Page 24 of The Legend of Meneka
“Like this?” Kaushika gestures at my undone hair, at my wrinkled kurta, at my still-damp skin. “If you are to be a sage, you need to understand there are decrees that disciples must obey, including the manner of their appearance. You come to the Lord like this?”
Despite my terror, my eyes narrow. Pointedly, I run my gaze down his own damp topknot, the warrior chest beaded with raindrops, the low-slung pajamas where I see a sprinkling of dark hair.
“Rich chastisement coming from you,” I drawl. “When you are half-naked yourself.”
Kaushika’s eyes widen in outrage. A quiet oath escapes him, and he ducks back out into the rain. He is back in an instant, pulling his kurta over himself.
A pang of regret goes through me as his chest is covered with cotton, dimming the light of his aura. Perhaps it is my heightened nervousness, but I can’t help but giggle at his frustrated expression.
His scowl deepens. “Do not make the mistake of comparing yourself to me. I have been practicing my austerities for years to gain self-control. I can afford to shed them now, but even I had to obey these steps when I was as uninitiated as you are.” He takes a deep breath, trying to master himself. “I have proved my devotion to the Great Lord several times. Yours is still under question.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Andyouwill decide the value of my devotion?”
Kaushika shifts his scowl to the lingam.
The question hangs in the air, sharpening the edges of his own arrogance. He blinks and crouches down to the altar.
The lines of his back are straight, tense, but closing his eyes, Kaushika mutters a chant. His fingers touch the lingam, glowing with power. Silver ash trickles from his fingertips as he draws three horizontal lines, the tripundra, on the black rock. A garland appears from thin air, surrounding the altar. Incense embers flare within the cave with renewed light, and I inhale, stunned by the sudden peace that flows through me. I am too mesmerized, staring at the temple glistening with a rapid golden glimmering, to immediately realize that Kaushika is watching me.
The prayer to Shiva has already calmed his features. He is as unreadable as ever. I open my mouth to speak, but he looks away.
“Will. Knowledge. Action,” he says softly, his gaze on the three lines of the tripundra. “The basics of connecting with your prana. Have you learned these yet?”
“No.” None of my teachers have ever explained it this way.
“I thought not. Shiva won’t listen to you, Meneka. You don’t have the restraint needed to silence your mind to pierce through his meditation.”
“Shiva is Bholenath,” I answer. “He is the Innocent One. Perhaps your path to him is through austerities, but he does not care for devotional politics and rituals. He cares for the trueness of one’s heart, the purity of our intention, the sweetness of our love. Or am I wrong?”
“No. You’re not wrong. Tell me then, is your heart true? Is your intention pure?” A dark smile cuts Kaushika’s face. “Is your love sweet?”
I open my mouth but images flash behind my eyes. Princess Ranjani, my very first successful mission, in my arms. The pleasure in her eyes as I trickled kisses down her belly, as I parted her thighs. The vapid expression as I left her to return to Amaravati. When, sickened, I finally made the rule to never become involved with a mark no matter what my sisters did. Horror, doubt, and distress freeze my body. Sudden tears glint in the corners of my eyes. Kaushika watches my face, and his own grows softer.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, looking back to the lingam. “That question is never easy. Yet unless you can answer it, you will not be able to call upon Shiva.”
Confusion swirls within me, to be given sympathy byhim, to need it so badly. Even Rambha never fully acknowledged my fears about myself and what we do as apsaras, but here is Kaushika, of all people, attempting in his own detached way.
Thunder cracks outside, and I snap back to myself.
Enough.
I will not let Kaushika define me. I will not let my mark dictate this mission. I force myself to remember the resplendence of Amaravati, the real danger of this man, the hate I saw on his face on that first meeting. My tether tightens within me, giving me magic and anger.
“Convenient,” I say. “To choose Shiva as the deity for your hermitage.”
“What are you talking about?”
I shrug delicately. “Anirudh told me how everyone within the hermitage turns their sexual desire inward to achieve spiritual bliss. He said this is what Shiva needs, in pursuit of austerities.”
Kaushika jerks his head toward me. “You have been talking to Anirudh about sexual matters, have you?”
“We talk about many things. Does it bother you?” Kaushika scowls, and my answering smile is poison sweet. “In the hermitage, all I hear about is the path of Shiva sages must follow. Yet it seems to me you yogis repress a lot. Would Shiva condone repression, do you think? The Lord who is freedom incarnate?”
Kaushika’s eyes narrow. “Our austerities are not repression. They are a form of ultimate self-control. Shiva is free because he alone controls his mind, perfectly in charge of when and how he reacts. If you do not understand something as simple as this, then you certainly have no place at the hermitage.”
“Is that so?” I sigh dramatically. “Tell me, Sage. What does the lingam mean?”
To my surprise, Kaushika utters a raw, amused laugh. “That is your argument? The lingam is an erect phallus, and the yoni a welcoming womb. Every Shiva devotee knows this. Shiva is many things. Lord of Yoga. Lord of Asceticism. The one who performs the greatest austerities, yet the sensual one.” His eyes linger over me. “The erotic one.”
