Heera
“We will be fine,” he said. “You have another destiny to fulfill.”
She shook her head. “This is my destiny. This is what I love.”
“We will be here when you return,” her husband promised.
She blinked away her tears and set out toward the hill fort. Soon enough, a man approached her.
“Sister, where are you going?” he called out.
“I do not know,” she said. “I am trying to find my people.”
The man took in her dress and the mark on her forehead and smiled. “It is too dangerous for you to be alone,” he said. “Come with me and rest, and then we will take you where you need to go.”
Though it went against all common sense and propriety, she abandoned herself to instinct and followed the man into the forest, along a path only he could see. In time, they emerged at the top of a hill, the entrance to the fort. Heera reared back in surprise, which the man mistook for fear.
“Peace. This is the fort of your people.”
Heera followed him inside, and was immediately surrounded by chaos. “What is happening?”
The man’s expression was grim as he took in the Maratha soldiers rushing to and fro. “I found you while I was scouting. The armies of Afzal Khan will be upon us soon.”
“We are finished,” another man said, listening in on their conversation. “You saved her from one certain death only to bring her to another.”
Not for the first time, Heera regretted her decision to leave home. But she was here now, and there was nothing more to be done. She was taken to the women’s quarters and tried her best to make herself at home.
For four days, she assisted the servants with their tasks and heard the lieutenants’ whispers that the armies of Bijapur had marched on the nearby town of Wai, destroyed idols, and set up an ambush. The only thing everyone could agree on was that they were in danger.
“We must surrender, knowing what we know now,” one soldier argued.
“We have wielders of magic on our side!” another countered. “They helped us take Pune. Surely we will be sufficiently powerful here, too.”
“That was just an army, this is Afzal Khan! He has never lost a battle. His armies do not just have magic—he says he has a demon fighting for him, too. Who knows what dark bargains their kind have made?”
Heera’s powers had been growing under her skin, and now the time had come to use them. She spotted the scout who had brought her here and approached him.
“Sir, I can help you,” she said softly. The other men did not take notice.
“I remember you,” he said with a small smile. “How can you help?”
“I think I can stop their demon,” she said to him.
“All right. What do you need?”
She blinked up at him. “You believe me?”
“I am a scout not just because of my sharp eyes. I can see those who may be important,” he said. “In this way, my family has long been blessed to be the left hand of greatness. When I saw you, I had a vision of you facing off against a great shadow.”
She inhaled sharply. “I have no skills that will work against entire armies, but I can stop one man or demon.”
Several hours later, they met at the gate. Heera had been given a man’s clothing to disguise her, and the garments only enhanced the strangeness of the whole affair.
“Shivaji himself has agreed to take a meeting with Afzal Khan tomorrow morning,” her friend told her. “We must succeed or else all hope will be lost.”
The Maratha soldiers spoke of Shivaji Bhosle with a reverence befitting the man who had united them, but the scout’s voice was tinged with fear.
Heera thought she would feel panicked, but her stomach was settled for the first time in months.
She knew the way. She had centuries of experience, after all, just under her skin.
And so Heera and the scout ventured to the camp of the sultanate. She was so concerned with not tripping in the unfamiliar garb that she kept her eyes on her feet the whole time. It was only when the scout threw up a hand to stop her that she realized they had arrived.
“What now?” she asked.
“Their demon is foreign, barbaric. Each night, he hunts and feasts on wild animals.”
“And if he attacks us instead?”
The scout shrugged. “Risks must be taken in war. I place my life in your hands.”
They skirted around the edge of the camp until they reached a small stream. The man nodded to himself. “We shall follow this.”
She followed him down the slippery stones, once again focusing on not falling, until her friend took a sharp inhale.
Ahead of them, a man-shaped creature knelt on hands and knees.
His hair was replaced by flames, tusks protruding from a line of teeth and smeared with the blood of the young deer that lay before him.
At the slight sound, he looked up and pinned them with his gaze.
As they stood paralyzed in fear, the demon rose and approached them. He cocked his head at Heera.
“You can see me,” he said. His voice was low but human-sounding.
She looked out of the corner of her eye at the other man, who was also staring at the demon.
“We can both see you,” she said.
The demon laughed. “Your friend sees me as a man. You see my other shape.”
“What other shape?” the scout demanded, and Heera’s eyes widened.
“You see, child? Now, as entertaining as this is, I am going to have to kill you. For the lady, though, I will make it quick. Painless.”
For a moment, Heera hesitated. She knew how to do it, just a quick touch, but her body froze.
As the demon reached for her, she said, “Why must you kill us? We’re just trying to escape all the fighting. We will not tell a soul. Please, spare us.”
The demon laughed. “You’re a poor liar, child. You are spies.”
“Why do you serve your general?” Heera asked. “You’re more powerful than him.”
“Why indeed?” the demon said. “That mystery you will take to your grave.”
The memory was at the top of the demon’s mind, or so she hoped.
The patterns of demons were far beyond her knowing.
She grabbed his wrist, and with all the power available to her, she removed his memories.
His loyalties. Anything that tied him to Afzal Khan—his desire to kill them, the reason he was here at all.
She had never used her powers so significantly before, but it came easily, as it always had.
She could not see into his mind—she could not see into anybody’s—but she could feel his memories becoming inaccessible.
The demon began to shake, and her friend pulled her away.
As he held her, she realized that she was the one shaking, not the demon, who had fallen back on all fours.
“Can you run?” the scout whispered. She did not respond.
Her mind felt scattered. She felt herself being picked up, and then watched as the landscape shifted around them.
When she came back into full awareness, it was dawn.
She was crouched on the forest floor. Her feet felt steadier underneath her.
The scout put a finger to his lips. “Listen,” he said.
She strained to hear, but her heart was beating too loudly.
The sound of an explosion rent the air. Birds shrieked, and Heera screamed, covering her ears, but her companion whooped, a triumphant sound.
“It is the first signal—Shivaji has slain Afzal Khan!” He began to laugh, and Heera laughed, too. It was contagious.
“Should we not join them?” Heera asked.
“We do not want to distract them, or worse, be mistaken for the enemy. We will wait to approach the fort until the cannons sound again, and we will know the Bijapur army too has been routed.”
When the sun was high, the signal came, and they made their way back to the fort.
The flag of the Marathas was flying overhead, the agreed-upon sign of triumph.
The mood was giddy, the battle won, and although her companion was immediately swept up in the celebration, he brought her along as he made his way to the war room.
Shivaji himself was there, addressing his most trusted lieutenants.
He nodded his approval to the scout when they entered.
“This fort has earned its name as the place of greatest valor,” he said. “Now it truly is Pratapgad.”
The men cheered the name. Heera cheered, too, but she realized that the pull that had been driving her for so long was gone. She sagged back against the wall with boneless relief, melding into the background. The scout conferred with Shivaji, then returned to her.
“You must have a prize,” he said. “A place at court? An elevation to nobility? You would be an asset to this new empire.”
Heera declined with a joyful smile and a full heart. After the armies of Afzal Khan had been fully dispatched, she declined even a guard to accompany her on her journey. Instead, Heera went home to her husband and her children. She never wanted to leave again.
“Where did you go, Mama?” her youngest child asked.
“It is not important,” Heera said. “Nothing you will ever have to worry about.”
She looks at me, a beatific smile on her face.
We can be happy, she says. Choose to be content.
What the hell kind of bullshit advice is that?