Page 15 of The Legend of Meneka
It is absurd, this instruction. If I really did accept who I am, an apsara,would I even be here? Would these peopleallowme to be here?
For a week now, I have attended treatises on philosophy and history, on dharma and niyama, on religion and ethics. All of them speak of the samewisdom. To burn maya and find the path into true knowledge. Enemies of illusion, any of these yogis would reduce me to cinders given half a chance. Kaushika himself would lead the charge, even though he has completely ignored me since the first day. I have seen him attend the very same classes I have, as if he were not the master of the hermitage but an ordinary yogi.
Even now he sits a few rows behind me. A prickle goes through my scalp at presenting my back to a predator. I resist the urge to turn and look at him. As it is, his scent filters toward me, clouding my mind. I inhale, trying to capture the scent of rain instead.
The way he runs his hermitage bewilders me. At home, reverence is a matter of seniority. Only the most elite apsaras teach mudras to younger ones, and that knowledge is guarded zealously, released through acts of devotion. I have argued often with Rambha because she is my friend, but were she Sundari or Magadhi, I would not have dared. Subtle but clear rivalry has always lingered between the apsaras—to be the most beautiful, the most ardent. To create the best illusions and take on the hardest missions. Lord Indra himself encourages the competition, considering it a sign of our love for him.
Here in the hermitage, Kaushika does not seem to care about such things. Though it is clear his word is law, he rarely interferes with how Anirudh and Romasha run things. I have seen him listen to other students with seriousness in the pavilion, even agree with theirperspectives as they challenge his own thinking. Everyone has his regard, and he is clearly not afraid of being questioned, yet my own defiance of him has left him hostile instead of curious. Remembering the first day of training, I have moved around him carefully, even being subservient instead of challenging. I have endured his indifference for a week. It has gotten me nowhere. My body shifts in place, uncomfortable, as Romasha’s gaze moves away from me.
“There is only one being who personifies the complete power of the universe,” she drones on. “Shiva alone is so united with the power of the universe that he is indistinguishable from the infinite. Even the devas bow to his supremacy, humbled time and again by him. Yet, though he is powerful beyond measure, Shiva does not concern himself with the politicking of heaven and earth. That withdrawal from worldly interactions to learn of oneself is essential to pursuing your own magic here at the hermitage.”
Kalyani raises her brow at me. I realize I am frowning. I give her a halfhearted shrug and pretend to return to my magic, though I cannot help the revulsion that streaks through me at Romasha’s words.
The yogis in the hermitage often compare themselves to the Great Lord Shiva, claiming to follow his path, but they act more like the devas they hate than Shiva himself. The Lord of Destruction might have broken the cycle of karma, but that is because he turns the heat of tapasya inward instead of manifesting it into the world. Even his once-thriving abode at Mount Kailash is now icy, leached of life as he pulls the radiant power of the universe into himself.Thatis why he is the Lord of Destruction. Because life itself is breakable around him.
The yogis of the hermitage have no such power. Like Indra, who channels prana to wield lightning and storm, the yogis channel their own magic into the world through mantras and runes and consecrated herbs, all in order to effect change on reality. They do not retain theirmagic for greater enlightenment. Indra is right to be apprehensive of them. In their naïveté and power, they could callously diminish him, not knowing the damage they do to their own kind in the process.
Romasha stands up from the tree. She nods to someone behind me, and I turn in my seat to see Kaushika rise.
His aura is so strong, it calls to me. I can discern the chakras of prana heavy with magic inside his body, the discs shining in rainbow colors. A sapphire blue at his throat, glowing through his dark skin. The one in his heart emerald green. The one right above his head a purple so royal it takes my breath away. I clutch my tether to Amaravati with my mind, limp though it is, holding on to Indra even though Shiva resounds through the hermitage.Reveal your lust, I think, aiming my power at Kaushika.
I slam against his shield again. It is intoxicating to know that behind it lies the secret to his seduction. That if I only find the right path into him, I will receive a taste of victory. Like others here, surely his own knowledge of himself is flawed; he is, after all, their true teacher. My eyes move over his body, tracing the shape of his aura, looking for a way inside.
He and Romasha begin to walk from student to student, helping them unblock their energies. Fire rises from fingertips in beautiful, swirling shapes that merge with one another. Kaushika mutters appreciatively before moving to the next student. I know that he will not make his way to me.
Indra’s voice echoes in my head.Thwart him.How can I when he does not even acknowledge my presence? I keep my eyes on Kaushika’s sharp profile, the angles of his shoulders, the strength in his biceps. The tether from Amaravati coils around my heart. My fingers carve the rune for fire, a blossoming sun, and an idea strikes me. I hold on to the tether as I would if I were to create an illusion, but this time I direct it toward the rune.
Sharp pain squeezes my lungs. I gasp, dropping my tether.
It is a reminder. A warning.
I can only use Amaravati’s magic to do what Indra has allowed me—to dance and create illusions. I am not allowed to use Indra’s magic this way. A frustrated sound builds in my throat. That I will learn none of this mortal method is obvious. Yet I must endure this training, a waste of everyone’s time.
It is the one thing Kaushika and I agree on.
I turn my attention to Anirudh and Kalyani. The two have been taking turns at teaching me privately, beyond the classes we all attend. “Is it true?” I ask quietly. “Did Kaushika tell you not to help me?”
Kalyani bites her lip. She glances at Anirudh, clearly unsure of what to say, deferential to his seniority.
Anirudh in turn gazes toward Kaushika. When he speaks, his voice is tired. “He told us not to help youexcessively. He cautioned us not to do so at the cost of our own training.”
“Are you?”
Anirudh sighs. “We all saw how strong you are. How much magic you contain. You will be an asset here, even if he is reluctant to say it. Do not give up yet. We have not.”
Kalyani nods emphatically. Their support has more to do with making Kaushika proud of them than unleashing my own magic; for all I know, for their own Initiation Ceremony they might wish to claim teaching me—the incompetent student—as their great talent. Still, their confidence in my potential warms me.
“If I am an asset, then why doesn’t he help me?” I ask.
“He doesn’t trust you,” Anirudh says. “He can only trust people who have complete devotion.”
“Devotion to him?”
“To Shiva,” Anirudh says flatly. “Our meditation, our yogic practices, our very magic—all of those are offerings to the Lord. For youto deny yourself, Kaushika sees it as a denial of Shiva himself.” He shrugs, helpless. “We’ve tried mantras and herbs, asanas and the wisdom of the Vedas. By now we should have seen something. You are presenting a challenge.”
“Maybe only Kaushika can teach me,” I say. I glance again toward where the sage helps Yamortri. “This ishishermitage. He let me in here.”
“To allow you an opportunity,” Anirudh says. “He did not make any promises. Everyone here gets the same treatment. He did not even make promises tome, Meneka, and I am his oldest friend.”
