USHA
“You have already brought enough shame into this household,” she hissed. “You know you cannot remarry, and the cook’s son is entirely unsuitable no matter his caste. You will remember your place.”
She left lost in thought about how best to help the widow. Sometimes, in the meetings she attended, her comrades spoke of reforming the laws that forced women into these choices. Perhaps someone there—
She collided with a warm body.
She studied him. Something within her recognized him, although she had never seen him in her life. His skin was the light brown of the wealthy, his hair short and curly. His eyes, though, were vaguely golden.
“Do I know you?”
“No,” he said. “But I know you. I have been watching over your people for centuries.”
She laughed at that. “All right. Have a good day.”
“Your friends, they are dangerous. I did not think you needed protection, but under the current circumstances…” His hand brushed her, and Usha gasped. Her mind opened at his touch.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Muya,” he said with a small smile. “I have lifted the veil of ignorance from you. Use it well.”
Something caught her eye—a person walking on the opposite side of the street. He seemed perfectly ordinary, and yet Usha could see across his shoulders a cape of power. When she turned back, Muya was gone.
Instinct made Usha stay her tongue and keep this new power to herself.
There were other problems to focus upon: the butcher was killing more women, the British were tightening their control, there were whispers of a poor harvest. And then, the worst happened.
One week after leaving the Joshis, Usha was summoned to their home in the dead of night, and arrived to find the widow bleeding out. Usha’s caution had killed her.
Usha resolved to find the butcher and send him away from her city.
She could not stomach watching one more woman slip away after his ministrations.
But just as she arrived, so too did the police, and with a nasty smile, the butcher pointed to her as his accomplice.
After all, it was undisputed that Usha provided abortions, and the British had recently made such terminations a crime.
They were here to save the souls of the heathens.
Nothing Usha said swayed them, and when she asked to speak to the Joshis, nobody came for her.
It was Radhabai who finally bribed the guards to release her, but Usha knew that would not be the end of it.
She sought out her friends, the ones who held meetings to speak about self-determination, and discovered that protecting the practice of abortion was not all that important to them.
They had lofty ideals with which to be concerned.
She left the meeting alone, friendless, and hopeless.
It was then that Muya appeared again. He came to her house in the night, and against her better judgment, she let him in.
Nothing in the world had seemed quite right since she’d met him, and perhaps he could set things right.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not want for you to get in so much trouble.”
It took a moment for Usha to realize his meaning, but when she did, she was incandescent with rage. “You had me arrested?” His wince was all the answer she needed. “My whole life is in ruins because of you! What possible reason could you have? What are you, a demon?”
“So what if I am?” Muya retorted. “That has nothing to do with what happened.”
“Oh my gods,” Usha muttered. “You cursed me, didn’t you? What possible threat can one woman be to you?”
“You’d be surprised,” Muya responded. “Your forebears have caused me plenty of trouble. But please believe me when I say, you were just collateral damage in my hunt to destroy a disease in the heart of this city. I will do my best to get you out of this, but your friends—”
“I don’t have friends anymore,” Usha said. “Get out.”
She devised a plan to rid herself of this curse.
Clearly this man had brought misfortune upon her.
Perhaps upon generations of her family. After all, hadn’t they all encountered great calamities?
She had to rid this world of him once and for all, but he had made himself scarce, and Usha could not determine the nature of the curse.
She could see the power within those few she knew to be gifted, as she did in sacred animals and temples.
The Joshis’ house also seemed oddly veiled in magic.
She was afraid of going back there after they had abandoned her, but it occurred to her that this horrible demon might have convinced them that she was responsible for their great misfortune.
If she cleared the air, maybe they would help her.
It was not a good plan, but she was desperate.
She had heard stories of what the British did to make examples of those who broke the law.
When she arrived, she was shown to the candlelit sitting room by a servant and left alone with a fine statue of Lord Nataraja.
In the flickering light, it looked like it was moving.
Dancing. Nataraja was laughing, his feet trampling the demon of ignorance.
She recognized something in that statue. It reminded her of—
“What are you doing here?” Muya demanded. She jumped away.
“What are you—why are you here? Are you going to manipulate this poor family even further?”
“I’d hardly call it manipulation,” Muya responded. “Do they not deserve it? They have betrayed you. Betrayed all their kinsmen. I don’t know why you’re here, but I suggest you leave.”
He stepped closer to her until they were only a foot or two apart, his features now in full view.
He had never looked more inhuman than in this shadowy room.
Her eyes darted to the statue, where Apasmara lay prone.
She at last understood, too late. He raised a hand as if to touch it, but stopped a finger’s length away from the metal.
“It is dangerous.”
“How so?” Usha asked. “It is just a statue.”
He laughed, and it was obvious he was laughing at her. “It depicts perpetual punishment, and yet is the object of worship. Is that not heinous?”
He was afraid of the statue for a reason.
She had heard tales of people who trapped demons in rocks, and more importantly, she had nothing to lose.
In one sweeping motion, she grabbed Muya’s fingers and slammed their joined hands into the statue, their skin opening and blood mixing on the metal.
Muya cried out, and she did, too. She could feel Muya’s power begin to separate from her soul, so she tugged on it, pushing it into the statue.
She focused all her rage, and pain, and hopelessness, until there was nothing left, not even consciousness.
When she awoke, it was to a great emptiness. The magic was gone. The candles had blown out, and she was in total darkness.
“Muya?” she asked, her voice a tremble. There was no response, but she could sense the change in her. She felt light. Free.
We are brave, Usha says. Choose to be bold.