its leaves rain down along with Indra’s rain. Forest and sky swirl, receiving its blessing.
And in that moment, I understand. The kalpavriksh never needed to fulfill that wish of mine. In the acceptance of myself is my reward, the fulfillment of my wish.
I sought devotion. I searched for it in Indra, in Kaushika, in Shiva.
I found it in myself.
My mistakes, my confusion, my indecision, my faith and my doubt—they have always been mine. A part of who I am. And at their foundation, something more, something unmoving exists. Something that shines with the power of a hundred universes, in that space between illusion and reality, between anger and righteousness. It is there, in that space between me and Kaushika. That is who I am.
Kaushika’s pulse stutters.
Love , he says.
Love , I confirm.
Tears fill his eyes as he understands, as he accepts.
His chant wavers, then changes shape. The Chant to the Goddess. The Mantra of Devotion. Magic spins from him, but this time it does not hold the heat of battle. Instead, it holds the balm of care, of comfort.
Power spreads from us through the forest and the skies. It coats the army he has brought with him. It instructs them and guides them. It carries the magic of my friends and the illusion I have built with the apsaras. Mortal magic becomes stronger, calmer. It pushes gently and firmly against the devas. Indra, who is still staring at Rambha as she dances, blinks again. Storm and glory coat him, the vajra golden and sharp in his hand.
Rambha pushes the magic with her power and my illusion. She dances, leading other apsaras, changing the illusion, molding it from the vision of Shachi into a vision of herself. Now I see what she is showing Indra. The love he bears for her, hurt but ever-patient. The love he has borne for the world and all his devotees, forgotten, jaded, but present nevertheless. The love he has always felt for the mortals, even if it has cooled in recent times.
Indra’s eyes widen in shock.
He glances at the devas in formation, their own warring paused. Agni, the last of the titans still on the battlefield, gives Indra a small nod. The lord of fire clicks his fingers, and the celestial army returns to where they started, apsaras, gandharvas, and all the other survivors of the battle arrayed again behind the other devas.
Indra lingers in the sky, vajra still spinning. A beat, where my heart claws up to my throat and he joins his devas, at the lead. Then he relents, ending the fighting now that Kaushika has ended it too. Airavat trumpets once, the great elephant swinging its trunk. Everything stills with suddenness, as though battle has not occurred at all.
Rambha is already floating toward the lord, but this time instead of watching her, Indra’s eyes are on me. The vajra still glitters in his hand, aimed for me and Kaushika. It singes me in memory, from when the lord placed it at my neck.
I peel myself away from Kaushika, but he squeezes my hands, arresting me.
Don’t go , he says.
Wait for me , I reply.
For a heartbeat, he holds on to me. Then he lets go.
I approach Indra.
B EHIND I NDRA, THE DEVAS AWAIT HIS COMMAND. A GNI ’ S ARMOR still radiates fire, smoke curling from his fingertips. Surya is gone, but the rays of his sun are still sharp, the heat sizzling my skin.
Yet Samudra, lord of the oceans, nods at me in a sign of respect. He exhales a whisper, and a wave of dampness washes over my skin, cooling me as I levitate toward Indra.
Next to me, Rambha ascends as well. I press my palms together. I do not bow my head.
For a long moment, Indra studies me, his eyes like lightning shards. The lord does not look even remotely tired. I think of how close we came to the end. I think of how the mortals, and Kaushika, and so many celestials—apsaras, gandharvas, and kinaras alike—still dangle on the precipice. My tongue twists in my mouth, Indra’s power potent and dangerous.
Perhaps I should incline my head, but instinct tells me it would be a mistake.
Please , I think. Indra’s eyes flicker to the devastation below. To the skies still raining down storm. His chest rises and falls, the vajra still spinning.
Then he glances at Rambha next to me. Her head is bowed. She is submissive, powerful, beautiful.
Indra sighs, a quiet sound. The vajra disappears without warning.
“I will allow a pause to this battle today, daughter,” he says to me coldly. “See to your injured.”
I don’t reply. Questions trouble me. Is this enough? Will Kaushika begin this war again? Was this merely first blood? Nothing has been resolved. Kaushika is still bound by his vow. Indra still has not agreed to change his laws. We could be here again, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in a few years.
I open my mouth to ask again for a parley, but Rambha shakes her head in a very subtle movement. I understand. Now is not the time. I will have another opportunity.
Indra watches this exchange, his eyes missing nothing. He frowns.
“Come, Rambha,” he says.
Rambha glances at me, a quick, searching look. Her hand accepts Indra’s extended one, and he pulls her to him. The both of them gaze back at me, and in Indra’s face I see the calculation that Rambha has made. The choice.
The devas, apsaras, and other celestials are already disappearing, blinking out of sight. My heart seizes to see Rambha go, as both her and Indra’s lips move to call to Amaravati.
I speak before they are gone, my words slow and careful. “My lord. Amaravati is my home. You are still my king. I intend to return there.”
Indra’s brows draw together. I have issued neither a challenge nor a relinquishing of my own control. I do not demand. I do not beg.
It is still audacious. Lightning flashes near me once in warning.
Indra glances at the disappearing forms of his other devas. I know that now that the heat of the battle has passed, the very same questions must circle him. Who sent the halahala? How is he to survive the Vajrayudh with unrest in his own court? The mortal realm is losing its reverence for him—what will happen to his power? I have no answers, but Indra’s eyes meet mine and he sees that I will not rest until I know. Not after my mission and life were embroiled in this without my say-so. The lord knows that I share his secret too—that he has been hoarding magic. Amaravati’s power returned to me without his explicit permission, just like my wild prana did. Indra might have cut me off from both of them—but I am a celestial with or without him. My words now are a threat but they are an offer too, rolled into one perilous move that can make me a mark. My intention is clear to him. I can be an ally, or I can be your nemesis. The choice is yours, my lord.
A strange moment of understanding passes between us.
Indra gives me a curt nod.
Then they are gone, all the celestials winking out of the sky.